The Perils of Translating

Dr. Grimes was sitting in his dimly-lit office late one night, grading papers, when he heard a knock on the door. “Come!” he said.

The door opened, and a thin, wiry student stepped cautiously into his office. Dr. Grimes thought that he had the appearance of an unmade bed; his black hair was standing up in all directions, he was rough and unshaven, and his jeans and T-shirt looked like they hadn’t been washed in a week. “Hello?” the student said as he walked into the office, nearly tripping on his untied shoelaces.

“Henry!” the professor said, instantly recognizing him. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I’ve come for my appointment,” he said. Henry walked into the room, set his bag of books by the professor’s worn desk, and plopped into a very tired chair. “Remember?”

“Appointment! Young man, that appointment was six hours ago. Six hours ago!” Dr. Grimes said, turning a faint shade of red. “Where have you been – and shut that door! Oh, never mind, I’ll get it.”

“I just got a little busy, I guess,” Henry replied, as Dr. Grimes walked over to his office door, shut it, and then returned to his seat. “You see, I was – hey, what’s that?” he asked, pointing to an object in the corner.

Over in the corner of the office sat a steel bowl in a tall, thin metal pedestal. Something inside it was burning, and a thin stream of smoke was curling up from the bowl to the ceiling, where it was sucked into a ventilation shaft.

“That,” the professor said, “was a student’s term paper. That paper was an absolute disgrace! The very thought that a paper that bad existed on the same planet as – why -” The professor gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and then let out a long breath and sat back down in his chair. He paused for a few seconds, trying to regain his temper. “It had to go,” he said. “I had to burn it. There was just no other choice.”

“Wow,” Henry replied. “I thought you just burned all term papers out of tradition, or something. Do you mean that some students actually don’t get back an envelope full of ashes?”

“You’re getting off the subject,” Dr. Grimes replied. “We are here to talk about your grades. Frankly, young man, you are in trouble. Do you realize that – ”

“All of that is going to change,” Henry said. “That’s why I am here. See, look at this! I’ve got this term paper well under control.” He reached into his tattered book bag and took out a sheaf of papers, which he handed to Dr. Grimes. The professor gingerly took the stained, sticky papers from Henry and began looking through them. “What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.

“That,” Henry said proudly, “is the result of many hours’ hard work. I’ve been listening to you, professor; I’ve been taking your every word to heart. You’ve said over and over that we need to use original source material. I’ve heard you say a dozen times that we ought to go right to the source and form our own opinions. Isn’t that right?”

“That is certainly a good idea,” the professor agreed, as he browsed Henry’s paper. A smashed spider was sprawled across the center of one of the pages; the professor gingerly peeled it off. “I always try to do that myself. It’s much better to find out what was actually said instead of hearing someone’s opinion of what was actually said.”

“Exactly,” the student said. “Exactly. So when you assigned us to write our term paper I knew I had to go right to the source. My friend Jimmy thought I was crazy to use original Ahmanyan documents as source material. But me – I knew better. I needed that edge to keep my paper out of the fires of doom,” he said, looking at the burning receptacle in the corner. “I knew that if I used the original documents I could get the edge that would put my paper over the top. That would get me a guaranteed A for sure.”

Dr. Grimes looked at the ragged student with a mixture of surprise and admiration. “But the original source documents for the Ahmanyan culture are in Ahmanyan. That is a very difficult language to learn.”

“Not for me it wasn’t!” Henry said. “I had already taken three years of it – I am a linguist, you know. I’m actually getting a degree in the Ahmanyan language.”

“I had no idea,” Dr. Grimes said. “I congratulate you. That is a very challenging language; it took me ten years to become fluent in its various dialects.”

“So professor, I’ve gone back and retranslated some original source documents from the Ahmanyan culture. I’m basing my paper on those documents, drawing directly from the original sources, just as you suggested. That way I know that what I’m getting is totally accurate. My paper is going to be way better than everyone else’s!”

“And this is your paper?” Dr. Grimes asked, holding up the document as he tried to get it unstuck from his fingers.

“Oh no,” Henry said. “That is my source document – I just finished it last night. It is a translation of a key document in Ahmanyan history. You can’t imagine what a poor job others have done of interpreting their culture! Going right to the source was definitely worth it.”

While Henry sat in the rickety wooden chair and gloated, Dr. Grimes took a closer look at his paper. After reading it for a few minutes he began to frown, and the longer he read it the darker he looked. “Where on earth did you get this?” he asked, after he had finished reading the last page.

“In our library,” Henry said. “They have a whole collection of original documents. The one that document is based on looked the most interesting, so I picked it.”

“You are basing your entire paper – your entire term paper – on this document?” the professor asked.

“Of course! It’s completely different from all the others. There is material in that paper that just can’t be found anywhere else.”

Dr. Grimes laid the paper down on his desk and looked at the student. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Henry, but the document you translated is a forgery.”

“Ok,” Henry said slowly.

The professor cleared his throat and looked right into Henry’s eyes. “This document surfaced about twenty years ago. I was part of the group of scholars that was assigned to examine it. It was a very crude forgery, actually; the paper was from the wrong period, it used the wrong Ahmanyan dialect, and its history was highly suspect – to say nothing of its many inaccuracies. This document has been a known forgery for two decades; I’m certain that the library has it marked as such. Why did you think it was genuine?”

“I did see a notice attached to it,” Henry said, “but I didn’t pay it much attention. Its contents were so interesting that I knew I had to use it in my paper. It has some really amazing claims! I’m surprised it hasn’t turned the entire field of study on its head.”

“Henry, this is a forged document! All its claims are bogus.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m not that bad at my language studies, professor. I did a first-rate job of translating that – I know I did. I’m absolutely certain that I translated it correctly.”

“You may have done a fine job of translating it, Henry, but the document that you translated was worthless. You can’t base your paper on falsified material!”

“There’s nothing falsified about it, professor! My paper does a terrific job of quoting that document, and my translation is outstanding. I’m properly sourced and everything! This is the best paper I’ve ever written.”

“Let me try this again,” the professor said. “Maybe I’m not being clear. Do you see this paper?” he asked, holding up the student’s paper with a pair of tweezers.

“Yes,” Henry said.

“This paper is a translation of an Ahmanyan document,” he said slowly.

“That’s right,” the student agreed.

“That document is a forgery,” the professor said. “Nothing it says is accurate.”

“Right,” the student said. “I understand.”

“You translated a falsified document,” the professor continued. “Your information is all wrong.”

“Nonsense,” the student said. “My translation is perfect! I defy anyone to produce a better translation.”

Dr. Grimes turned green. “But your translation doesn’t matter if what you are translating is worthless!”

“My quotes are great!” Henry said. “Just wait and see! I’m using proper quotation syntax and everything. This will be the best paper on Ahmanyan agriculture that you’ve ever had.”

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Grimes said, as Henry took the paper and placed it back into his backpack. “What is the paper on?”

“Ancient agricultural techniques,” Henry said proudly. “We could do any civilization we wanted, but I picked Ahmanyan as a specialty. Their history is fascinating.”

“I don’t teach agriculture,” Dr. Grimes said. “I teach alien civilizations – CIV 410, CIV 440, and CIV 485. Alien agriculture is taught by Dr. Kirby.”

“Right,” the student said. “Dr. Kirby.”

“I’m Dr. Grimes,” the professor said. “I’m not Dr. Kirby.”

“Oh,” the student said. “Sorry about that.” He picked up his book bag and left, leaving Dr. Grimes alone in his office, holding his head in his hands.