The Oldest Profession in the World

**soubiri** · 07-08-2006, 06:38 AM

The Oldest Profession in the World by Tim Nicholson - tnichols@sarenet.es reprinted with permission of the author <pre dir="ltr">My first contact with the world of translation was in <state w:st="on" /><place w:st="on" />Madrid</place /></state /> in the early 1980s where I was living in a garret flat, my only source of income a monthly wad of notes pressed into my hand by an unregistered staff member of the Irish embassy at a prearranged venue.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> It was on a balmy evening in late spring that I first met Amaia who was working the terraces in the Plaza Mayor. Of course I had seen the "palabreras" before, shuffling from table to table offering cheap translations, with one eye over their shoulders for the police, but I had always avoided entering into conversation with such people. Amaia, however, was different. Unlike the others, she held her head proudly, and her first words were: "Any of these (she waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the other translators on the beat) could do the job in half the time and for half of my price, but if you believe that quality is worth paying for,I'm the one you're looking for". I had been brought up a strict monolinguist, and I was instinctively repulsed by her offer, but I invited her to stay for a drink with me.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> After that, we began to meet regularly, though in all the time I knew her I never once paid for her to translate for me. Her story was all too familiar. She had had a respectable job as a prostitute, working in some of the better clubs in the area, but desperation and an ugly knife scar across her right cheek had led her into the sordid world of translation. Her brother, Javier, sent by the family to <state w:st="on" /><place w:st="on" />Madrid</place /></state /> to try to rescue her from immorality, had fallen into the same trap. The first time I met him I knew from the glazed eyes, ghoulish stare and nervous inability to stay quiet that he was a simultaneous interpreter.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> After a change of government in Ireland and a new policy on international "diplomacy" even my pitiful income for "information" had dried up, and I eventually went to live with Amaia and Javier and inevitably to work with them. Despite the apparent misery of our existence, they were not unhappy times. I worked mainly as a "frilansa", having learnt from my new friends to avoid the agencies, which tempted innocent young translators in with promises of steady work and careful client control, but which always ended up sapping the spirit of even the hardiest, forcing them to work unbelievable hours at low pay, and never allowing them the chance to turn down a trick, whatever the subject matter.</pre><pre> </pre><pre dir="ltr">Of course, we were continually hounded by the police, and could not afford the back-handers paid by the agencies to keep the Civil Guard away. On many occasions I was forced by unscrupulous policemen to do free work for them, and on a few occasions even ended up doing court translations. Eventually though, my luck ran out, and I spent six months in Carabanchel for "comercio linguistico con el agravante de estilo libre". Naturally we were deprived of all writing instruments in the cell; no paper, no pencils, just an old Apple Mac, sarcastically referred to as a computer by the wardens. I found it easier to use dried excrement to mark the walls with.<pre></pre></pre><pre dir="ltr"> After Amaia's tragic death, Javier went gradually downhill, working first in a cheap agency and then translating computer manuals. When I last heard from him he had become a lawyer.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> I drifted north to the Basque Country. On her death bed, Amaia had asked me to visit her parents but not to tell them how she had spent her final years, and when I eventually found them, a poor but proud family of sheep farmers, I assured them that she had managed to get away from the world of translation and had been working in a strip club near Cuatro Caminos.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> As for myself, once exposed to the "mundillo" of professional linguistics, I could never escape. These days, Spanish law is more lenient towards us.</pre><pre dir="ltr">The revised Penal Code practically legalises translation, stating in the preamble that "...while the practise is generally considered vile and repulsive, [...] and condemned by many religious groups, it is our opinion that it is a necessary evil, and that no attempt on the part of the legislators will ever succeed in entirely ridding society of the practice.</pre><pre dir="ltr"> We also consider that legalisation of translation may help to ensure that it is carried out under better and more salutary conditions".</pre><pre dir="ltr"> I am always heartened by the support of LANTRA*. Who would have thought just a few years ago that so many people from all over the world would be</pre><pre dir="ltr">prepared to stand up in public and admit "I am a translator".</pre>* Editor's note: LANTRA-L is one of the best translators list available on the Internet. For more information go to: <a href="http://www.geocities.com/Athens/7110/lantra.htm">http://www.geocities.com/Athens/7110/lantra.htm</a> <a href="http://www.xlation.com/essays/tnicholson.php">http://www.xlation.com/essays/tnicholson.php</a>

The Oldest Profession in the World

The Oldest Profession in the World

إحصائيات Arabic Translators International _ الجمعية الدولية لمترجمي العربية