Lit eZine Vol 9 | p-9 | FICTION | A Chance Meeting

SHORT STORY

A CHANCE MEETING
by Rakhima Imanaly

The deputy head of city administration searched hard for a translator with excellent knowledge of three languages. Never before had there been a foreign committee in this local southern rural region; it was the first meeting of regional heads with foreign representatives. The local administration did not want to lose face given the upcoming events. The problem was that the city authorities did not keep their translators; the deputy’s head was responsible for choosing the appropriate candidate from local schools. In the end, he addressed the rector of the local pedagogical institute, and in two days or so, there was a call to his secretary. 

After the telephone connection, he heard a young woman’s sweet, melodic voice, who resolutely asked him if he needed an interpreter. She presented herself as an English teacher from a pedagogical institute. She got an order from the rector to call him and inform him she was ready to be a translator for the time required. 

Although the voice was pleasant to hear, he heard the notes of independence and confidence, which spoke to the character of this young lady. Murat, the deputy head, was a good psychologist, an experienced organiser, and a subtle observer. He caught the first impression of this girl and was sure he was not mistaken.

They got acquainted early the next morning near her house. His driver silently drove the car and stopped quite at the edge of the road, where the lonely figure of a girl was outlined in the background of a silent street. She stood, not moving, waiting for the car to come closer, made a quiet reply, greeting

“Good morning,” and carefully took her place at the back of the car.

“What’s your name?” Murat asked.

“Shinar,” said the girl with a quiet dignity.

She was sitting alone, not speaking much, as the car ran out of the city and started moving up to the regional border, where, in two hours, they had to meet the foreign committee members. According to the schedule, they had to meet them at 9 am. and then bring them to the administration building. After that, their plan was to go to the residence, have dinner, and leave them for the night.

Late at night, several groups were near the residence. Among them were people from the local city administration and foreign committee members, whose errand was to observe, analyse, and evaluate the results of the elections. Foreign committee members were mostly men, accompanied by their translators, two attractive young women dressed in jeans and bright jackets. 

Shinar was with them, a slim girl with thick black hair tied in a bun. She wore a grey coat with an English collar, which opened her slender neck, a stand-up collar white blouse, and a national style astrakhan hat made from the wool of a young lamb. Her expression was attentive because she was performing simultaneous translation from English into her native language, sometimes to Russian and vice versa. 

Next to her stood Murat, a middle – aged man, quick in manners, with a lively face. From time to time, he dropped glances at the girl. Her proficiency as an interpreter made a deep impact on him. Now, he did not doubt the choice he had made. She was perfect, and it was a piece of good luck for him to find such a good interpreter.

During the dinner at the residence, which started rather late, there was still a lively conversation between the two parties. It was interesting and catching. The guests expressed their satisfaction and gratitude to the head of administration. The talk became slower and less official, and everyone was welcome to taste the national dishes served in the big, richly decorated room with a huge oval table in the middle. 

Murat cast a glance at the girl. The thin, tired face showed she was exhausted, but she tried to keep herself in her hands and not to show a trace of any fatigue. She hadn’t been eating for the whole day, thought Murat to himself. 

Leaning towards her, and almost in a whisper, he said, “Take some tea and food. There is a break.”

The girl smiled faintly back and took from his hand a kese – a national cup of hot tea without handles, poured by him from a porcelain teapot, put some salad and meat to her plate, and she ate a little without losing sight of the thread of the conversation at the table.

Everything was over at night. The guests left for their sleeping rooms. Murat and the interpreter also left the dwelling and sat in the car’s backseat. The working hours were over. The car headed straight for the city. They relaxed by listening to the soft music that the driver switched on. They started conversing. Murat asked her if she had translated before.

“No,” she said. “It’s my first meeting. I teach English to students, and I have never translated before.” Her voice sounded faded and tired.

“Why did you translate all the time?” he asked. “They had interpreters, and they could help you.”

“They were not inclined to interpret,” she answered. “They have no idea about our realia, and it’s difficult for them to do it professionally.”

The answer amazed him with its solid reasoning. They kept silent while the car was swiftly driving towards the city and then, along the dark, quiet, winding streets, through the night and darkness, towards her region. He suddenly felt compassion for her. He could not help getting rid of this feeling. Unexpectedly, without any words, he placed his hand over her hand. The girl started and took away her hand. No other word dropped from their lips while they were coming to her house.

She lived in an apartment block. Murat, who on no account wanted to hurt the girl, said, “Let me walk you to the door.” The inner politeness toward a person older than her prevented her from abrupt rejection. She opened the door with the key.

“May I enter?” Murat asked. Shinar hesitated, then nodded her head, and they entered the room. Murat looked around the room and guessed that she lived alone. It was modest and clean, with shelves along the wall, full of books, and a sofa opposite them.

“You are single,” he said, and then added with restraint, “And I am married. I have a wife and three children.”

The girl regarded him. “Do you mind if we meet next time and maintain acquaintance?” he added, keeping his eyes on her face, trying to catch its expression.

Shinar understood the underlying meaning of his question. The talk disgusted her. She lost her voice and had a cough. Upbringing and manners kept her from harsh words.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t need anyone. I live alone, and I enjoy my solitude. You know… there are so many beauties on the earth, and I want to see them all.”

Her cheeks became red, but the voice sounded quiet and resolute. Murat held himself back. “Thank you for your professional job,” he said in a dropped voice, still polite. Then he turned his back and closed the door carefully behind him. 

Shinar felt rage rising in her chest. She bolted the door after him without saying goodbye. She came up to the window and looked out. The car turned around and drove away. Shinar looked at the car and the man she had liked so much. 

“After all, he is honest and has no filthy mind,” she said, justifying him.

Then, tears of vexation, rage, and pity towards herself gushed from her eyes.