Lost in translation

Mohammed Fakir was in his thirties, dark haired, stocky and short. He was strong, though, and spoke good English. He was preparing for his meeting with his new boss Coldham Fintan Noose III. He liked him, whom he called Mr. Fin. The tall, blond American was not very fussy and didn’t put on any airs. As a boss he was fair too.

 

Mohammed knocked on the door and entered when he was invited into Mr. Fin’s sanctum. Mohammed realized immediately something was wrong with his boss. Mr. Fin had a tan, but he seemed white underneath it. After some small talk they went on to discuss the roster. “Aaban would like to change shifts with me next week only.” Mr. Fin didn’t react. “Ehm.” Mohammed cleared his throat. Mr. Fin looked embarrassed and apologized for being absent minded. He agreed to the change, if Mohammed wanted to do so. This was another thing Mohammed liked about his boss. Mr. Fin left a lot of freedom to his security team. As long as the building site was protected he didn’t meddle too much. The same went for the work schedule. Mr. Fin created the roster, gave it to Mohammed, who checked with his colleagues if it was okay and came back to Mr. Fin to discuss changes and preferences.

They moved on to other business. “Zunnoon is getting married and we want to buy him a gift. Would you like to contribute?” Mr. Fin was miles away in his thoughts. Mohammed coughed to get his attention. His boss was sorry. Normally Mr. Fin was totally focused and sharp minded, so Mohammed wondered what had ruffled his feathers. Mr. Fin said: “I must apologize. Do you think we can take a short break? It's nearly lunch time. Do you know a good Chinese?" Mohammed didn’t know exactly what lunch and a good Chinese had to do with each other. He hadn’t encountered any Chinese before, so he had to research who was suitable and come back to Fin. At least he had a clue where to start. He was befriended with the head of security of the Chinese Embassy in Dhaka and thought his friend would be able to help him.

His friend gave him the phone number of a suitable person. It took Mohammed some time to convince Mr. Lim Zhuang Da to come urgently to Fin’s office. Mohammed proudly presented the Chinese to Mr. Fin, who burst out laughing. Mohammed wondered what was so funny. Mr. Fin said: “Pardon me.” He still giggled. Calming down he continued: “Well, thank you for your effort, Mohammed.” Mr. Fin surprised Mohammed and Mr. Lim by switching to Mandarin. Then he switched back to English, so that both could understand him: “Mohammed, I’m impressed you could organize a meeting with Mr. Lim so quickly and without a lot of prior notice. I will remember that. Mr. Lim, would you be able to recommend a restaurant serving excellent Egg Fu Yung?” Mr. Fin’s lips were twitching. Mohammed suddenly realized Mr. Fin had asked for a good Chinese restaurant, not a person. Mr. Fin had been diplomatic and thank goodness not caused Mohammed to lose face in front of Mr. Lim and taken it with humor. All understood the implications, though, and soon were laughing about it. “Of course. The Red Dragon is famous for it.” Mr. Lim replied, when they had caught their breath again. Mr. Fin invited Mr. Lim and Mohammed for lunch, who agreed to join him.

Lunch and having something to laugh about seemed to have restored Mr. Fin’s equilibrium. He was focused again on work.

©2017