“Can you translate?”
When you meet a girl in a foreign place where your words become useless because of the language barrier, you either resort to your own inventive sign language or use an intermediary to convey what you feel. Both has disadvantages, though.
Once upon a time in the City of Pines, I befriended a local guy who boasted the he was a field employee of the Public Works department. He was assigned to inspect ongoing projects in the area.
We got along just fine, especially when bottles became empty during our drinking sprees. He would often impress me with his vagabond life which included his affairs with women. I was not sure if all the bragging was true or an invention of his creative mind, but what was important to me then was his command of the local dialect.
In our boarding house, there was a prep teacher I often glance at whenever I went out. She taught on the ground floor classroom. Sometimes, she caught me peeking in the window, trying to check on her. I was sure she was delighted with the overt attention.
Naturally, I planned to get to second base. My translator agreed to accompany me: sober please, I requested. In a funny way, I also agreed to give him free drinks unconditionally.
The three-way conversation was rather awkward in the beginning. I spoke. He translated. She listened. She replied. He translated. I listened. You get the drift?
Gradually, I felt being on the losing end when I became less involved in the conversation. I was not even sure if their laughter was about my proposition or was it just about me personally.
Well, to cut the story short. She was added to his list of women in his life. I was left empty handed.
I could not say if I was sad because of my failure to win her heart. I contented myself downing the free drinks he sent my way as consolation for my role.