with the Bloody Monkeys, in with Nikhil Banerjee.
Hey! Marie said, lifting her head. Who said you could do that?
I’m looking for Benny. He around?
No, she said, and put her head back down.
Yo! Girlie! Look at me!
Marie looked up, confused. I could see her T-shirt now: cotton-candy pink with glittered words: All-American Girl—which I guess explained the star-spangled hair.
Where is he? It’s important.
Out, she said, blinking.
I took out my cell phone and called Benny. I could hear the phone ringing in the Annex, then I heard Benny—in stereo, as it were.
Sleeping Beauty says you’re out, I said, glaring at Marie, who was upright now and pinching her cheeks. Benny laughed and walked down the stairs.
Wanna share the joke with the rest of the class? I said, putting my phone away.
Benny introduced us. I was a “talented writer,” Marie an “innovative artist.”
Grab a table, he said. I’ll be with you in a sec.
As I started toward Benny’s ad hoc café, I heard him say: You okay, pumpkin?
To borrow my daughter’s language: it made me want to puke.
Then, heaven help me, the girl began to cry.
•
It was ten long minutes before Benny made his way to the table.
You didn’t say anything, did you? he asked.
What could I have said? She said you were out.
She’s on some new meds. They’re making her sensitive.
Whatever , I thought, unsure why she should stir such emotions—in either of us, for I hadn’t mistaken the look in his eye.
Two visits in two days! he said. To what do I owe the pleasure? That it? he asked, and walked two fingers toward my folder. I pulled it away.
You can’t, can you? he asked.
Not really.
But maybe you can tell me what you think? Broad impressions?
I, uh, haven’t read it yet.
Benny raised his shaggy eyebrows.
I was on my way to Joe’s, I said. I was going to read it there.
And somehow you ended up here?
To buy presents, I said. For Andi, and Ahmad.
Presents?
Books.
I guessed that. You have Romei’s first work in I don’t know how many years and you’re buying presents?
Something like that.
Hmm, Benny said, grinning.
What’s so funny?
What are you getting them?
I was hoping you’d suggest something.
I have a new Selected Poems by Pessoa that Ahmad would like and, uh, three dozen Nancy Drews to pick from for Andi. Ahmad’s been buying them in alphabetical order, so if you start with the last book you should be safe …
The last book being?
The Witch Tree Symbol …
You don’t know that!
I do, he said.
I laughed.
But what a cad I am! he said, rising. Would you like some ginger beer?
Sure, sweetie, that would be nice.
Benny raised his eyebrows again. Sweetie? he seemed to ask. I gave him a look that said, Term of endearment, goofball . And blushed, damn my susceptible cheeks.
•
While Benny got the ginger beer, I got the books, and congratulated myself on a win-win excuse. Andi and Ahmad deserved to share in my good fortune. I threw in a Pessoa bio and The Wild Cat Crime for good measure.
Benny returned with bottles and bendable straws, Marla following.
You can’t tell me about the work, he said, but you can tell me how you’ll go about it, right? I’ve translated a few poems here and there, but I can’t say I have a method. I’ll bet you do.
Marla had jumped onto Benny’s lap and was now batting his beard lazily with her paw.
You want to know my method? he said.
Is that weird?
I laughed.
I use a Buber-Rosenzweig leitwort approach, I said. Not as fancy as it sounds. When Buber and Rosenzweig translated the Bible into German, they always translated the same word the same way. They didn’t look for “pleasant-sounding” variations; they didn’t translate “according to context.” “White” didn’t become “cream” so it could rhyme with …
Bream.
Exactly. Words echoed the way words are supposed to, like leitmotifs in music.
Benny was smiling.
What? I asked.
I know Buber, he said. I know Rosenzweig.
Sorry, I
Alexis Abbott, Alex Abbott