In a dimly lit conference room tucked away in a government building, a team of seasoned interpreters huddled around a long table strewn with documents, empty coffee cups, and half-eaten sandwiches. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted beans and the quiet tension of professionals who knew they were about to step into a linguistic minefield.
“We’ve got everything covered, right?” asked Marina, a veteran interpreter who had handled more tense exchanges than she cared to remember. She tapped a stack of papers on the table. “Character profiles, key points, strategy…”
“Trump’s a golf guy,” murmured Anton, flipping through his notes. “He makes decisions like he’s picking clubs on the fairway — laid-back, but sudden. Putin? He won’t budge an inch unless he’s convinced he’s the smartest guy in the room.”
“I’d say he only trusts his own shadow,” Marina added, half-joking.
The team had spent hours dissecting the personalities they would soon mediate between. Trump’s preference for warmth and friendly banter meant they had to soften any sharp edges. Putin’s rigid and guarded nature required precision and control.
“And if Zelensky’s future comes up?” Anton asked.
“We soften Trump’s words just enough,” Marina replied. “Less fire, more smoke. But not so much that Putin thinks we’re hiding something.”
“And if they start arguing?”
“Slow it down,” Marina said firmly. “Draw out the pauses. Give them time to cool off.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Everyone knew the stakes. The ceasefire talks had been walking a tightrope since the Jeddah meeting, and any slip could unravel weeks of progress.
Just then, a staffer poked his head in. “You’re on in five,” he said.
The interpreters stood, gathered their papers, and filed into the adjoining room where a tangle of headsets and microphones awaited. Marina slid her earpiece on and adjusted her mic.
Moments later, Trump’s voice crackled through the line — casual, almost cheerful.
“Vlad! Good to talk to you!”
Putin’s reply came cold and clipped. The pleasantries didn’t last long before the conversation turned to troop movements and ceasefire conditions.
When the topic of Zelensky arose, Trump’s tone sharpened. “Look, we can’t have Zelensky running around stirring up trouble during the ceasefire.”
Marina instinctively softened her delivery, turning his bluntness into a firm but measured statement.
Putin’s reply was curt. “If Kyiv breaks the truce, there will be consequences.”
As the discussion shifted to Ukraine’s mineral resources, Trump’s voice began rising.
“I don’t see why Russia should get a cut of the uranium fields! Ukraine needs that for its recovery!”
Marina glanced at Anton. He gave a slight nod — slow it down.
Her interpretation unfolded deliberately, almost lazily, stretching each sentence like taffy. The heated rhythm of the conversation stumbled, giving both leaders a few extra seconds to rein in their emotions.
In those quiet gaps, the fire dimmed.
After an hour, the call ended. The room of interpreters exhaled in unison. Marina slumped in her chair, peeling off her headset.
“Nice work,” Anton said, raising his paper cup of now-cold coffee.
“To keeping the world in one piece,” Marina muttered, lifting her cup in return.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
Trump plans to call Putin on March 18 to discuss war in Ukraine
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