On being a mystical interpreter in Scottish courtrooms

Interpreting in court in Scotland I stand beside the booth of the accused. "Milord, could I ask the fiscal to speak slowly so as to allow the interpreter to translate to the accused," I say, interrupting the fiscal and  addressing a judge wearing a neat gray, curly wig and starched white collars. The solicitor defending the accused mumbles through tattered black robes that resemble the wings of an old bat or vampire. When the accused speaks, I say, "I'm guilty" or "I'm not guilty." When referring to myself, I speak in the third person, saying "the interpreter." When the solicitor refers to himself, I say in Spanish, "if I could ask your Lordship to consider..." Etc. I am all the "I"s in the room, my goal is to disappear, to become simply a transparent medium, a facilitator for others' speech. I do not have a name, I am anyone who speaks. There is something truly mystical in being an interpreter, sitting at the heart of all these matters that have nothing to do with me but which become temporarily my own. Becoming many different people, allowing myself to be the embodiment of countless selves.