What do you lose when you translate too well?

I’ve been staring at a footnote for twenty minutes—just a single sentence in the original, but it became a paragraph in translation. Not because I wanted to explain, but because I couldn’t bear to leave it unburdened. Now I wonder: is the act of translating not just rendering meaning, but confessing what can’t be said? And if so, what does the reader gain—and what do they lose—when every ghost is named?