¡Hola, ciudadanos de Steem!
Un saludo especial a mis paisanos en @VenezolanosSteem :)
¿Alguna vez han sentido aún en casa a esa persona que ya no está?
El relato que sigue evoca esta circunstancia. Debajo, mi traducción al inglés. Agradezco de antemano su lectura y si algo quisieran comentar, me complacerá mucho responder.
¡Hello, Steemizens!
Have you ever felt that person, now gone, still around the house?
The story that follows evokes this circumstance. Below, my translation into English. Your reading is much appreciated, and I'd be delighted to reply should you have any comments.
Tiene que ser el gato
Foto propia
Tiene que ser el gato. Elvira se aferra al mango del cepillo y masculla una palabrería ininteligible. No aguza la vista; se queda lejos. El Tato —el gato—, disfruta de las acostumbradas caricias, como si nada hubiera pasado. Aún es muy temprano; apenas aclara, pero Elvira termina muy rápido de limpiar el patio y ahora se va a la cocina a terminar el desayuno; mientras se desplaza de un mesón a otro en medio de los ecos vacíos de la casa silenciosa, piensa que después de la muerte de la abuela, la casa de los Fernández no se siente igual y teme por las cosas que no quiere ver.
La señora y el señor al fin han despertado. Son dos figuras tristes que entran a la cocina y se dejan sentar por el peso de sus propios cuerpos. Elvira los acompaña solo cinco minutos y se despide.
Mientras están en la mesa, Gabriel le toma a la mano a su inconsolable esposa y con la otra toma la taza de café caliente y se la acerca a la nariz. Toma. Se le ha devuelto a su voz una dulzura juvenil que hacía tiempo tendría que haberse extinguido. Ella le sonríe y toma la taza, pero sus labios nunca la tocan. _Me siento muy vieja para ser huérfana, Gabriel.
En el patio, El Tato asedia a una lagartija. Ya la ha masticado un poco y le ha comido la cola; inexplicablemente, el diminuto reptil se aferra a la vida. Tal vez no volverá a dejar su sitio seguro, una grieta entre las piedras coloradas del estanque; tal vez la muerte lo encontrará allí. El Tato escucha la voz cariñosa de su ama y regresa a los pies de la mecedora, sin quitar la vista del escondrijo.
Adentro, Gabriel se prepara para limpiar el cobertizo. Era una estructura antiquísima, aún de pie, donde solía haber unos pocos animales de cría. Durante muchos años, al menos cuatro décadas, Clara se sentó allí a tomar primer café del día; y siguió haciéndolo luego de que su marido muriera. Su esposa le dice que no, que deje todo igual, que su madre aún pasa allí las mañanas. Gabriel la mira con los ojos muy abiertos. Tiene que ser el gato, le dice. Elvira dice que tiene que ser el gato, que la espera junto a la mecedora cuando todavía está oscuro. Tú sabes que ella amaba ese gato.
It Must Be the Cat
My picture
It must be the cat. Elvira clings to the handle of the sweeping brush and mutters unintelligible words. She doesn't squint; she keeps a safe distance. Kato -the cat-, enjoys the usual petting, as if nothing had happened. It is still very early; it is dawning, but Elvira finishes cleaning the backyard very quickly, and then she goes to the kitchen to finish breakfast; while she moves from one table to another amidst the empty echoes of the silent house, she thinks that after the death of the grandmother, the house does not feel the same, and she fears for what those things she does not want to see may bring upon the Fernandezes.
Mrs. and Mr. have finally waken up. They are two sad figures entering the kitchen and letting themselves be seated pulled by the weight of their own bodies. Elvira accompanies them for only five minutes and says goodbye.
While they are at the table, Gabriel takes his inconsolable wife's hand and with the other one he takes the cup of hot coffee and brings it close to her nose. Just a sip. A youthful sweetness, which should have died out long ago, has returned to his voice. She smiles at him and takes the cup, but her lips never touch it. I feel too old to be an orphan, Gabriel.should have died out long ago, has returned to his voice. She smiles at him and takes the cup, but her lips never touch it. I feel too old to be an orphan, Gabriel.
In the courtyard, Kato is teasing a lizard. He has already chewed it a little and eaten its tail; inexplicably, the tiny reptile clings to life. Perhaps it will never leave its safe place again, a crevice between the colored stones of the pond; perhaps death will find it there. Kato hears the loving voice of his mistress and returns to the foot of the rocking chair, not taking his eyes off the hiding place.
Inside, Gabriel prepares to clean the backyard shed. It was a very old structure, still standing, where the family used to keep some livestock. For many years, at least four decades, Clara sat there to have her first coffee of the day; and she continued to do so after her husband died. His wife tells him not to clean the place; she begs him to leave everything the same, as her mother still spends her mornings there. Gabriel looks at her puzzled, his eyes wide open: Clara is dead, Juanita. It has to be the cat, she says. Elvira says it has to be the cat, waiting for her by the rocking chair when it's still dark. You know she loved that cat.
Gracias por leer. /Thanks for your reading.