This site uses cookies.
Some of these cookies are essential to the operation of the site,
while others help to improve your experience by providing insights into how the site is being used.
For more information, please see the ProZ.com privacy policy.
This person has a SecurePRO™ card. Because this person is not a ProZ.com Plus subscriber, to view his or her SecurePRO™ card you must be a ProZ.com Business member or Plus subscriber.
Affiliations
This person is not affiliated with any business or Blue Board record at ProZ.com.
Services
Translation, Transcription
Expertise
Specializes in:
Poetry & Literature
Media / Multimedia
Music
Cooking / Culinary
Games / Video Games / Gaming / Casino
General / Conversation / Greetings / Letters
History
Anthropology
Philosophy
Religion
Also works in:
Social Science, Sociology, Ethics, etc.
More
Less
Rates
Portfolio
Sample translations submitted: 1
English to Portuguese: Excerpt from the book "Nine Stories" by J. D. Salinger General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English "This is my last. And I mean it," Mary Jane said, picking up her drink. "Oh, listen! You know who I saw last week? On the main floor of Lord & Taylor's?"
"Mm-hm," said Eloise, adjusting a pillow under her head. "Akim Tamiroff."
"Who?" said Mary Jane. "Who's he?"
"Akim Tamiroff. He's in the movies. He always says, `You make beeg joke--hah?' I love him. . . . There isn't one damn pillow in this house that I can stand. Who'd you see?"
"Jackson. She was--"
"Which one?"
"I don't know. The one that was in our Psych class, that always--" "Both of them were in our Psych class." "Well. The one with the terrific--"
"Marcia Louise. I ran into her once, too. She talk your ear off?"
"God, yes. But you know what she told me, though? Dr. Whiting's dead. She said she had a letter from Barbara Hill saying Whiting got cancer last summer and died and all. She only weighed sixty-two pounds. When she died. Isn't that terrible?"
"No."
"Eloise, you're getting hard as nails."
"Mm. What else'd she say?"
"Oh, she just got back from Europe. Her husband was stationed in Germany or something, and she was with him. They had a forty-seven-room house, she said, just with one other couple, and about ten servants. Her own horse, and the groom they had, used to be Hitler's own private riding master or something. Oh, and she started to tell me how she almost got raped by a colored soldier. Right on the main floor of Lord & Taylor's she started to tell me--you know Jackson. She said he was her husband's chauffeur, and he was driving her to market or something one morning. She said she was so scared she didn't even--"
"Wait just a second." Eloise raised her head and her voice. "Is that you, Ramona?"
"Yes," a small child's voice answered.
"Close the front door after you, please," Eloise called.
"Is that Ramona? Oh, I'm dying to see her. Do you realize I haven't seen her since she had her--"
"Ramona," Eloise shouted, with her eyes shut, "go out in the kitchen and let Grace take your galoshes off."
"All right," said Ramona. "C'mon, Jimmy."
"Oh, I'm dying to see her," Mary Jane said. "Oh, God! Look what I did. I'm terribly sorry, El."
"Leave it. Leave it," said Eloise. "I hate this damn rug anyway. I'll get you another."
"No, look, I have more than half left!" Mary Jane held up her glass.
"Sure?" said Eloise. "Gimme a cigarette."
Mary Jane extended her pack of cigarettes, saying "Oh, I'm dying to see her. Who does she look like now?"
Eloise struck a light. "Akim Tamiroff."
"No, seriously."
Translation - Portuguese “Esse é meu último. Estou falando sério,” disse Mary Jane, pegando seu drinque. “Ah, escuta! Sabe quem eu vi semana passada? No andar principal da Lord & Taylor?”
“Aham,” disse Eloise, ajustando uma almofada atrás da cabeça. “Akim Tamiroff”.
“Quem?” disse Mary Jane. “Quem é ele?”
“Akim Tamiroff, dos filmes. Ele sempre diz, ‘Você faz grande piada—ah?’ Eu amo ele… Não tem uma única almofada que preste nessa casa. Quem você viu?”
“Jackson. Ela estava—”
“Qual?”
“Não sei. Aquela da nossa turma de psicologia, que sempre—”
“As duas estavam na nossa turma de psicologia.”
“Bom, aquela com aquele magnífico—”
“Marcia Louise. Encontrei ela uma vez também. Ela não parou de tagarelar?
“Deus, exatamente. Mas você sabe o que ela me disse, a propósito? Dra. Whiting morreu. Ela disse que recebeu uma carta da Barbara Hill dizendo que Whiting teve câncer no último verão, morreu e tudo… Ela só pesava vinte e oito quilos. Quando ela morreu. Não é terrível?
“Não”
“Eloise, você está sendo muito insensível.”
“Hum. Que mais ela disse?”
“Ah, ela acabou de voltar da Europa. O marido dela estava lotado na Alemanha ou coisa assim e ela estava com ele. Eles tinham uma casa de quarenta e sete cômodos, ela disse, com só mais um casal e cerca de dez empregados. Tinha seu próprio cavalo, e o cavalariço deles foi professor de equitação particular do Hitler ou coisa assim. Ah, e ela começou a me dizer como ela quase foi estuprada por um soldado de cor. Bem no andar principal da Lord & Taylor, ela começou a me dizer—você conhece a Jackson. Ela disse que ele era motorista do marido dela e estava levando ela pro mercado ou sei lá o quê, numa manhã. Disse que estava tão nervosa que nem mesmo—”
“Só um segundo.” Eloise levantou a cabeça e aumentou o tom de voz. “É você, Ramona?”
“Sim,” a voz de uma menininha respondeu.
“Feche a porta quando entrar, por favor,” pediu Eloise.
“É a Ramona? Ah, estou morrendo de vontade de vê-la. “Você sabe que eu não a vejo desde que ela teve seu—”
“Ramona,” gritou Eloise, com os olhos fechados, “vá até a cozinha e deixe Grace tirar suas galochas.”
“Tá bom,” disse Ramona. “Vem, Jimmy.”
“Meu Deus, como eu quero vê-la,” disse Mary Jane. “Ai! olha só o que eu fiz. Sinto muito mesmo, El.”
“Deixa, deixa,” disse Eloise. “Eu odeio, mesmo, esse maldito tapete. Vou pegar outro pra você.”
“Não, olha, ainda tem mais da metade!” Mary Jane levantou seu copo.
“Tem certeza?” disse Eloise, “Me dá um cigarro.”
“Mary Jane estendeu seu maço de cigarros, dizendo “Ah, estou morrendo de vontade de vê-la. Com quem ela parece agora?”
Eloise riscou um fósforo. “Akim Tamiroff.”
“Não, sério.”
More
Less
Experience
Years of experience: 3. Registered at ProZ.com: Jan 2021.
Expertise