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First ProZ.com Translation Contest 2007: "First ProZ.com Translation Contest 2007" » English to Spanish » Entry by Nicholas Ferreira

Source text in English

Translation by Nicholas Ferreira (#30)

When she moved into his tiny house in Stroud, and took charge of his four small children, Mother was thirty and still quite handsome. She had not, I suppose, met anyone like him before. This rather priggish young man, with his devout gentility, his airs and manners, his music and ambitions, his charm, bright talk, and undeniable good looks, overwhelmed her as soon as she saw him. So she fell in love with him immediately, and remained in love for ever. And herself being comely, sensitive, and adoring, she attracted my father also. And so he married her. And so later he left her - with his children and some more of her own.

When he'd gone, she brought us to the village and waited. She waited for thirty years. I don't think she ever knew what had made him desert her, though the reasons seemed clear enough. She was too honest, too natural for this frightened man; too remote from his tidy laws. She was, after all, a country girl; disordered, hysterical, loving. She was muddled and mischievous as a chimney-jackdaw, she made her nest of rags and jewels, was happy in the sunlight, squawked loudly at danger, pried and was insatiably curious, forgot when to eat or ate all day, and sang when sunsets were red. She lived by the easy laws of the hedgerow, loved the world, and made no plans, had a quick holy eye for natural wonders and couldn't have kept a neat house for her life. What my father wished for was something quite different, something she could never give him - the protective order of an unimpeachable suburbia, which was what he got in the end.

The three or four years Mother spent with my father she fed on for the rest of her life. Her happiness at that time was something she guarded as though it must ensure his eventual return. She would talk about it almost in awe, not that it had ceased but that it had happened at all.
Mamá tenía treinta años y una apariencia todavía muy hermosa cuando se trasladó a la casita que él tenía en Stroud y asumió el cuidado de sus cuatro niñitos. Nunca había conocido a uno parecido, me imagino. Desde el primer instante, le abrumó este joven algo mojigato, de gentileza devota, con sus aires refinados, su afición musical, sus aspiraciones, su encanto, su elocuencia y atractivo innegable. De inmediato se enamoró de él, y enamorada para siempre quedó. Ella, hermosa, delicada y amante, también atrajo a mi padre. Así que se casó con ella. Y así después la dejó - con sus hijos de antes más los que tuvo con ella.

Cuando se marchó, ella nos llevó al pueblo y se puso a esperar. Treinta años de espera. Creo que nunca llegó a saber las causas de su deserción, por más claras que fueran. Su honestidad y naturalidad eran demasiado para este timorato, y no encajaban con su propio sistema de reglas. Después de todo, ella era de pueblo, desordenada, histérica, amante. Se parecía a una grajilla, confusa y traviesa. De trapos y de joyas forraba su nido. Se regocijaba en el sol, dando graznidos en peligro, siempre indagando con curiosidad insaciable. O se olvidaba de comer, o comía sin parar. Y a la puesta del sol colorado se ponía a cantar. Sus reglas de vida eran sencillas y primitivas. Amaba el mundo, y no tenía grandes planes. Fácilmente captaba las maravillas de la naturaleza, y no sabía cuidar la casa para nada. Lo que deseaba mi padre era algo completamente diverso, algo que ella nunca podría dar -- el orden protegido de un aburguesamiento intachable, lo que al final consiguió.

Los tres o cuatro años que Mamá pasó con mi padre le alimentaron durante el resto de su vida. Resguardaba su felicidad de aquella época como si garantizara su regreso futuro. Al referirse a aquella temporada, se conmovía no porque había terminado, sino porque alguna vez había acontecido.


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This translation received 4 votes and the following comments:
Beautiful !! A true writer.
I like this translation. You have my vote.
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