El modesto misterio

Salvando Vidas

José Fernández

 Chapter 2: The Seven Most Common Mistakes (Los Siete Errores Más Comunes)

Cada Persona es un mundo y por supuesto tiene su propia historia, pero en los años que llevo ayudando a la gente a bajar de peso me he encontrado con que muchos de ellos se tropiezan con la misma piedra al intentar perder peso.

Every person is their own world and therefore has their own history. However, in the years that I have been helping people lose weight I have found that many of them stumble over the same stone.

Las dos palabras de moda son “sin grasa”, que en ingles se le dice “fat free”, Y cómo confiamos en esas dos palabritas que en realidad no dicen nada! Pero para algunos es todo lo que necesitan ver para comprar un product. Recuerda algo importantísimo: la “satanizada” grasa no es lo único que te hace engordar. Aquí el asunto primordial son las etiquetas con el contenido nutricional que, por ley, deben venir en todos los productos, y la parte más importante de esas etiquetas está donde dice “porciones” (o “servings” en ingles).

The two buzz words are “fat free”, in Spanish is “sin grasa , and we trust those two words that in reality do not say anything! However, for some people it’s all they need to see to buy a product. Remember something very important: Fat is not the only thing that will make you gain weight. The food labels are primordial with the nutritional content that, by law, should come with every product, and the most important part in the labels is where the “servings” are indicated (o “porciones” in Spanish).

Al Principio de este capítulo te decía que cada ser es único e irrepetible. Pues bien, eso es exactamente lo que debes tener en cuenta a la hora de hacer la dieta que hizo bajar mas de diez libras a tu vecino en solo una semana, o el regimen de la sopa con la que tu actriz facorita se puso fabulosa para su película mas reciente.

  At the beginning of this chapter I was telling you that every individual is unique and irreplaceable. Well, that is exactly what you should take into account when making a diet, what made your neighbor lose 10 pounds in a week, or the plan in which the soup of your favorite actress made her look fabulous for her most recent movie.

Tinkers (2009) the first book Paul Harding published. It won the Pulitzer prize. The book is very simple in its use of language, but to use simple language while keeping the reader captivated you must master it. This book speaks about an old tinker dying in his house  because he suffers from epilepsy. Harding takes us through with the  metaphor of  the clock during the entire time .

I found this interesting for my project as this book is full of descriptions and metaphor while being simple. Let’s see how we can keep the voice and render the same effect in Spanish.

The text title 22 comes from the El Futuro no es Nuestro: Narradores de latinoamerica, published in 2008 By Diego Trelles Paz.

22

Ahora el espacio lo ocupaba otro coche, un coche rojo y nuevo, compacto, brilloso y vacío, y no aquel Mónaco enorme, viejo y gris, oxidado y con las llantas bajas, habitado.

Now the space is occupied by another car, a new red one, compact, shiny and empty, not that huge old grey Monaco, rusty, with flat tires, that someone just to live in. 

Me volví a verla, le dije:

“I turned  to her, and said:”

-Ya no está el hombre del automóvil.

“The car guy is gone”

Me dijo:

“She said:”

No

“No”

-Ya me había dado cuenta.

“I’d already noticed”

-No te lo dije antes.

“I didn’t tell you before”

No me lo dijo antes, no sé porqué, pero no pensé en eso, no en ese momento.

She didn’t tell me before, I don’t know why, but I didn’t think about it at that moment.

Entonces pensé en el lustro que llevaba viviendo allí, a una cuadra del hombre del automóvil, en un departamento de un ambiente, un estudio, y pensé en la mudanza, en el departamento nuevo, en las dos recámaras y la estancia, en la coincidencia de la desaparición del Mónaco gris y su habitante y nuestro cambio de casa, de mi espacio de soltero, rentado, a nuestro hogar de pareja, propio.

Then I thought about the past five years I had been living there, a block away from the car guy, in a studio, I thought about the move to the new apartment, the two bedrooms and  the living room, the coincidence of the disappearance of the grey Monaco and the guy that lived in it, with our change of home, from my rented space as a single, to our own home as a couple.  

Según contaban, el hombre del automóvil llevaba cerca de 22 años estacionado allí.

They said, the car guy has been parked there for about 22 years.

Imaginé lo peor.

I imagined the worst.

Se habían llevado el Mónaco cuando él estaba dando uno de sus paseos solitarios, pensé.

I thought, the Monaco was taken when he was taking one of his lonely walks,.

 A su regreso, el coche no estaba más allí.

And when he returned, the car was no longer there.

No imaginé lo contrario, que él había desaparecido primero, luego el Mónaco, su casa.

I didn’t imagine the opposite, that he has disappeared first, then the Monaco, his home.

Nunca se cruzaron nuestras miradas y, hasta donde sé, a él mi existencia lo tuvo sin cuidado durante los cerca de cinco años que fuimos vecinos.

As far as I know, our gazes never met, my existence did not concern him during the nearly five years we were neighbors.

Yo lo observaba a él, siempre.

I always observed him.

Siempre que pasaba junto al Mónaco me asomaba por una de sus ventanas traseras, para ver si el hombre del automóvil estaba allí.

Every time I walked by the Monaco, I peeked through one of the back windows to see if the guy was there.

Cuando me lo cruzaba caminando, lo miraba de reojo, su andar encorvado, en pos de aquellos ojos evasivos, mejor aún, ausentes, pequeños, casi cerrados, detrás de unas lentes de graduación altísima.

When I met him walking, his bowed walk, I looked at him from the corner of my eye, towards those evasive, even better, absent, small, almost close eyes, behind his thick lenses.

¿Qué hacía él, el hombre del automóvil, además de remendar, una y otra vez, ensimismado, su único saco, un saco de hacía 22 años?

The car guy, in addition to mending his only jacket over and over again for 22 years, distracted and aloof, what did he do?

El asiento de atrás del Mónaco estaba lleno de bolsas de plástico, ¿rellenas de qué?

The Monaco’s back seat was full of plastic bags, filled with what?

 Bolsas de plástico y cajas de cartón desarmadas, los muros y las ventanas de su rara, estacionada recámara, su hogar aparcado.

The plastic bags and flat cardboard boxes were walls and windows of his weird parked home and bedroom.

                  Publicado en el año 2001                                   Autora: Wendelin Van Draanen

Bryce vs Juli

Título: Flipped

Opción de Traducciones: Volteado, Al Revés, Dos Versiones, Cambio

Título del Capitulo: Diving Under

Opción de Traducciones: Esquivando(la), Huyendo,

All I ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off – you know, just give me some space.

            It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we’re now about done with the eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.

Lo único que siempre quise es que Juli Baker me dejara en paz. Que se alejara – ya sabes, que me dé un poco de espacio.

Todo comenzó el verano antes del segundo grado cuando nuestro camión de mudanzas llego a su vecindario. Como ahora ya casi terminamos con el octavo grado, eso, mi amigo, hace más de media década de evasión estratégica e incomodidad social.

She didn’t just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life.

Ella no solo irrumpió en mi vida. Ella irrumpió, empujo y se incrusto en mi vida.

“What are you doing? You’re getting mud everywhere!” So true, too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff.

“¿Que estás haciendo? ¡Estas embarrando de lodo en todas partes! (¡Estas embarrando todo de lodo!/ ¡estas llenando todo de lodo!) “Y si era verdad. Sus zapatos estaban cubiertos de eso (de esa cosa).

This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind.

Este era el principio de la gran destreza que desarrollaría de que la niña no entiende indirectas. De ningún tipo.

My father looks to where she’s pointing and mutters “Oh Boy.” Then he looks at me and winks as he says, “Bryce, isn’t it time for you to go inside and help your mother?”

Mi padre mira hacia donde ella está apuntando y murmura “Oh Cielos.” Después, el me mira y me guiña el ojo mientras dice, “Bryce, ¿acaso no es hora de que vayas adentro y ayudes a tu madre?”

Mrs. Yelson tried to explain this attack away as a “welcome hug,” but man, that was no hug. That was a front-line, take-‘em-down tackle. And even though I shook her off, it was too late. I was branded for life. Everyone jeered, “Where’s your girl friend, Bryce?” “Are you married yet, Bryce?” And then when she chased me around at recess and tried to lay kisses on me, the whole school started singing, “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”  

La Sra. Yelson trato de explicar este ataque como un “abrazo de bienvenida,” pero hombre, eso no fue un abrazo.  Eso fue una tacleada de primera línea. Y aunque me la quite de encima, ya era demasiado tarde. Estaba marcado de por vida. Todos se burlaban, “¿Donde está tu novia, Bryce?” “¿Ya están casados, Bryce?” Y después cuando ella me perseguía durante el receso (recreo) y trataba de darme besos, toda le escuela empezaba a cantar, “Bryce y Juli sentados en un árbol, B-E-S-A-N-D-O-S-E”

Third grade wasn’t much better. She was still hot on my trail every time I turned around.

El tercer grado no fue mejor. Ella seguía detrás de mí cada vez que volteaba.

The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic. Something in his eyes. They’re blue, and framed in the blackness of his lashes, they’re dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking.

El primer día que conocí a Bryce Loski enloquecí. Honestamente, una mirada a él y me convertí en una lunática. Algo en sus ojos. Sus ojos son azules enmarcados por la oscuridad de sus pestañas, son deslumbrantes. Absolutamente impresionantes.

Para mi proyecto final voy a traducir el libro “El agua del paraíso” por Benito Pastoriza Iyodo. Se trata de dos personas que Han sido marcadas por la adversidad de la vida

Original:

Prologue

Once upon a time, not so very long ago…

This story begins with a carriage that was never a pumpkin, though it fled at midnight; a godmother who lost track of her charge, though she had no magic wand; and several so-called rats who secretly would have enjoyed wearing livery.

And, of course, there’s a girl too, though she didn’t know how to dance, nor did she want to marry a prince.

But it really begins with the rats.

They were out of control; everybody said so. Mrs. Swallow, the housekeeper, fretted about it regularly. “I can’t abide the way those little varmints chew up a pair of shoes when a body’s not looking,” she told the butler, a comfortable soul by the name of Mr. Cherryderry.

“I know just what you’re saying,” he told her with an edge in his voice that she didn’t hear often. “I can’t abide them. Those sharp noses, and the yapping at night, and —”

“The way they eat!” Mrs. Swallow broke in. “From the table, from the very plates!”

“It is from the plates,” Cherryderry told her. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Mrs. Swallow, that I have! By the hand of Mrs. Daltry herself!”

Mrs. Swallows’ Little shriek might have been heard all the way in the drawing room… except the rats were making such a racket that no one in the chamber could hear anything.       

One

Yarrow House,
the residence of Mrs. Mariana Daltry, her daughter Victoria, and Miss Katherine Daltry

Miss Katherine Daltry, known to almost all as Kate, got down from her horse seething with rage.

It should be said that the condition wasn’t unfamiliar to her. Before her father died seven years earlier, she found herself sometimes irritated with her new stepmother. But it wasn’t until he was gone, and the new Mrs. Daltry – who had held that title for a matter of mere months – started ruling the roost, that Kate really learned the meaning of anger.
Anger was watching tenants on the estate be forced to pay double the rent or leave cottages where they’d lived their whole lives. Anger was watching the crops wilt and the hedges overgrow because her stepmother begrudged the money needed to maintain the estate. Anger was watching her father’s money be poured into new gowns and bonnets and frilly things…so numerous that her stepmother and stepsister couldn’t find days enough in the year to wear them all.

It was the pitying glances she had from acquaintances who never met her at dinner anymore. It was being relegated to a chamber in the attic, with faded furnishings that advertised her relative worth in the household. It was the self-loathing of someone who can’t quite bring herself to leave home and have done with it. It was fueled by humiliation, and despair, and the absolute certainty that her father must be turning in his grave.

 Translation:

Prólogo

Había una vez, hace poco tiempo…

      Esta historia empieza con un carruaje que nunca fue una calabaza, a pesar de ello escapó a la medianoche; una madrina que perdió  el rastro de su ahijada, pero no tenía una varita mágica; y varios perritos conocidos como ratas que secretamente hubieran disfrutado ponerse uniformes.

      Y por supuesto, también había una chica, que no sabía cómo bailar ni tampoco quería casarse con un príncipe.

      Pero realmente empieza con las ratas.

      Todas estaban fuera de control; decían todos. La Sra. Swallow, la ama de llaves, se inquietaba por ello regularmente. —Ya no soporto la forma en que estas pequeñas criaturas mastiquen un par de zapatos cuando no hay alguien que este mirando,— dijo ella al mayordomo, un alma confortante que lleva el nombre de Sr. Cherryderry.

      —Entiendo lo que me está diciendo,— dijo él a ella con un tono en su voz que ella no escuchaba frecuentemente.—No las soporto, con esas narices puntiagudas y esos ladridos en la noche, y—“

      —¡La forma como comen!— Interrumpió la Sra. Swallow. —¡Desde la mesa, desde los propios platos!—

      —Es desde los platos,— dijo Cherryderry. —Lo he visto con mis propios ojos, Sra. Swallow, ¡eso he visto! ¡De las manos de la  propia Sra. Daltry!—

      El pequeño chillido de la Sra. Swallow se podría haber escuchado en el salón de estar…  con la excepción de que las ratas estaban haciendo tremenda bulla que nadie en la cámara podía escuchar algo.

Uno

La casa Yarrow
La residencia de la Sra. Mariana Daltry, su hija Victoria
y la señorita Katherine Daltry.

      La señorita  Katherine Daltry, conocida por casi todos como Kate, se desmonto de su caballo enfurecida.

      Hay que decir que la situación no era desconocida para ella. Siete años atras, antes de que su padre muriera, ella ya se encontraba irritada, varia veces con su nueva madrastra. Pero no fue hasta que él se había ido, y la nueva señora Daltry – que había ocupado ese título por cuestión de pocos meses – empezara a gobernar la casa, que Kate realmente comprendió  el significado de ira.

      Ira era ver como los inquilinos de la finca se veían obligados a pagar el doble del alquiler o dejar las cabañas donde habían vivido todas sus vidas. Ira era ver como los cultivos se marchitan y los setos crecían en exceso, debido  a que su madrastra escatimaba el dinero necesario para mantener la finca. Ira era ver  como el dinero de su padre, se gastaba en nuevos vestidos y sombreros y cosas con blondas… tan numerosos que ni su madrastra o hermanastra pudieran encontrar suficientes días en el año para ponérselos todos.

      Eran las miradas de compasión que provenían de conocidos que nunca más la encontraron en las cenas. Estaba siendo relegada a una cámara en el ático, con muebles desteñidos que anuncian cuanto ella valía  relativamente en el hogar. Era el auto-odio de alguien que no se atrevía a dejar su hogar y dejar todo atrás. Impulsada por la humillación y la desesperación, y la certeza absoluta de que su padre deberia estar revolviéndose en su tumba.

Translated by Lilyana Chu-Wong

Para mi projecto final he seleccionado Memorias de mi amnesia del autor Puertoriqueño Pedro Juan Soto. Este escritor ha sido influenciado por Ernest Hemingway y tiene una esencia de controversia en su manera de escribir.

Memorias de mi amnesia – Pedro Juan Soto

Editorial Cultural, 1991

Para el proyecto final he decidido traducir al ingles, “La Verdad Sin Calzones” del autor colombiano Juan Guillermo Valderrama Santamaria. El libro describe la experiencia personal del autor , y su permanencia en una comunidad terapéutica. Escrito con lenguaje de las calles de Medellin, constituye testimonio autentico de una parte de la historia de Medellin, como el robo, asesinatos, prostitución, trafico de drogas, entre muchas cosas mas.

Para mi proyecto final escogi un libro de Chiqui Vicioso llamado Umbral del milenio el cual tiene varios cuentos. Entre estos cuentos hay uno llamado maldito invierno el cual opte por traducir de espanol a ingles para  mi proyecto final. Mi proyecto consistira en una introduccion sobre la autora, luego la traduccion del cuento y una conclusion mostrando mi entendimiento sobre el cento , lo complicado y lo mas facil sobre el mismo.

Unidentified Guatemalan Female Immigrant

It’s been days, weeks now, that I’ve been looking thinking of you looking for you, wondering whether you look like the undocumented Guatemalan girl that I met four years ago at the Tapachula immigration station which was like a golden cage. The girl was about to be deported-joint repatriation, as you say it in the correct language in immigrant institutions, that report with white gloves and handcuffs if necessary. It wasn’t the first time she tried going north and crossing over, it was the second time they’d deported her and she went on smiling with that adventurous look on her face, ironically clutching the obligatory booklet on her human rights.

Remembering her, vital and brilliant, I asked myself what was her experience, an anonymous dead girl. If it was your first time when all 13 women, certainly all very young, were ambushed, as if being locked in a cradle, as if they were animals in which it was a total of seventy two people, threaten and beaten to be accepted for the “offer” that they made to work for “them” and for the females, so they could pay with their own bodies and be brought into disappearance and the secrecy of this treatment, this is  a perverse business in which ones’ own body is used and abused like a slave.

The unidentified girl from Guatemala whom I look for in my imagination was willing to try again and again, leave-cross-arrive, to stop feeling used and abused by her own community, by men who claimed to care about her but who abused her. She kept dreaming about a more valuable and free life, she planned to escape, she got together with a girl her age, they collected some money, set off, and finally were able to cross the Suchiate by paying some quetzals. It was in Mexico where the worst started, although they decided not to get on the train, but to walk as much as possible, they had blisters on their exhausted feet so they decided to take some bus. They were detained because of their skin color and their way of talking, as always, the signs of identity and discrimination, abducted and subjected to threats and calls, from siblings from the other side to pay for their rescue. Siblings did not answer the calls, they did not have the money nor the means, and the two immigrant friends that escaped together from Guatemala looking for another life were raped and submitted by police and immigration personal, how would you know, and forced to either sell their bodies or die. Realizing this was not life, that there was no choice, the girl from Guatemala, whom I think saw in an instant everything she lived and dreamed, fell on her friend like an impossible embrace, so that together they would either resist or die.

Central American mothers who have started today a caravan through Mexico looking for their immigrant “missing” sons and daughters, they will find them one day if we help them, so we will all know disappearance in our country means annihilation, by physical death or mental disintegration.

Author: Isabel Vericat

Translated by Laura Triana and Janitza Solarte