| SMOOTHY | SMOOTHY |
| Felipe Juaristi | trans. Amaia Gabantxo (from Basque) |
Batek badali hitzak ez direla urrutira joaten hegoak hautsirik dauzkatelako aingeru zaurituak bezala. Hala ere gogoratzen dut hitzek etxe zaharra betetzen zutenean gero hiltzeko ikasleen apunteetan edo memoria nagi baten deserrian. Eta hitzen atzetik ahots urduri bat eta ahotsen atzetik defentsarik gabe neu pentsatzen nola isuriko ote ziren zure hitzak ondoko gelan, mordoska larrosaren petaloak bezala edo banan bana sagarrondoaren hostoak bezala. Bazegoen patioan magnolio bat ia eskola-mugan baina beste mundua sortzen zuen haren gerizak. Lanagatik nekatuta - esate baterako - esertzen ginenean ama batek bezala hartzen gintuen. Aspertuta joanik sosegatzen ginen haren altzoan eta etxe zaharreko hitzak ez ziren gugana iristen. Itsasoan Akab kapitainak bale handia bezala lore zuri bat irekitzen ikusten genuen. Bakarrik magnolioak erakusten zerbait | It is common knowledge that words never go far because their wings are broken like fallen angels'. However, I remember a time when words filled an old house and eventually died in students' notebooks, or were condemned to exile in their lazy memories. And behind the words a tremulous voice and behind the voice, me, defenceless; I think about how the words fall on the floor in the next room, clustered like rose petals or one by one like leaves from an apple tree. There was a magnolia tree in the playground, by the road, and its shade projected an alternate world. When we tired from work - so to speak - we sat there and felt the embrace of a mother. If we arrived exasperated its calm would lull us, voices from the old house couldn't reach that far. As Captain Ahab contemplated the great whale at sea, so we watched as a white flower opened. Only the magnolia tree taught us something. |
Copyright © Felipe Juaristi 2007; trans. copyright © Amaia Gabantxo 2007
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