Spanish–English parallel text
La voz de Unterdorf
The Voice of Lower Village
DuoText
A bilingual Spanish–English edition: the Spanish text with the English beside it, paragraph by paragraph.
Opening the reader…
Afonía
Hoarse
La mañana de la final, Thinley Wangdi despertó sin un hilo de voz.
On the morning of the final, Thinley Wangdi woke up and no longer had a voice.
No se percató de inmediato. Permaneció tendido bajo la manta de lana, escuchando cómo los gallos de Unterdorf se contradecían entre sí, y pensó lo que llevaba treinta y un años pensando en el último día del torneo: hoy. Luego carraspeó para ensayar el primer verso de la jornada, pero de su pecho surgió un ruido semejante al de una puerta que se arrastra sobre grava.
He did not notice at once. He lay under the woollen blanket, listening to the roosters of Lower Village contradict one another, and thought what he had thought for thirty-one years on the last day of the tournament: today. Then he cleared his throat to try out the first verse of the day, and what came out of his chest was a sound like someone pushing a door across gravel.
Probó de nuevo, con más fuerza. Solo brotó aire, seco y tibio, acompañado de un raspón que le subió hasta los oídos. Durante tres días había voceado sus burlas en verso por todo el campo en cuartos y semifinales, a ciento cuarenta metros de distancia, contra el viento y los cencerros, y las noches de octubre en el valle ya eran frías. Esa era la factura. Tenía sesenta y tres años, era cartero jubilado y lo único que Unterdorf había necesitado de él en toda su vida era precisamente aquel órgano.
He tried again, louder. Only air came out, dry and warm, and a scratching that pulled all the way up into his ears. For three days, in the quarter-final and the semi-final, he had shouted his mocking verses across the field, a hundred and forty metres, against the wind and against the cowbells, and in October the nights in the valley were already cold. That was the bill. He was sixty-three, a retired postman, and the only thing Lower Village had ever needed from him was precisely this organ.
Se incorporó en el lecho, tomó de la repisa la pequeña pizarra donde solía apuntar los recados y escribió: HOY NO. Contempló las palabras y las borró con la manga. Dechen componía los mejores versos, antaño, junto a la mesa de la cocina, y él se limitaba a cantarlos. Desde que ella había fallecido cuatro años atrás, los escribía él mismo; no desmerecían, pero brotaban de una cabeza donde reinaba un silencio mayor.
He sat up, took the little slate from the shelf above the bed, on which the shopping list usually stood, and wrote: NOT TODAY. Then he looked at the words and wiped them off with his sleeve. Dechen had written the best verses, back then, at the kitchen table, and he had only shouted them. Since she had died four years ago he wrote them himself, and they had not got worse, but they came out of a head in which it was quieter.
«¿Abuelo?». Choden asomó a la puerta: diecinueve años, enfundada en la chaqueta gris de la compañía telefónica que sufragaba la final aquel año, con una cinta al cuello en la que se leía EQUIPO DE ORGANIZACIÓN. En las vacaciones universitarias cargaba cables y altavoces para la empresa, y poseía el don de entrar en cualquier estancia como si todos la hubiesen estado esperando. «Pareces un hombre que acaba de recibir una carta dirigida a sí mismo».
“Grandfather?” Choden stood in the doorway, nineteen years old, in the grey jacket of the telephone company that was paying for the final this year, a lanyard around her neck saying EVENT TEAM. In her semester break she lugged cables and loudspeakers for the company, and she had a gift for walking into any room as if she had been expected. “You look as if you had received a letter addressed to yourself.”
Él se señaló el cuello y negó con la cabeza.
He pointed to his throat and shook his head.
«No», dijo ella. «No, no, no. ¿Precisamente hoy?».
“No,” she said. “No, no, no. Today?”
Él asintió.
He nodded.
«Di algo».
“Say something.”
Abrió la boca. Resonó de nuevo la puerta sobre la grava; Choden apretó los labios para no reírse, pero no pudo evitarlo y soltó una carcajada, aunque enmudeció al instante al verle la cara.
He opened his mouth. The door on the gravel came out, and Choden pressed her lips together so as not to laugh, and laughed all the same, and then she stopped, because she saw his face.
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