Rulfo- primera traducción

You Don’t Hear the Dogs Howling

 

“Go up there, Ignacio, tell me if you don’t hear a sign of some kind or if you see some light anywhere.”

“You can’t see anything.”

“We should be close by now.”

“Yes, but you can’t hear anything.”

“Look harder.”

“You can’t see anything.”

“Poor you, Ignacio.”

The long and black shadow of the men kept moving from top to bottom, climbing the rocks, shrinking and growing while it advanced along the riverbank. It was a single shadow, staggering.

The moon shone off of the ground, like a rounded flare.

“We should be arriving to this town by now, Ignacio. Keep an ear out, pretend to see if you can’t hear the dogs howling. Remember what they told us that Tonaya was behind the mountain. And it’s been so many hours since we left the mountain. Remember, Ignacio.”

“Yes, but I don’t see a trail for anything.”

“I’m tired.”

“Put me down.”

The old man backed himself up until he reached the wall and regained his strength there, without releasing the load from his shoulders. Although his legs bent, he did not want to sit, because afterwards he would not be able to lift his son’s body, which back there, hours before, his legs had helped him throw out his back. And he carried him this way ever since.

“How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

He spoke very little. Each time less. At times, he looked like he was sleeping. At times, he looked like he was cold. He shook. He knew when he would grab him the trembling would shake him, and because his feet would fit into his sides like spurs. Later the hands of the son, who was bringing ?? in his neck, were shaking his head as if it were a rattle. He clenched his teeth as to not bite his tongue and when he finished, he was asking,

“Did it hurt you much?”

“It was something,” he answered.

First, he had said, “Get me off of you here…leave me here…you go alone. I will reach you tomorrow or as soon as I recover a little.” He had been saying this about fifty times. Now he did not even say that. There was the moon. In front of them. A giant and colored moon that was filling their eyes with light and that stretched and darkened more of its shadow across the ground.

“I still don’t see where I am going,” he was saying.

But nobody answered.

The other one was going there above, everything illuminated by the moon, with his discolored face, without blood, reflecting a dull light. And him there underneath.

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El País- traducción final

Experts ask the Mexican government to continue search for 43 missing students from Iguala

The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights believes what happened to missing students is uncertain

 

The district attorney of Mexico concluded this past January that the 43 students who disappeared from Guerrero, in the south of the country, were killed and burned in a dumpster. However, the group of experts from the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights who analyzed the case explained last Thursday that what exactly happened to the students is uncertain and asked authorities to continue searching for them. “All of the possibilities are on the table,” Carlos Beristain, a Spanish psychologist and one of the investigators, said.

 

The committee has been in Mexico since the beginning of this month evaluating if the authorities did everything possible to locate the students. Recently, it has requested that the PGR- the district attorney- approves satellite technology from other countries to obtain more photographs and better evidence on what happened in the garbage dump in Cocula. This is allegedly where hired assassins, after receiving the students from the Iguala city police on the night of September 26, said the bodies had been cremated. According to their testimony, they threw the rest of the bodies in a river to erase the evidence.

 

The judicial consideration of the case is another issue that worries experts. The judge considers this to be a case of kidnapping and homicide. However, the committee has requested that authorities treat the case as forced disappearance. This would still be a crime with a limited sentence and an injury against humanity. “Best case scenario, that would give him international relief,” Colombian lawyer Ángela Buitrago added.

 

Throughout the investigation, authorities have come across countless more victims. Iguala is surrounded by mountains that in recent years have become unmarked graves for dozens of people whose disappearances have not been investigated. The committee has recommended to the police that they utilize a laser technology to locate ditches in the mountains that may indicate the locations of undocumented graves.

 

International experts- the Interdisciplinary Group of Independent Experts, or GIEI- admitted they have had full access to the investigation file. In a statement read to the press, they recognized “the good disposition, reception, facilities, and protection” that the Mexican authorities have provided them. This is not a . The general belief of the families, and the associations and organizations that consult them, is that the government is doing everything possible to shelve the investigation and is putting up obstacles to discovering the truth.

 

The case has pressured the credibility of Mexican institutions. The tragedy in Iguala involves politicians, police, and local drug traffickers, a lethal combination of the worst actors when it comes to security that affects the country. Despite the 99 detainees and hundreds of secret police and interrogators, the doubts about the investigation have weighed heavily on one of the most prominent men of Enrique Peña Nieto’s administration, attorney general Jesús Murillo Karam.

 

Since the students disappeared, a group of families has set up a vigil in the schoolyard the students attended. The school of Ayotzinapa is a source of elementary school teachers for Guerrero’s rural zones, one of poorest and most violent regions of the country.

El País- 1ra traducción

Experts ask the Mexican government to continue search for 43 missing students from Iguala

The committee of international experts believes what happened to them is uncertain

 

The district attorney of Mexico concluded this past January 43 students who disappeared from Guerrero, in the south of the country, were killed and burned in a dumpster. However, the group of experts from the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights who analyzed the case explained last Thursday that what exactly happened to the students is uncertain and asked authorities to continue searching for them. “All of the possibilities are on the table,” Carlos Beristain, a Spanish psychologist and one of the investigators, said.

 

The committee, which has been in Mexico since the beginning of this month, has been evaluating if the authorities did everything possible to locate the students. Recently, it has requested that the PGR- the district attorney- approves satellite technology from other countries to obtain more photographs and better evidence on what happened in the garbage dump in Cocula, where hired assassins, after receiving the students from the Iguala city police, said the bodies had been cremated. According to their testimony, they threw the rest of the bodies in a river to erase the evidence.

 

The judicial consideration of the case is another issue that worries experts. The judge considers this to be a case of kidnapping and homicide. However, the committee has requested that authorities treat the case as forced disappearance, which is still considered a crime with a limited sentence and an injury against humanity. “Best case scenario, that would give him international relief,” Colombian lawyer Ángela Buitrago added.

 

Along the way, authorities have come across endless numbers of more victims. Iguala is surrounded by mountains that have become a mass grave in the past few years for a number of people whose disappearances have not been investigated. The committee has recommended to the police that they utilize a laser technology to locate deviations in the mountains that may indicate the locations of the undocumented graves.

 

International experts- the Interdisciplinary Group of Independent Experts- admitted they have had full access to the investigation file. In a statement read to the press, they recognized “the good disposition, reception, facilities, and protection” that the Mexican authorities have provided them. This is not a free declaration. The general belief of the families, and the associations and organizations that consult them, is that the government is doing everything possible to shelve the investigation and is putting up obstacles to learning the truth.

 

The case is putting a gravestone on the credibility of Mexican institutions. The tragedy in Iguala involves politicians, police, and local drug traffickers, a deadly cocktail of the worst in the matter of security that affects the country. Despite the 99 detainees, hundreds of secret police and interrogators, the doubts about the investigation have faced the strongest men of the government, from Enrique Peña Nieto to attorney general Jesús Murillo Karam.

 

Since the students disappeared, a contingent of families has waited on the patio of the school the students attended, the school of Ayotzinapa. A reserve of professors has stopped Guerrero’s rural zones, one of poorest and most violent regions of the country.

Traducción final- García Márquez

Baltazar’s Prodigious Afternoon

 

 

 

The cage was complete. By force of habit, Baltazar hung it on the overhang of the roof, and by the time he finished his lunch, word had spread all over town that it was the most beautiful cage in the world. So many people came to see it that a crowd had formed in front of the house, and Baltazar had to take the cage down and close the carpentry workshop.

“You have to shave,” Ursula told him. “You look like a capuchin.”

“It’s bad to shave after lunch,” Baltazar said.

He had a two-week-old beard, hair that was short, stiff, and bristly like a mule’s mane, and a wholesome boy-like expression. But it was a false expression. In February he turned 30 years old and had lived with Ursula for four years, without ever marrying or having children, and life had given him a lot of reasons to be alert, but none to be afraid. Little did he know that for some people, the cage he had finished making was the most beautiful in the world. For him, accustomed to making cages since he was a child, that one had barely been a tougher job than others.

“Then rest a bit,” said Ursula. “With that beard, you can’t show your face anywhere.”

While he rested, he had to leave his hammock many times to show his neighbors the cage. Ursula had not paid it any attention until then. She was displeased because Baltazar had neglected his carpentry job to dedicate himself entirely to this cage, and for two weeks he slept badly, tossing and turning and mumbling nonsense, and he hadn’t even thought about shaving. But her displeasure subsided upon seeing the completed cage. When Baltazar woke up from his nap, she had ironed pants and a shirt for him, placed them in a chair next to the hammock, and brought the cage to the dining room table. She studied it in silence.

Traducción final- Rivera Garza

The Crest of Ilion

 

Now, even after so much time has passed, I ask myself in the same incredulous manner, how is it possible someone like me could have allowed a stranger in his house on a stormy night?

I hesitated in opening it. For a long time, I debated with myself whether to close the book I was reading or to keep sitting in my armchair, in front of the illuminated fireplace, with the attitude that nothing ever happened. At the end, her insistence defeated me. I opened the door. I analyzed her. And I let her enter.

The weather, certainly, had worsened quickly and heavily in those days. Suddenly, without warning, the autumn moved along the coast and made itself at home. There was its long and bare morning light, its mild winds, the skies overcast with sunset. And later, the winter arrived. And the rains of winter. One becomes accustomed to everything, certainly, but the rains of winter- gray, never-ending, tedious- they are a tough pill to swallow. They are the type of things that inevitably bring one to huddle inside the house, in front of the fireplace, full of boredom. Perhaps because of this, I opened the door to my home: the tedium.

However, I would be fooling myself, and I would be trying to fool you all, without a doubt, if I only mention the long, weary storm that came with her. I remember, above all, her eyes. Stars suspended inside a devastating catlike expression. Her eyes were enormous, so vast that, as if she were made of mirrors, attained an effect of expanding the surroundings. I quickly had the opportunity to confirm this first intuition: the rooms grew beneath her gaze; the hallways elongated; the closets became infinite horizons; the narrow foyer, paradoxically reluctant to welcome, opened itself up completely. And that was, I want to believe, the second reason why I let her enter my home: the expansive power of her gaze.

If I were to stop now, I would still be lying. In reality, there, beneath the winter storm, surrounded by the empty space that her eyes created for me in that moment, what really captured my attention was the right bone of her pelvis that, due to the way she leaned on the doorframe and the weight of the water on her faded floral skirt, let me see beneath her ragged t-shirt, tight-fitted around the elastic of her waistband. I took a long time to remember the specific name of that part of the bone, but, without a doubt, the hunt began in this moment. I desired her. Men, I’m sure, will understand me without needing any more commentary. To the women, I say that this happened frequently and uncontrollably. I also warn the women that this cannot be forced: you all are as defenseless as we are when the hunt happens. I would dare to argue that, as a matter of fact, the hunt can only succeed if we are both defenseless, but in this case, like in many other matters, I could be wrong. As I was saying, I desired her. Immediately. There was the familiar pang in the pit of my stomach in case I dared to doubt my desire. There was, in addition and above all, imagination. I imagined her eating blackberries- her full lips and fingertips stained magenta. I imagined her ascending the staircase slowly, barely turning her head to see her own elongated shadow. I imagined her watching the sea through the picture windows, as engrossed and solitary as a mast. I imagined her leaning on her elbows on the right side of my bed. I imagined her words, her silences, her way of frowning, her smiles, her loud laughter. When I returned to realize that I found her in front of me, whole and wet, shivering from the cold, I already knew everything about her. And I suppose that this was the third reason why I opened the door to my home and, without taking my hand off the doorknob the whole time, invited her in.

“I am Amparo Dávila,” she mentioned with a fixed gaze, just as I had imagined minutes before, through the picture windows. She approached them without adding anything more. She lay her right hand between her forehead and the windowpane, and when she finally could…

Primer traducción- García Márquez

Baltazar’s Prodigal Afternoon

 

 

 

The cage was finished. Baltazar hung it on the overhang of the roof by force of habit, and when he finished his lunch it was said all over that it was the most beautiful cage in the world. So many people came to see it that there was chaos in front of the house, and Baltazar had to take the cage down and close the workshop.

“You have to shave,” Ursula, his wife, told him. “You look like a monkey.”

“It’s bad to shave after lunch,” Baltazar said.

He had a two-week-old beard, hair that was short, stiff, and wimpy like a mule’s mane, and a general boy-like expression. But it was a deceptive expression. In February he had turned 30 years old, he lived with Ursula for four years, without marrying or having children, and life had given him a lot of reasons to be alert, but no reasons to be afraid. He did not even know that for some people, the cage he had finished making was the most beautiful in the world. For him, accustomed to making cages since he was a child, that one had barely been a more arduous job than others.

“Then rest a bit,” said the wife. “With that beard, you can’t show your face anywhere.”

While he rested, he had to abandon the hammock many times to show his neighbors the cage. Ursula had not paid him any attention until then. She was displeased because her husband had neglected his carpentry job to dedicate himself entirely to this cage, and for two weeks he slept badly, jolting and spouting out crazy ideas, and he hadn’t gotten back to thinking about shaving. But the displeasure dissipated before the finished cage. When Baltazar woke up from his nap, she had ironed pants and a shirt for him, and had placed them in a chair next to the hammock, and had brought the cage to the dining room table. She studied it in silence.