Lullabies

30 Dic

40-bis (El mismo cuento en español)

Lullabies–

Malbrough is going to war

Mironton ton to mirontaine

Malbrough is going to war

Doesn’t know when he’ll come back


–He’ll come back for Easter

Mironton ton ton mirontaine

He’ll come back for Easter

Or for Trinity Sunday

Ha Ha Ha!

Ha Ha Ha.

Charlie sang to his brother as the night became silent. They had to go to sleep because they had school the next morning. Charlie sang to his brother that night because neither of his parents had come to their room to say goodnight.

Almost every night dad sang songs, they stuck their noses under the blankets and bed covers until the dream of night and rest crept under the pillows. The bed covers were ones of battles between Spider-Men and Batman, many of the drawings and adventures that scattered on the soft embrace of the fabric were bothered in the stale night by something. Under the tiny mattress the tension built up that night because something happened that changed the tradition of tucking up and dreams of night and rest.

Behind the wall they heard a strong and silent discussion, like furniture moving from one side to the other side of the room. The wooden floor panels creaked with rubber soles, back and forth until it stopped dead. They listened to a sound of doors closing last, a thump that did not mean to wake anyone.

–o–


Mommy, breakfast …

Mom … What about breakfast?

Come, I will prepare it for you.

Charlie went to the nearest shelf and grabbed the cereal box. He reached into the big box, almost half of his arm disappeared in the carton container.

-Here, eat some and go. –He dropped a fistful of sugary cereal on the breakfast table with some clumsiness.

But I always like milk with my cereal, as mother prepares it, with a glass of a fresh grapefruit juice.

Not today, eat them like this and let’s go.

An attempt of a tear slid thru his right cheek. Timmy stopped when he saw in his brother’s face that it wouldn’t work. Not with him. Not at that moment. The emotional intelligence he had acquired in such a short time indicated, in his skin, that the tear was a misplaced attempt. That day he could not be a child, something had barred him of that right.

At school.

During that morning, the hours seemed not to move like soaked dandelions floating in a peaceful backwater, clear and fresh, perhaps too fresh and cold. Timmy had forgotten his socks and his teacher scolded him, saying, how could it be that a boy can attend his class without his full uniform, and that in order to learn mathematics one had to show the highest code of respect towards the subject.

And that cannot be done without socks!

It was an attack on morality, his morality. And of mathematics. He stated.

That was a winter’s day for Timmy. Bit by bit, the cold worked it’s way up the body. First period came with his feet turning blue. During the second one –Geography class–, it rose to his knees. Arriving to his belly towards the afternoon, the whole body was caught, taken to winter’s palace.

The afternoon came with fever and many boogers.

-o-


On the bridge of Avignon

We all dance there, we all dance there

On the bridge of Avignon

We all dance there in a ring.

On the bridge of Avignon

We all dance there, we all dance there

On the bridge of Avignon

The handsome gentlemen do like this

And then like that…

What’s the matter Timmy? Why aren’t you singing?

I’m hungry.

I don’t know Timmy, today there was no dinner, but try to sleep.

Today we didn’t had dinner and I’m really cold. I don’t feel that great…

Well… nonetheless try to sleep well, I haven’t eaten anything either.

But Timmy couldn’t close his eyes shut. The fever had taken him all over, like a devilish jellyfish, rubbing all it’s suction cups over his body, sucking.

The fever caused him hallucinations. The house was filling by centimeters, centimeters per second, of water, unable to stop filling till it was all full. The windows were cracking bit by bit, but never to the point of breaking, they made the noise they make when a levee is cracking, like breathing in and out of nowhere, his lungs filled with water. Inundated. His lungs were getting wetter. He could not stop crying, as he was more wet with every drop, with each of his own tears. Consumption was emerging, with each moist heat coming from his evaporating chest.

The walls adjacent to the boy’s room did not squeaked or moved furniture around. The water had flooded each of the rooms and left the children without lullabies.

Charlie sang to his brother as the night became silent. They had to go to sleep because they had school the next morning.

The hours seemed not to move like soaked dandelions floating in a peaceful backwater, clear and fresh, perhaps too fresh and cold.

2 comentarios to “Lullabies”

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Tweets that mention Lullabies « cadáver Exquisito -- Topsy.com - diciembre 31, 2009

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Tomás Gershanik, Martín Gershanik. Martín Gershanik said: RT @cuadernodecalle: Subí un cuento nuevo a mi blog. Los invito a leerlo: http://tiny.cc/SWNYn —> muy bueno!! […]

  2. 40- « cadáver Exquisito - enero 2, 2010

    […] Lullabies: Traducción de este cuento al inglés. […]

Responder

Introduce tus datos o haz clic en un icono para iniciar sesión:

Logo de WordPress.com

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de WordPress.com. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Imagen de Twitter

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Twitter. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Foto de Facebook

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Facebook. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Google+ photo

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Google+. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Conectando a %s

A %d blogueros les gusta esto: