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English to Italian: Turning Face General field: Art/Literary
Source text - English March 23rd 1968
Tyler, Texas
Tojo stared sadly at the bloodied and ripped cat collar that sat on the breakfast table before him. His parents looked solemnly at him and clutched coffee cups, though it was nighttime.
"You promised me you wouldn't eat this one," Tojo complained softly. "Poor Mr. Whiskers the 6th."
"I don't know what to say, Tojo," Kelli offered.
"Honestly, we tried to resist this time, son," Darryl threw in. "But it's that damned demonic hunger of ours. It just grabs a hold of us."
Tojo gazed up at his parents. Though they had the appearance of a conservative middle-aged couple that had started a family a little later than most, they were still considered very young demons. But Tojo, even in the guise of an eight-year-old mortal, was very mature already. Sometimes he suspected he was wiser than his parents. Even intelligent demons were prone to give in to their impulses. Tojo was finally starting to realize that a pet was no longer a fair option; for him or the animal.
"I live a lie and wear human skin as a disguise," Tojo said. "I have to keep to myself. I have no friends. You guys can't give me any advice on being a human kid. And I can't even have a pet for companionship."
"We weren't raised on Eden," Kelli reminded him.
"We were born in the pit," Darryl said, grimly. "And we were damned lucky to survive. Wild demons have a tendency to dine on any young they can catch."
Tojo rolled his eyes, recognizing his father's version of the walking-ten-miles-uphill- in-the- snow-to-get-to-school speech.
"We can get you another cat," Kelli suggested.
"No," Tojo said firmly.
Translation - Italian 23 marzo 1968
Tyler, Texas
Tojo fissò tristemente il colletto di gatto insanguinato e strappato che si trovava sul tavolo della cucina davanti a lui. I suoi genitori lo guardavano solennemente e stringevano tazze di caffè, anche se era notte.
"Mi avevate promesso che questo non lo avreste mangiato" si lamentò Tojo dolcemente. "Povero Mr. Whiskers il 6°."
"Non so cosa dire, Tojo" rispose Kelli.
"Onestamente, abbiamo cercato di resistere questa volta, figliolo" s'intromise Darryl. "È colpa di questa nostra dannata fame demoniaca. Siamo alla sua mercé."
Tojo fissò i suoi genitori. Sebbene avessero l'aspetto di una coppia di mezza età conservatrice, che aveva messo su famiglia un po' più tardi della maggior parte, erano ancora considerati dei demoni molto giovani. Ma Tojo, anche sotto le spoglie di un mortale di otto anni, era già molto maturo. A volte sospettava che fosse più saggio dei suoi genitori. Persino i demoni intelligenti erano inclini a cedere ai loro impulsi. Tojo stava finalmente iniziando a rendersi conto che un animale domestico non era più un'opzione praticabile; per lui o per l'animale.
"Io vivo una bugia e indosso pelle umana come travestimento" disse Tojo. "Non posso dirlo a nessuno. Non ho amici. Voi non potete darmi alcun consiglio su come essere un bambino umano. E non posso nemmeno avere un animale domestico come compagno."
"Non siamo cresciuti nell'Eden" gli ricordò Kelli.
"Siamo nati nella fossa" disse Darryl, cupo. "E siamo stati dannatamente fortunati a sopravvivere. I demoni selvaggi hanno la tendenza a cenare con qualsiasi demone giovane che riescano a catturare."
Tojo roteò gli occhi, dopo il discorso alla 'quando io ero giovane...' di suo padre.
"Possiamo prenderti un altro gatto" suggerì Kelli.
"No" disse Tojo fermamente.
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