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Italian to English: Ernesto (U. Saba, 1975 - end of Third Episode) General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - Italian Due cose tormentavano Ernesto, mentre si avviava ad eseguire le commissioni per il signor Wilder: non riusciva a sciogliere la matassa un po’ arruffata dei suoi pensieri, e soffriva di una gran sete. La matassa doveva attendere molti anni per cominciare appena a dipanarla; la sete invece (che, per ragioni fisiologiche, affligge tutti gli uomini dopo il coito con una prostituta) poteva soddisfarla subito. Ma avrebbe desiderato estinguerla con una frambua (lampone)ed aveva dati tanti soldi alla dona che, fatti i conti, non gliene rimanevano abbastanza per entrare in una pasticceria, anche rinunciando alle paste, e volendosi limitare alla sola bibita che, per accrescere il suo supplizio, sognava agghiacciata. Non gli restava quindi che bere ad una fontana pubblica. La trovò in un sobborgo. Era un sobborgo molto popolato; la città si ingrandiva dalle sue parti: vecchie casupole che Ernesto conosceva dalle passeggiate dell’infanzia ed immaginava dovessero durare eterne, crollavano per far posto a nuovi edifici; il fumaiolo d’una fabbrica emetteva un denso fumo, e l’aria intorno nera impregnata. Già alcuni operai uscivano dagli stabilimenti, in doppia fila, con la gamella del pranzo in mano. «Tutti compagni, tutti socialisti» pensò Ernesto, che avrebbe voluto essere uno di loro. Ma la loro vista lo rese anche accorto di essere in ritardo. Gli prese un’insolita nostalgia dell’ufficio e, perfino, del signor Wilder. L’uomo non ci poteva essere: non c’era stato lavoro per lui quel giorno; ed Ernesto era quasi contento di non doverlo rivedere al ritorno. Per affrettarlo, decise di prendere, coi pochi centesimi che gli rimanevano, il tram. Lo avrebbe poi messo in conto al parsimonioso signor Wilder.
La fontanella sorgeva nel mezzo di un prato alberato, fra una caserma ed una chiesa, dipinte entrambe di giallo. Molte donne, la maggior parte giovani, alcune ancora bambine, attendevano il loro turno. Portavano sulla testa mastelli, brocche, recipienti diversi per fare la provvista d’acqua, che allora mancava in quasi tutte le case (averla a domicilio era considerato un grande lusso). Ernesto, malgrado sete che lo tormentava, si era messo pazientemente in coda; ed avrebbe dovuto attendere chissà quanto, se una donna, già anziana e coi capelli tutti bianchi, non avesse gridato alle sue compagne d’attesa:
«Ma lassè dunque beve sto povero fio de mama. No vede che el mori de sede?»
Era, circa, la frase che aveva udita dalla prostituta: la nuova coincidenza lo sorprese. Le donne si scostarono pronte, ed Ernesto, dopo ringraziata la vecchia si avvicinò alla fontana. dovette, per bere a garganella, piegare in due la persona: quell’atto suscitò in lui, per la posizione del corpo, un ricordo importuno. In quel punto, udì intorno a sé delle risa.
«Le sa tuto - pensò - le sà del’omo, le sà de che logo che vegno: devo aver scrito in faccia qualcosa de strano; e sè per questo questo che le ridi de mi». Smise di bere, prima ancora di aver estinta interamente la sete, e si allontanò arrossendo. Il suo turbamento era così grande che non s’accorse che quasi tutte le donne che ridevano (non di lui, ma per lui) erano molto giovani; alcune anche assai carine. Fissavano Ernesto, che teneva gli occhi a terra, e cercava di allontanarsi il più presto possibile dalla disgraziata fontanella.
Ernesto si giudicava male. Non c’era nulla nella sua persona che potesse suscitare il riso: nulla poi di effeminato. Le giovani donne ridevano perché avevano, circa, la stessa età di Ernesto, e nessun altro modo per attirarsi una sua occhiata. Non ce n’era forse una che non avrebbe accettato per buono un complimento; custodito in cuore, per qualche giorno o qualche ora, un, anche minimo, segno di attenzione. Ma Ernesto interpretò diversamente quel ridere sommesso. La giornata, incominciata con la barba fatta a tradimento da Bernardo, finiva, così, male. Gli pareva fosse passato non ao quanto tempo da quando era stato per la prima volta con una donna… Un’intera epoca poi lo divideva da quando aveva iniziata quella strana amicizia con un bracciante avventizio, che - di questo almeno era sicuro - l’aveva (a modo suo) amato; e, forse (se egli l’avesse voluto) l’avrebbe amato ancora… E non era passato che un mese.
Translation - English Two things were troubling Ernesto while he was setting out to run his errands for Mr Wilder: he could not straighten out his somewhat intricate tangle of thoughts, and he was suffering from a great thirst. That tangle would have to wait for many years before Ernesto could even begin to sort it out; his thirst however (which, for physiological reasons, afflicts every man after ejaculating with a prostitute) could be immediately relieved. Still, he wished he could have extinguished his thirst with a glass of frambua (raspberry), instead he had given so much money to the woman that, in the aftermath, there wasn’t enough left for him to go inside a bakery, not even renouncing the pastries and willingly limiting himself to that drink, which - to add misery to his suffering - in his dreams was chilled. All he was left with, then, was drinking from a public fountain. He found one in a suburb of the city. It was a very populated suburb; the part of the city where he lived was growing: small old houses that Ernesto knew from his childhood walks and imagined would last forever, were coming down to make room for new buildings; the smokestack of a factory was emitting a thick smoke, which saturated the air all around [the neighborhood]. Some workers were already leaving the factories, [walking side by side] in two lines, with their mess tin for their lunch in one hand. “All comrades, all socialists” thought Ernesto, who would have liked to be one of them. But the sight of them made him also realize he was late. He felt suddenly nostalgic for the office and even for Mr Wilder. The man could not have been there: they didn’t have work for him that day; and Ernesto was almost happy not to have to see him upon his return. To rush it, he decided to take, with the few cents he had left, the tram. He would, afterwards, charge the thrifty Mr Wilder.
The fountain stood in the middle of a tree-lined field, in between a barrack and a church, both painted in yellow. Many women, most of them young, some still children, were waiting for their turn. They were carrying on their heads buckets, pitchers, different containers to store water, which then was missing in almost every house (to have it in-home was considered a great luxury). Ernesto, regardless of the thirst that was tormenting him, was standing patiently in line; and he would have had to wait who-knows-how-much-longer, if a woman, old and white-haired, hadn’t yelled to her companions:
“But let then this mama’s boy have a drink already. Can’t you see that he is dying of thirst?”
It was, almost exactly, the same sentence he had heard the prostitute say: this new coincidence surprised him. The women promptly moved away, and Ernesto, after thanking the old woman, moved closer to the fountain. To gulp down the water, he had to fold himself in half: this act triggered, because of the position of his body, an indiscreet memory. In that instant, he heard laughing all around him.
“They know everything - he thought - they know about the man, they know of the place I am coming from: I must have something weird written all over my face; this is why they’re laughing at me”. He stopped drinking, even before he could entirely extinguish his thirst, and moved away, blushing. His discomfort was so overwhelming that he did not notice that almost all of those who were laughing (not at him, but because of him) were very young; some of them very cute. They stared at Ernesto, who kept staring at the ground, while he was trying to move away as quickly as possible from that unfortunate water fountain.
Ernesto was misjudging himself. Nothing about him could provoke that kind of laughter: certainly nothing effeminate. Those girls were laughing because they were, more or less, the same age as Ernesto and had no other way to make him look at them. There wasn’t almost one [of them] who wouldn’t have taken a compliment as true; kept it in her heart, for a few days or a few hours, one, even tiniest, token of attention. But Ernesto interpreted those hushed giggles differently. The day, that started with Bernardo betraying him by shaving his beard [for the first time], was coming to an end, like this, badly. It seemed as if it had already been a long time since he had been with a woman for the first time … an entire era now set him apart from when he started that strange friendship with a day laborer, who -he was certain at least about this - (in his own way) loved him; and, perhaps (if he ever wanted to) would love him again …. And only one month had gone by.
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Translation education
PhD - University of Trieste (Italy)
Experience
Years of experience: 5. Registered at ProZ.com: Oct 2019.
