 |
| Mi padre, funcionario |
IV
Un día me desperté y me di cuenta de que mi padre era un pez. Y encima, funcionario. Son de estas cosas que pasan sin que te des cuenta, y que de pronto un miércoles te levantas del sofá para ir a la nevera, y ¡ZAS! ahí estaba: la cruel realidad, descarada e impasible hacia el dolor ajeno, abofeteándote en la cara, despojándote de todas las ilusiones y los planes futuros creados tiempo atrás, dejándote desangrar por la miserable situación a la que los peces funcionarios de Woongmoolungwoong y sus familias se veían expuestos. No es justo, no, repetían los hijos pequeños de los peces funcionarios sin saber muy bien qué pasaba. Bancos enteros de peces funcionarios eran desahuciados de sus ríos, para llevarlos primero a rías, y luego a charcas, junto con ranas, y demás anfibios vecinos que no conocían de nada. La situación era desesperante, todos estábamos desubicados, confusos, y hambrientos.
One day I woke up and realized that my father was a fish. And not just a fish - a civil servant. It was just one of those things that happens to you and you don't even realize it until some Wednesday when you get up from couch to go to the fridge and BAM! It hits you: the ugly truth, cold and barefaced towards the pain of others, slapping you in the face, stripping you of all hopes and dreams you had built some time ago, leaving you to bleed to death from the miserable life that all the civil servant fish of Woongmoolungwoong and their families were subject to. It's no fair repeated the young children of the civil servant fish without entirely understanding what was going on. Whole schools of civil servant fish were evicted from their rivers, first moved to streams and then ponds alongside frogs and other amphibian neighbours that they didn't know at all. The whole thing was distressing and we were all disoriented, confused and hungry.
 |
| La señora Caimán |
III
¿Qué estará haciendo
ahora Gregory? se preguntaba de vez en cuando la señora Caimán.
Ella se había quedado viuda hacía unos años y le extrañaba
profundamente. Sin embargo, su visión de la muerte estaba lejos de
ser solemne, triste y gris. ¡Ay, hijitos! ¿A dónde creen que
vamos tras la muerte? ¡No se engañen, vamos al disfrute! les
decía a los jóvenes. Ella había decidido ya qué día quería
morir, como aquel que decide qué día quiere casarse. Si se me olvida me lo recuerdan,
decía. Ese día se me oirá cantar todo el tiempo, y cuando vengan a buscarme, la tierra estará llena de pisaditas. Así quiero morir, danzando y cantando.
"What might Gregory be doing right now?" Mrs. Caiman asked herself frome time to time. She had become a widow some years earlier and missed him dearly. Nevertheless, her view of death was far from being solemn, sad and grey. "Oh children" Where do you think we go when we die? Don't be fooled - we go on vacation!" she would tell the little ones. She had already decided what day she wanted to die, much like a person decides what day they want to get married. "If I forget, do remind me" she would say. "When the time comes, I'll be heard singing all day long and when you come looking for me, the ground will be covered with little footprints. That's how I want to die: dancing and singing".
"What might Gregory be doing right now?" Mrs. Caiman asked herself frome time to time. She had become a widow some years earlier and missed him dearly. Nevertheless, her view of death was far from being solemn, sad and grey. "Oh children" Where do you think we go when we die? Don't be fooled - we go on vacation!" she would tell the little ones. She had already decided what day she wanted to die, much like a person decides what day they want to get married. "If I forget, do remind me" she would say. "When the time comes, I'll be heard singing all day long and when you come looking for me, the ground will be covered with little footprints. That's how I want to die: dancing and singing".
 |
| Wakaboom |
II
Ocho galaxias más allá
alguien lo oyó, pero no dijo nada. Nosotros casi lo preferimos así.
Con discreción, pensamos, todo saldría mejor. La explosión fue de
breve, patética, pero supuso un desarrollo en la estructura atómica
y molecular de Woongmoolungwoong, cuanto menos, singular. No existen datos fiables sobre
este maravilloso fenómeno creativo, y los científicos de hoy en día
prefieren no prestar declaración. Nadie entiende el cómo, ni el por
qué, sin embargo las generaciones se van sucediendo pacíficamente
sin grandes dudas existenciales. A nosotros nos alivia y nos inquieta
a partes iguales. Nuestra curiosidad, por contra, no tiene límites.
La verdad, no sabemos cuanto tiempo será sostenible esta situación.
Eight galaxies away, someone heard it but didn't say a word. We sort of prefer it that way. Using discretion, we thought, everything would work out fine. The explosion was brief, pathetic, but it meant a growth in the atomic and molecular structure of Woongmoolungwoong that was, to say the least, unique. There are no sound data on this marvelous, creative phenomenon and today's scientists prefer not to comment on the matter. No one understands how or why; nevertheless, generations keep going by peacefully without any big existencial crises. It relieves us just as much as it worries us. Our curiosity, on the other hand, knows no boundaries. The truth is we don't know how much longer thingas can go on for like this.
Eight galaxies away, someone heard it but didn't say a word. We sort of prefer it that way. Using discretion, we thought, everything would work out fine. The explosion was brief, pathetic, but it meant a growth in the atomic and molecular structure of Woongmoolungwoong that was, to say the least, unique. There are no sound data on this marvelous, creative phenomenon and today's scientists prefer not to comment on the matter. No one understands how or why; nevertheless, generations keep going by peacefully without any big existencial crises. It relieves us just as much as it worries us. Our curiosity, on the other hand, knows no boundaries. The truth is we don't know how much longer thingas can go on for like this.
 |
| Nebula |
I
Todo era nada. La nada
era todo. Una amalgama cromática. Una nebulosa surgida de la
desintegración cósmica de micro partículas de cualquier esdrújula
impronunciable, podría haber sido trimalciato de ergomanina o
cualquier otra cosa. Ahí estaba, petulante y soberbia, como todas
las nebulosas de hoy en día; segundos suspensa, como esperando a que
pasase alguien por ahí, a que sucediese algo en esa nada que todo lo
era.
Everything was nothing. Nothing was everything. A colourful fusion. A nebula that bloomed from the cosmic disintegration of micro-particles of some word that's impossible to pronounce. Might've been mesoxalic acid or anything else. There it was, as proud and smug as any cloud these days; frozen a few seconds, as if waiting for someone to come around, for something to come from that nothing that was everything
Everything was nothing. Nothing was everything. A colourful fusion. A nebula that bloomed from the cosmic disintegration of micro-particles of some word that's impossible to pronounce. Might've been mesoxalic acid or anything else. There it was, as proud and smug as any cloud these days; frozen a few seconds, as if waiting for someone to come around, for something to come from that nothing that was everything