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Ina ball/bhall ó Nov '25
Teangacha oibre:
French to English Spanish to English Irish to English English (aonteangach)
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Fiona Johnston
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Rátaí
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Aistriúcháin shamplacha a cuireadh isteach: 2
Spanish to English: La Fiesta Ajena - Lilian Heker General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Buntéacs - Spanish Nomás llegó, fue a la cocina a ver si estaba el mono. Estaba y eso la tranquilizó: no le hubiera gustado nada tener que darle la razón a su madre. ¿Monos en un cumpleaños?, le había dicho; ¡por favor! Vos sí que te creés todas las pavadas que te dicen. Estaba enojada pero no era por el mono, pensó la chica: era por el cumpleaños.
–No me gusta que vayas –le había dicho–. Es una fiesta de ricos.
–Los ricos también se van al cielo–dijo la chica, que aprendía religión en el colegio.
–Qué cielo ni cielo –dijo la madre–. Lo que pasa es que a usted, m'hijita, le gusta cagar más arriba del culo.
A la chica no le parecía nada bien la manera de hablar de su madre: ella tenía nueve años y era una de las mejores alumnas de su grado.
–Yo voy a ir porque estoy invitada –dijo–. Y estoy invitada porque Luciana es mi amiga. Y se acabó.
–Ah, sí, tu amiga –dijo la madre. Hizo una pausa–. Oíme, Rosaura –dijo por fin–, esa no es tu amiga. ¿Sabés lo que sos vos para todos ellos? Sos la hija de la sirvienta, nada más.
Rosaura parpadeó con energía: no iba a llorar.
–Callate –gritó–. Qué vas a saber vos lo que es ser amiga.
Ella iba casi todas las tardes a la casa de Luciana y preparaban juntas los deberes mientras su madre hacía la limpieza. Tomaban la leche en la cocina y se contaban secretos. A Rosaura le gustaba enormemente todo lo que había en esa casa. Y la gente también le gustaba.
–Yo voy a ir porque va a ser la fiesta más hermosa del mundo, Luciana me lo dijo. Va a venir un mago y va a traer un mono y todo. La madre giró el cuerpo para mirarla bien y ampulosamente apoyó las manos en las caderas. –¿Monos en un cumpleaños? –dijo–. ¡Por favor! Vos sí que te creés todas las pavadas que te dicen.
Rosaura se ofendió mucho. Además le parecía mal que su madre acusara a las personas de mentirosas simplemente porque eran ricas. Ella también quería ser rica, ¿qué?, si un día llegaba a vivir en un hermoso palacio, ¿su madre no la iba a querer tampoco a ella? Se sintió muy triste. Deseaba ir a esa fiesta más que nada en el mundo.
–Si no voy me muero –murmuró, casi sin mover los labios. Y no estaba muy segura de que se hubiera oído, pero lo cierto es que la mañana de la fiesta descubrió que su madre le había almidonado el vestido de Navidad. Y a la tarde, después que le lavó la cabeza, le enjuagó el pelo con vinagre de manzanas para que le quedara bien brillante. Antes de salir Rosaura se miró en el espejo, con el vestido blanco y el pelo brillándole, y se vio lindísima.
La señora Inés también pareció notarlo. Apenas la vio entrar, le dijo:
–Qué linda estás hoy, Rosaura.
Ella, con las manos, impartió un ligero balanceo a su pollera almidonada: entró a la fiesta con paso firme. Saludó a Luciana y le preguntó por el mono. Luciana puso cara de conspiradora; acercó su boca a la oreja de Rosaura.
–Está en la cocina –le susurró en la oreja–. Pero no se lo digas a nadie porque es un secreto.
Rosaura quiso verificarlo. Sigilosamente entró en la cocina y lo vio. Estaba meditando en su jaula. Tan cómico que la chica se quedó un buen rato mirándolo y después, cada tanto, abandonaba a escondidas la fiesta e iba a verlo. Era la única que tenía permiso para entrar en la cocina, la señora Inés se lo había dicho: 'Vos sí pero ningún otro, son muy revoltosos, capaz que rompen algo". Rosaura, en cambio, no rompió nada. Ni siquiera tuvo problemas con la jarra de naranjada, cuando la llevó desde la cocina al comedor. La sostuvo con mucho cuidado y no volcó ni una gota. Eso que la señora Inés le había dicho: "¿Te parece que vas a poder con esa jarra tan grande?". Y claro que iba a poder: no era de manteca, como otras. De manteca era la rubia del moño en la cabeza. Apenas la vio, la del moño le dijo:
–¿Y vos quién sos?
–Soy amiga de Luciana –dijo Rosaura.
–No –dijo la del moño–, vos no sos amiga de Luciana porque yo soy la prima y conozco a todas sus amigas. Y a vos no te conozco.
–Y a mí qué me importa –dijo Rosaura–, yo vengo todas las tardes con mi mamá y hacemos los deberes juntas.
–¿Vos y tu mamá hacen los deberes juntas? –dijo la del moño, con una risita.
– Yo y Luciana hacemos los deberes juntas –dijo Rosaura, muy seria. La del moño se encogió de hombros.
–Eso no es ser amiga –dijo–. ¿Vas al colegio con ella?
–No.
–¿Y entonces, de dónde la conocés? –dijo la del moño, que empezaba a impacientarse.
Rosaura se acordaba perfectamente de las palabras de su madre. Respiró hondo:
–Soy la hija de la empleada –dijo.
Su madre se lo había dicho bien claro: Si alguno te pregunta, vos le decís que sos la hija de la empleada, y listo. También le había dicho que tenía que agregar: y a mucha honra. Pero Rosaura pensó que nunca en su vida se iba a animar a decir algo así.
–Qué empleada–dijo la del moño–. ¿Vende cosas en una tienda?
–No –dijo Rosaura con rabia–, mi mamá no vende nada, para que sepas.
–¿Y entonces cómo es empleada? –dijo la del moño.
Pero en ese momento se acercó la señora Inés haciendo shh shh, y le dijo a Rosaura si no la podía ayudar a servir las salchichitas, ella que conocía la casa mejor que nadie.
– Viste –le dijo Rosaura a la del moño, y con disimulo le pateó un tobillo.
Fuera de la del moño todos los chicos le encantaron. La que más le gustaba era Luciana, con su corona de oro; después los varones. Ella salió primera en la carrera de embolsados y en la mancha agachada nadie la pudo agarrar. Cuando los dividieron en equipos para jugar al delegado, todos los varones pedían a gritos que la pusieran en su equipo. A Rosaura le pareció que nunca en su vida había sido tan feliz.
Pero faltaba lo mejor. Lo mejor vino después que Luciana apagó las velitas. Primero, la torta: la señora Inés le había pedido que la ayudara a servir la torta y Rosaura se divirtió muchísimo porque todos los chicos se le vinieron encima y le gritaban "a mí, a mí". Rosaura se acordó de una historia donde había una reina que tenía derecho de vida y muerte sobre sus súbditos. Siempre le había gustado eso de tener derecho de vida y muerte. A Luciana y a los varones les dio los pedazos más grandes, y a la del moño una tajadita que daba lástima.
Después de la torta llegó el mago. Era muy flaco y tenía una capa roja. Y era mago de verdad. Desanudaba pañuelos con un solo soplo y enhebraba argollas que no estaban cortadas por ninguna parte. Adivinaba las cartas y el mono era el ayudante. Era muy raro el mago: al mono lo llamaba socio. "A ver, socio, dé vuelta una carta", le decía. "No se me escape, socio, que estamos en horario de trabajo".
La prueba final era la más emocionante. Un chico tenía que sostener al mono en brazos y el mago lo iba a hacer desaparecer.
–¿Al chico? –gritaron todos.
–¡Al mono! –gritó el mago.
Rosaura pensó que ésta era la fiesta más divertida del mundo.
El mago llamó a un gordito, pero el gordito se asustó enseguida y dejó caer al mono. El mago lo levantó con mucho cuidado, le dijo algo en secreto, y el mono hizo que sí con la cabeza.
–No hay que ser tan timorato, compañero –le dijo el mago al gordito.
–¿Qué es timorato? –dijo el gordito. El mago giró la cabeza hacia uno y otro lado, como para comprobar que no había espías.
–Cagón –dijo–. Vaya a sentarse, compañero.
Después fue mirando, una por una, las caras de todos. A Rosaura le palpitaba el corazón.
–A ver, la de los ojos de mora –dijo el mago. Y todos vieron cómo la señalaba a ella.
No tuvo miedo. Ni con el mono en brazos, ni cuando el mago hizo desaparecer al mono, ni al final, cuando el mago hizo ondular su capa roja sobre la cabeza de Rosaura, dijo las palabras mágicas... y el mono apareció otra vez allí, lo más contento, entre sus brazos. Todos los chicos aplaudieron a rabiar. Y antes de que Rosaura volviera a su asiento, el mago le dijo:
–Muchas gracias, señorita condesa.
Eso le gustó tanto que un rato después, cuando su madre vino a buscarla, fue lo primero que le contó.
– Yo lo ayudé al mago y el mago me dijo: "Muchas gracias, señorita condesa".
Fue bastante raro porque, hasta ese momento, Rosaura había creído que estaba enojada con su madre. Todo el tiempo había pensado que le iba a decir: "Viste que no era mentira lo del mono". Pero no. Estaba contenta, así que le contó lo del mago.
Su madre le dio un coscorrón y le dijo:
–Mírenla a la condesa.
Pero se veía que también estaba contenta.
Y ahora estaban las dos en el hall porque un momento antes la señora Inés, muy sonriente, había dicho: "Espérenme un momentito".
Ahí la madre pareció preocupada.
–¿Qué pasa? –le preguntó a Rosaura.
–Y qué va a pasar –le dijo Rosaura–. Que fue a buscar los regalos para los que nos vamos.
Le señaló al gordito y a una chica de trenzas, que también esperaban en el hall al lado de sus madres. Y le explicó cómo era el asunto de los regalos. Lo sabía bien porque había estado observando a los que se iban antes. Cuando se iba una chica, la señora Inés le regalaba una pulsera. Cuando se iba un chico, le regalaba un yo-yo. A Rosaura le gustaba más el yo-yo porque tenía chispas, pero eso no se lo contó a su madre. Capaz que le decía: "Y entonces ¿por qué no le pedís el yo-yo, pedazo de sonsa?". Era así su madre. Rosaura no tenía ganas de explicarle que le daba vergüenza ser la única distinta. En cambio le dijo:
–Yo fui la mejor de la fiesta. Y no habló más porque la señora Inés acababa de entrar en el hall con una bolsa celeste y una bolsa rosa. Primero se acercó al gordito, le dio un yo-yo que había sacado de la bolsa celeste, y el gordito se fue con su mamá. Después se acercó a la de trenzas, le dio una pulsera que había sacado de la bolsa rosa, y la de trenzas se fue con su mamá.
Después se acercó a donde estaban ella y su madre. Tenía una sonrisa muy grande y eso le gustó a Rosaura. La señora Inés la miró, después miró a la madre, y dijo algo que a Rosaura la llenó de orgullo. Dijo:
–Qué hija que se mandó, Herminia.
Por un momento, Rosaura pensó que a ella le iba a hacer los dos regalos: la pulsera y el yo-yo. Cuando la señora Inés inició el ademán de buscar algo, ella también inició el movimiento de adelantar el brazo. Pero no llegó a completar ese movimiento. Porque la señora Inés no buscó nada en la bolsa celeste, ni buscó nada en la bolsa rosa. Buscó algo en su cartera.
En su mano aparecieron dos billetes.
–Esto te lo ganaste en buena ley–dijo, extendiendo la mano–. Gracias por todo, querida.
Ahora Rosaura tenía los brazos muy rígidos, pegados al cuerpo, y sintió que la mano de su madre se apoyaba sobre su hombro. Instintivamente se apretó contra el cuerpo de su madre. Nada más. Salvo su mirada. Su mirada fría, fija en la cara de la señora Inés.
La señora Inés, inmóvil, seguía con la mano extendida. Como si no se animara a retirarla. Como si la perturbación más leve pudiera desbaratar este delicado equilibrio.
Aistriúchán - English As soon as she arrived, she went to the kitchen to see if the monkey was there. It was and this eased her mind - she wouldn’t have liked at all to have to admit that her mother was right. “Monkeys at a birthday party?” she had said, “Please! You really believe any nonsense that they tell you.” She was angry, but not about the monkey, the girl thought; it was about the birthday party.
“I don’t like that you’re going,” she had said to her. “It’s a party for rich people.”
“Rich people also go to heaven,” said the girl, who was learning religion at school.
“Heaven or no heaven,” the mother said. “What’s happening is that you’d like to believe your shit doesn’t stink.”
Her mother’s way of speaking didn’t seem proper at all to the girl: she was nine years old and one of the best students in her grade.
“I’m going to go because I was invited,” she said. “And I was invited because Luciana is my friend. And that’s the end of the story.”
“Oh, yes, your friend,” said the mother. She paused. “Listen, Rosaura,” she finally said, “that girl is not your friend. Do you know what you are to all of them? You are the servant’s daughter, nothing more.”
Rosaura blinked fervently; she was not going to cry.
“Shut up,” she yelled. “What do you know about what it means to be a friend?”
She spent almost every afternoon at Luciana’s house and together they did their homework while her mother did the cleaning. They drank milk in the kitchen and told each other secrets. Rosa really liked everything in the house. She also liked the people.
“I’m going to go because it will be the most beautiful party in the world - Luciana told me so. There will be a magician and he will bring a monkey and everything.” The mother turned her body to look directly at her daughter and put her hands on her hips in an imposing way. “Monkeys at a birthday party?” she said. “Please! You really believe any nonsense that they tell you.”
Rosaura was very offended. Even worse, she didn’t like that her mother accused people of lying simply because they were rich. She too wanted to be rich - and so what if she did? If one day she ended up living in a beautiful palace, would her mother not love her anymore? This made her very sad. She wanted to go to that party more than anything in the world.
“I’ll die if I don’t go,” she murmured, almost without moving her lips. And she wasn’t sure whether her mother had heard or not, yet on the morning of the party, she discovered that her mother had starched her Christmas dress. And that afternoon, after she washed her hair, she rinsed it with apple cider vinegar so that it shone. Before leaving, Rosaura looked at herself in the mirror, with her white dress and her shining hair, and she thought she looked beautiful.
Señora Inés also seemed to notice. As soon as she entered the house, Señora Inés told her,
“You look so beautiful today, Rosaura.”
Rosaura ran her hands lightly over her starched dress and entered the party with her head held high. She greeted Luciana and asked her about the monkey. Luciana gave her a conspiratory look; she drew close to Rosaura and spoke into her ear.
“He’s in the kitchen,” she whispered. “But don’t tell anyone because it’s a secret.”
Rosaura wanted to see for herself. She snuck into the kitchen and saw him. He was sitting quietly in his cage. She found it so funny that the girl stayed there watching him for a good while and afterwards, every once in a while, she abandoned the party to go and see him. She was the only person with permission to enter the kitchen - Señora Ines had told her so. “You can but no one else. They’re very rambunctious - they might break something.” Rosaura, on the other hand, didn’t break anything. She didn’t even struggle with the jug of orange juice when she carried it from the kitchen to the dining room. She held it very carefully and didn’t spill a single drop. And of course she was able to do this: she wasn’t weak, like other girls. The blond girl with the ponytail was weak. As soon as she saw Rosaura, the girl with the ponytail said,
“And who are you, exactly?”
“I’m Luciana’s friend,” Rosaura said.
“No,” said the girl with the ponytail, “You are not Luciana’s friend because I’m her cousin and I know all of her friends. And I don’t know you.”
“And so what if you don’t? I come every afternoon with my mother and we do homework together.”
“You and your mother do homework together?” said the girl with the ponytail, with a sly smile.
“Luciana and I do homework together,” said Rosaura, very serious. The girl with the ponytail shrugged her shoulders.
“That doesn’t mean you’re friends,” she said. “Do you go to school with her?”
“No.”
“So, where do you know her from?” said the girl with the ponytail, who was starting to lose patience.
Rosaura recalled her mother’s words perfectly. She took a deep breath:
“I’m the daughter of the employee,” she said.
Her mother had explained it to her clearly: “If anyone asks you, you tell them that you are the daughter of the employee, and that’s that.” She’d also said she should add, “And that’s a very respectable job.” But Rosaura thought she could never in her life bring herself to say something like that.
“What do you mean, employee?” said the girl with the ponytail. “Does she sell things in a store?”
“No,” said Rosaura, angrily, “my mother doesn’t sell anything, just so you know.”
“Then how is she an employee?” said the girl with the ponytail.
But in that moment Señora Inés hushed everyone, and asked Rosaura if she could help her to serve the sausages, as she knew the house better than anyone.
“See?” Rosaura told the girl with the ponytail, and taking care not to be seen, kicked the girl in the ankle.
Except for the girl with the ponytail, she loved all the children. The one she liked the best was Luciana, with her golden crown; after that, the boys. She came first in the bag race and no one could catch her in Freeze Tag. When they divided up into teams to play dodgeball, all the boys yelled for her to be on their team. Rosaura felt that she’d never been this happy in her whole life.
But the best was yet to come. The best came after Luciana had blown out the candles. First, the cake: Señora Ines had asked her to help serve the cake and Rosaura had so much fun because all the boys crowded around her and yelled, “Me! Me!”. Rosaura recalled a story where a queen had the power to decide whether her subjects would live or die. Rosaura would always have liked to have this power over life and death. To Luciana and the boys she gave the biggest pieces and to the girl with a ponytail she gave a tiny, pitiful slice.
After they had the cake, the magician arrived. He was very thin and he wore a red cape. And he was a real magician.
He untied handkerchiefs with a single breath and linked together rings that had no gaps where they could be connected to each other. He predicted what cards would be drawn and the monkey was his assistant. The magician was very strange: he called the monkey “partner.” “ “Let’s see, partner, turn a card over,” he told him. “It doesn’t escape my attention, partner, that we’re meant to be working right now.”
The last magic trick was the most exciting. A child had to hold the monkey in his arms and the magician was going to make him disappear.
“The child?” everyone shouted.
“The monkey!” the magician shouted.
Rosaura thought this was the most enjoyable party in the world.
The magician called a chubby boy, but the chubby boy got scared right away and dropped the monkey. The magician picked him up very carefully, told him a secret, and the monkey nodded his agreement.
“There’s no reason to be trepidatious, buddy,” the magician told the chubby boy.
“What is trepidatious?” the chubby boy said. The magician turned his head from side to side as if to make sure there were no spies around.
“Chickenshit,” he said. “Go and sit down, buddy.”
Then he looked at all the kids’ faces, one by one. Rosaura’s heart was pounding.
“Let’s see. The one with the dark eyes,” the magician said. And everyone looked and saw him pointing to her.
She wasn’t afraid. Not with the monkey in her arms, nor when the magician made the monkey disappear, nor at the end, when the magician waved his red cape over Rosaura’s head, said the magic words… and the monkey appeared again, as happy as could be, in her arms. All of the children applauded like crazy. And before Rosaura returned to her seat, the magician said to her:
“Many thanks, Countess.”
She liked that so much that, a little while later when her mother came to pick her up, it was the first thing she told her.
“I helped the magician and the magician said to me “many thanks, Countess”.
It was very strange because until that moment, Rosaura had believed she was angry with her mother. The whole time she was at the party, she had been thinking she would tell her: “See? The monkey part was not a lie.” But she didn’t. She was happy, so she told her mother the part about the magician.
Her mother gave her a nudge and said,
“Look at you - countess.”
But it was clear that she was happy, too.
And now the two of them were waiting in the foyer because Señora Inés, smiling widely, had said, “Wait a moment.”
Then her mother seemed worried.
“What happened?” she asked Rosaura.
“What is happening,” Rosaura said to her, “is that she’s gone looking for goody bags for us.”
She pointed out the chubby boy and a girl with braids, who were also waiting in the foyer with their mothers. And she explained how the presents worked. She knew it well because she had been observing those that left before her. When a girl left, Sra Inés gave her a bracelet. When a boy left, she gave him a yo-yo. Rosaura liked the yo-yo better because it had sparks, but she didn’t tell her mother this. She might say to her, “So why don’t you ask her for the yo-yo, stupid idiot?” That’s how her mother was. Rosaura didn’t feel like explaining to her that she would feel ashamed to be the only different one. Instead, she told her:
“I was the best one at the party.” And she didn’t say anything else because Sra. Inés had just entered the foyer with a light blue bag and a pink bag. First she approached the chubby boy, gave him a yo-yo she’d taken out of the light blue bag, and the chubby boy left with his mother. Next, she approached the girl with the braids, gave her a bracelet she’d taken out of the pink bag, and the girl with the braids left with her mother.
Soon after, she approached them. She was smiling widely and Rosaura liked that. Señora Inés looked first at her, and then her mother, and said something that filled Rosaura with pride. She said,
“What a daughter you have raised, Herminia.”
For a moment, Rosaura thought she was going to give her both of the gifts: the bracelet and the yo-yo. Señora Inés moved, as if to look in one of the bags, raising her arm. But she never completed the movement. Because Señora Inés didn’t look for anything in the light blue bag, nor did she look for anything in the pink bag. She looked for something in her purse.
In her hand appeared two bills.
“This is what you earned, fair and square,” she said, extending her hand. “Thank you for everything, sweetheart.”
Now Rosaura’s arms were very stiff, stuck to the sides of her body, and she felt her mother’s hand, on her shoulder, supporting her. Instinctively, she pressed herself against her mother. But she did nothing else except glare at Señora Inés. Her icy gaze fixed on the señora’s face.
Señora Inés, immobile, kept her hand extended. As if she couldn’t bring herself to pull it back. As if the slightest disturbance would shatter this delicate balance.
French to English: J'avais dit une - by Claire Castillon General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Buntéacs - French Quand j'ai connu mon mari, il m'a promis une jolie vie. Nous aimions beaucoup voyager, nous nous étions d'ailleurs rencontrés en Iran alors que j'achetais un tapis. Une blague sans conséquence sur un tapis volant, et mon mari a ensuite pu se vanter auprès de ses amis de m'avoir séduite grâce à son humour. Nous nous sommes mariés chez mes parents, qui possèdent une propriété en Touraine, avant de nous installer dans une maison avec jardin, dont on disait qu'elle ressemblait à un cottage anglais. Les soirs où l'on buvait du vin en dînant, je faisais part de mes craintes à mon mari : un homme cagoulé pénétrait dans ma chambre par la porte-fenêtre. Mon mari me couchait en promettant de faire installer des volets, mais bien sûr, au matin, tout était oublié. Je suis d'une nature assez peu angoissée. D'ailleurs, les hommes ont toujours apprécié ma placidité. On peut m'emmener n'importe où, je m'adapte aux températures et aux populations, toujours dans le ton, dans le rythme, un vrai caméléon. Nous avons même vécu à l'étranger, au gré des mutations de mon mari, et, chaque fois, j'ai fait mon trou avec plaisir. Nouvelles connaissances, nouveau décor, nouvelles activités ne m'ont jamais coupé les ailes, au contraire, je suis d'un tempérament optimiste, j'avance bille en tête, et réussir ma vie est mon credo. Depuis que nous sommes rentrés en France, nous continuons à parcourir le monde puisque mon mari a l'opportunité d'être accompagné de son épouse dans ses déplacements professionnels. Je n'ai ni profession salariée ni chien, afin d'être entièrement disponible pour lui. Et puis, je ne sais pas ce que vous en dites de votre côté, mais j'ai ma petite idée sur les occupations d'un homme seul en voyage. Plus de quatre jours seul, et madame est trompée. Oh, ne faites pas cette tête-là! L'avez-vous vérifié ?
Le seul terrain sur lequel je ne l'aie pas suivi, et ça je le reconnais volontiers - je ne juge personne, mais je le reconnais -, c'est sur son désir d'enfant. Quand il m'a proposé d'en faire un, le ciel m'est tombé sur la tête, j'ai même ri, croyant qu'il plaisantait. Il n'en a plus reparlé pendant un moment, mais ça mijotait. Il s'attardait comme une jeune fille devant les magasins de landaus et souriait bêtement aux petites grâces gesticulant dans les bras de leur père. Réflexe de survie ou pas, j'ai eu peur qu'il aille en faire ailleurs, alors j'ai accepté de devenir mère, mais j'ai négocié. J'ai prévenu que je n'en aurais qu'une. Il a eu l'air étonné, mais c'était comme ça, j'acceptais par amour pour lui, mais à la condition d'avoir une fille. Je finirais bien par m'y attacher, sinon elle se contenterait d'une affection distante. Mon mari était aux anges, je suis tombée enceinte très rapidement, il m'a traitée comme une reine et sans attendre que mon ventre grossisse. J'ai été gâtée, j'ai même eu un collier. Vous savez, ces colliers, comment les appelle-t-on, des rivières je crois, avec des diamants en toc, bien sûr, il n'allait pas m'en offrir des vrais, mais ça faisait illusion ! Je me souviens d'un dîner où les femmes ont défilé à ma table pour admirer mon si beau bijou. Je n'ai pas avoué que c'était du faux, ça ne les regardait pas.
Alors où en étais-je ? Ah oui, enceinte, quelle histoire ! Mon ventre a gonflé d'un coup, c'était à désespérer d'avoir passé presque quarante ans de ma vie à me tenir droite pour ne pas ressembler à mes congénères. On m'a fait passer un examen, et c'est là qu'on s'est rendu compte que j'attendais des jumelles. J'ai tout de suite demandé si elles n'étaient pas siamoises; l'idée d'avoir deux enfants joints par l'épaule, le pied ou la rate, me répugnait. Beaux comme on était, mon mari et moi, je nous voyais mal supporter un tel fardeau, d'autant qu'avec lui, si peu bricoleur, ça n'aurait pas été une sinécure de fabriquer une poussette ou un lit aux bonnes dimensions. C'est en réfléchissant à ces petites choses du quotidien que j'ai proposé, un peu abruptement, d'accord, d'en supprimer une. Le médecin m'a assuré qu'il n'y avait aucune comparaison possible entre des siamois et des jumeaux. Atterré, il m'a bien expliqué la différence. Les enfants, ce n'est pas ma spécialité, mais ça a bien failli le devenir. Vous imaginez ? Une femme de presque quarante ans contrainte à tenir tête à deux pleureuses du jour au lendemain? Même mon mari, qui passe pour un saint, les a surnommées les pisseuses, je ne veux pas faire de délation, mais je tiens à préciser que le chenapan rapporteur n'est pas net dans l'affaire.
Deux filles, quelle histoire, et quelle angoisse d'envisager leurs petits trafics à l'adolescence ! Elles ont grandi joliment, on les regardait dans la rue, on me posait des questions complètement idiotes auxquelles je répondais à côté. Je n'allais pas raconter dans quel ordre elles étaient nées ni si j'avais eu mal, d'ailleurs je n'en savais rien, je dormais. Et puis, j'ai mis un temps fou avant de les distinguer l'une de l'autre. J'ai trouvé une astuce liée au petit durillon du pouce qu'elles suçaient. Par chance, l'une suçait son pouce droit, et l'autre le gauche, or celle qui suçait le droit avait un D dans son prénom. Je vous passe les détails sur la petite enfance, mais vous voyez bien que, deux, ça faisait beaucoup.
À trois ans, il a fallu les emmener pour la première fois à l'école. Jusque-là, on s'était débrouillés avec la berline de mon mari, mais il avait choisi son jour pour être en déplacement, je vous jure ! C'est moi qui ai préparé les filles, elles étaient levées depuis six heures, surexcitées à l'idée d'étrenner leur cartable. Elles avaient échangé leurs robes et se chamaillaient à cause d'une petite barrette, j'ai été obligée de la casser en deux pour finir. Du coup elles ont pleuré, refusé de déjeuner, de s'habiller, refusé de marcher jusqu'à la voiture. Je me suis battue avec celle en D, qui s'agrippait aux coussins du canapé. J'ai dû la porter, moi qui souffre du dos. Et là, loi des séries oblige, ça n'entrait pas dans ma mini-Smart. J'ai essayé d'en faire passer une dans le coffre mais il était encombré par les poussettes. Je les ai finalement assises l'une sur l'autre à la place du mort, ça criait tant que ça pouvait, je n'entendais rien de la radio. J'ai ouvert la portière, et j'ai jeté celle du dessus sur le périphérique. Et j'avoue ne pas être très contente de mon geste parce que j'ai jeté la plus sage.
Il faut me comprendre, j'avais prévenu mon mari, je n'ai pris personne en traître, j'avais dit oui, d'accord, mais j'avais dit une.
Aistriúchán - English When I met my husband, he promised me a beautiful life. We really liked to travel and happened to run into each other in Iran while I was buying a carpet. He made some dumb joke about a flying carpet and later my husband was able to boast to his friends that he had seduced me with his humor.
We were married at my parent’s house, who own property in Touraine, before settling ourselves in a house with a garden, that was said to resemble an English cottage. The evenings we drank wine while dining, I shared my fears with my husband: a masked man breaking into my bedroom through the French doors. My husband tucked me in promising to install some shutters, but of course, in the morning, it had all been forgotten. I’m not normally an anxious person. Indeed, men have always appreciated my placidity. You can take me anywhere - I can adapt to different temperatures and groups of people, always adopting the right tone, the right rhythm - a true chameleon. We’d even lived abroad, dictated by my husband’s transfers, and, each time, I happily made a niche for myself. New acquaintances, new surroundings, or new activities have never held me back - on the contrary, I have an optimistic outlook, I move blindly ahead, and “succeed in life” is my motto. Since returning to France, we continue to travel the world because my husband is allowed to bring his spouse on business trips. I don’t have a job or a dog, in order to be completely available to him. And also, I don’t know what you think, but I have my own theory about what men traveling alone get up to. Give him more than four days alone and you can practically guarantee he’ll cheat on you. Oh, don’t make that face! Have you verified it for yourself?
The only path I never followed him down, and I fully admit that - I don’t judge anyone, but I admit it - was his desire to have a child. When he proposed that we have one, it took me by surprise - I was completely disoriented - I even laughed, thinking he was joking. He didn’t bring it up again for a while, but it simmered. He lingered like a young girl in front of stores selling baby carriages and smiled stupidly at a pair of little treasures cooing in their father’s arms. Maybe it was only a survival instinct, but I feared that he’d go and have one with someone else, so I agreed to become a mother, but on my terms. I warned him that I would only have one. He seemed surprised, but that’s how it had to be - I agreed out of love for him, but on the condition that we have one girl. I’d better get attached to her, otherwise she’ll have to live with only distant affection. My husband was over the moon - I got pregnant really quickly - he treated me like a queen, and without even waiting for my stomach to swell. I was spoiled - I even got a necklace. You know, those necklaces, what are they called, the “rivières” I think, with fake diamonds of course, he wasn’t going to offer me real ones, but these fakes were convincing! I remember a dinner outing when women paraded to my table to admire such a beautiful piece of jewelry. I didn’t admit that it was fake - that was none of their business.
Now, where was I? Ah yes, pregnant - what a story! My stomach ballooned all of a sudden - such a pity after working hard for almost forty years to look better than others my age.
I had to take an exam, and that’s when we realized that I was carrying twin girls. Right away, I asked if they were Siamese Twins; the idea of having two babies joined at the shoulder, the foot, or the spleen disgusted me. As good-looking as we were, the two of us, I could hardly see us bearing such a burden, especially since he, so poor of a handyman, wouldn’t have an easy time putting together a stroller or assembling a bed with the right dimensions. It was while pondering these little day-to-day things that I suggested - a bit abruptly, alright - that we abort one of them. The doctor assured me that having Siamese twins was an unusual occurrence, and this didn’t apply to my pregnancy. Horrified, he thoroughly explained the difference to me. I’m no expert in children, but well very could have become one. Can you imagine? An almost forty-year-old woman forced to go head-to-head with two wailing babies from one day to the next? Even my husband, who could pass for a saint, had nicknamed them “those goddamn crybabies” - I’m not denouncing him, but I must clarify that the snitching scoundrel is not innocent in all of this.
Two girls - what a story, and what a nightmare to imagine the shenanigans they’d get up to in adolescence! They grew up beautifully - people stared at them on the street and asked me completely ridiculous questions, which I avoided answering. I was not about to share which order they were born in or if I’d had any pain giving birth - anyway, I had no idea - I slept through the whole thing. And afterward I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to tell them apart. I found a trick connected to the small thumb callus each one had from suckling. Luckily, one suckled with their right thumb, and the other with their left, and the one that suckled with her right thumb had a R in her name. I’m sparing you the details of their infancy, but as you can clearly see, two required a lot.
When they were three years of age, it was time for them to go to school. Up until then we’d managed with my husband’s station wagon, but he chose that day to be away on a work transfer - can you believe it?! It was up to me to prepare the girls, who had been up since six a.m., overexcited with the idea of using their schoolbags for the first time. They had swapped their dresses and bickered over a small barrette, and in the end I was forced to break it in two. So they’d cried, refused to eat breakfast, get dressed, or walk to the car. I fought with the one with an R in her name, who grabbed onto the couch cushions. I had to carry her, with my bad back and all. Then, because when it rains, it pours, I couldn’t get it into my Mini-Smart. I tried to slip one in the trunk, but it was stuffed with strollers. I finally sat them, one on top of the other, in the passenger seat - they cried as much as they could - I couldn’t hear anything on the radio. It was a smooth ride that morning. I opened the door, and I threw the one on top onto the road. And I admit it wasn’t the smartest move because I’d thrown out the well-behaved one.
You must understand me - I’d warned my husband, I didn’t betray anyone - I said yes, alright, but I only agreed to one.
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Cláraithe le ProZ.com: Nov 2010. Ballraíocht glactha: Nov 2025
Hi! My name is Fiona and I am a writer and polyglot. After twenty-seven years as a primary school teacher, I am transitioning into a career in translation, which is a perfect fit for my passions and skills. I am a native English speaker and grew up in the United States, but my parents were Irish and most of my family lives in Ireland. I have always been passionate about languages and traveling and started studying Spanish when I was ten years old and French when I was fifteen. After college, I lived in El Salvador (one year) and Chile (two and a half years) before returning to the United States. In 2020, I moved to Hong Kong, and will stay there until June of 2026, when I will move to France.
I have devoted a lot of time and effort into learning how to translate and I have found that I adore all aspects of it, though it hasn't been easy to balance alongside fulltime teaching. I look forward to working on translation full-time.
An uair dheireanach a rinneadh an phróifíl a nuashonrú Oct 1
Ina ball/bhall ó Nov '25
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