This site uses cookies.
Some of these cookies are essential to the operation of the site,
while others help to improve your experience by providing insights into how the site is being used.
For more information, please see the ProZ.com privacy policy.
This person has a SecurePRO™ card. Because this person is not a ProZ.com Plus subscriber, to view his or her SecurePRO™ card you must be a ProZ.com Business member or Plus subscriber.
Affiliations
This person is not affiliated with any business or Blue Board record at ProZ.com.
Services
Translation, Editing/proofreading
Expertise
Detailed fields not specified.
Rates
Portfolio
Sample translations submitted: 1
Spanish to English: La mujer del juez- The Judge's Wife by Isabel Allende General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - Spanish Nicolás Vidal siempre supo que perdería la vida por una mujer. Lo pronosticaron el día de su nacimiento y lo confirmó la dueña del almacén en la única ocasión en que él permitió que le viera la fortuna en la borra del café, pero no imaginó que la causa sería Casilda, la esposa del Juez Hidalgo. La divisó por primera vez el día en que ella llegó al pueblo a casarse. No la encontró atractiva, porque prefería las hembras desfachatadas y morenas, y esa joven transparente en su traje de viaje, con la mirada huidiza y unos dedos finos, inútiles para dar placer a un hombre, le resultaba inconsistente como un puñado de ceniza. Conociendo bien su destino, se cuidaba de las mujeres y a lo largo de su vida huyó de todo contacto sentimental, secando su corazón para el amor y limitándose a encuentros rápidos para burlar la soledad. Tan insignificante y remota le pareció Casilda que no tomó precauciones con ella, y llegado el momento olvidó la predicción que siempre estuvo presente en sus decisiones. Desde el techo del edificio, donde se había agazapado con dos de sus hombres, observó a la señorita de la capital cuando ésta bajó del coche el día de su matrimonio. Llegó acompañada por media docena de sus familiares, tan lívidos y delicados como ella, que asistieron a la ceremonia abanicándose con aire de franca consternación y luego partieron para nunca más regresar.
Como todos los habitantes del pueblo, Vidal pensó que la novia no aguantaría el clima y dentro de poco las comadres deberían vestirla para su propio funeral. En el caso improbable de que resistiera el calor y el polvo que se introducía por la piel y se fijaba en el alma, sin duda sucumbiría ante el mal humor y las manías de solterón de su marido. El Juez Hidalgo la doblaba en edad y llevaba tantos años durmiendo solo, que no sabía por dónde comenzar a complacer a una mujer. En toda la provincia temían su temperamento severo y su terquedad para cumplir la ley, aún a costa de la justicia. En el ejercicio de sus funciones ignoraba las razones del buen sentimiento, castigando con igual firmeza el robo de una gallina que el homicidio calificado. Vestía de negro riguroso para que todos conocieran la dignidad de su cargo, y a pesar de la polvareda irreductible de ese pueblo sin ilusiones llevaba siempre los botines lustrados con cera de abeja. Un hombre así no está hecho para marido, decían las comadres, sin embargo no se cumplieron los funestos presagios de la boda, por el contrario, Casilda sobrevivió a tres partos seguidos y parecía contenta. Los domingos acudía con su esposo a la misa de doce, imperturbable bajo su mantilla española, intocada por las inclemencias de ese verano perenne, descolorida y silenciosa como una sombra. Nadie le oyó algo más que un saludo tenue, ni le vieron gestos más osados que una inclinación de cabeza o una sonrisa fugaz, parecía volátil, a punto de esfumarse en un descuido. Daba la impresión de no existir, por eso todos se sorprendieron al ver su influencia en el Juez, cuyos cambios eran notables.
Si bien Hidalgo continuó siendo el mismo en apariencia, fúnebre y áspero, sus decisiones en la Corte dieron un extraño giro. Ante el estupor público dejó en libertad a un muchacho que robó a su empleador, con el argumento de que durante tres años el patrón le había pagado menos de lo justo y el dinero sustraído era una forma de compensación. También se negó a castigar a una esposa adúltera, argumentando que el marido no tenía autoridad moral para exigirle honradez, si él mismo mantenía una concubina. Las lenguas maliciosas del pueblo murmuraban que el Juez Hidalgo se daba vuelta como un guante cuando traspasaba el umbral de su casa, se quitaba los ropajes solemnes, jugaba con sus hijos, se reía y sentaba a Casilda sobre sus rodillas, pero esas murmuraciones nunca fueron confirmadas. De todos modos, atribuyeron a su mujer aquellos actos de benevolencia y su prestigio mejoró, pero nada de eso interesaba a Nicolás Vidal, porque se encontraba fuera de la ley y tenía la certeza de que no habría piedad para él cuando pudieran llevarlo engrillado delante del Juez. No prestaba oídos a los chismes sobre doña Casilda y las pocas veces que la vio de lejos, confirmó su primera apreciación de que era sólo un borroso ectoplasma.
Vidal había nacido treinta años antes en una habitación sin ventanas del único prostíbulo del pueblo, hijo de Juana La Triste y de padre desconocido. No tenía lugar en este mundo y su madre lo sabía, por eso intentó arrancárselo del vientre con yerbas, cabos de vela, lavados de lejía y otros recursos brutales, pero la criatura se empeñó en sobrevivir. Años después Juana La Triste, al ver a ese hijo tan diferente, comprendió que los drásticos sistemas para abortar que no consiguieron eliminarlo, en cambio templaron su cuerpo y su alma hasta darle la dureza del hierro. Apenas nació, la comadrona lo levantó para observarlo a la luz de un quinqué y de inmediato notó que tenía cuatro tetillas.
-Pobrecito, perderá la vida por una mujer -pronosticó guiada por su experiencia en esos asuntos.
Esas palabras pesaron como una deformidad en el muchacho. Tal vez su existencia hubiera sido menos mísera con el amor de una mujer. Para compensarlo por los numerosos intentos de matarlo antes de nacer, su madre escogió para él un nombre pleno de belleza y un apellido sólido, elegido al azar; pero ese nombre de príncipe no bastó para conjurar los signos fatales y antes de los diez años el niño tenía la cara marcada a cuchillo por las peleas y muy poco después vivía como fugitivo. A los veinte era jefe de una banda de hombres desesperados. El hábito de la violencia desarrolló la fuerza de sus músculos, la calle lo hizo despiadado y la soledad, a la cual estaba condenado por temor a perderse de amor, determinó la expresión de sus ojos. Cualquier habitante del pueblo podía jurar al verlo que era el hijo de Juana La Triste, porque tal como ella, tenía las pupilas aguadas de lágrimas sin derramar. Cada vez que se cometía una fechoría en la región, los guardias salían con perros a cazar a Nicolás Vidal para callar la protesta de los ciudadanos, pero después de unas vueltas por los cerros regresaban con las manos vacías. En verdad no deseaban encontrarlo, porque no podían luchar con él. La pandilla consolidó en tal forma su mal nombre, que las aldeas y las haciendas pagaban un tributo para mantenerla alejada. Con esas donaciones los hombres podían estar tranquilos, pero Nicolás Vidal los obligaba a mantenerse siempre a caballo, en medio de una ventolera de muerte y estropicio para que no perdieran el gusto por la guerra ni se les mermara el desprestigio. Nadie se atrevía a enfrentarlos. En un par de ocasiones el Juez Hidalgo pidió al Gobierno que enviara tropas del ejército para reforzar a sus policías, pero después de algunas excursiones inútiles volvían los soldados a sus cuarteles y los forajidos a sus andanzas.
Sólo una vez estuvo Nicolás Vidal a punto de caer en las trampas de la justicia, pero lo salvó su incapacidad para conmoverse. Cansado de ver las leyes atropelladas, el Juez Hidalgo decidió pasar por alto los escrúpulos y preparar una trampa para el bandolero. Se daba cuenta de que en defensa de la justicia iba a cometer un acto atroz, pero de dos males escogió el menor. El único cebo que se le ocurrió fue Juana La Triste, porque Vidal no tenía otros parientes ni se le conocían amores. Sacó a la mujer del local, donde fregaba pisos y limpiaba letrinas a falta de clientes dispuestos a pagar por sus servicios, la metió dentro de una jaula fabricada a su medida y la colocó en el centro de la Plaza de Armas, sin más consuelo que un jarro de agua.
-Cuando se le termine el agua empezará a gritar. Entonces aparecerá su hijo y yo estaré esperándolo con los soldados -dijo el Juez.
El rumor de ese castigo, en desuso desde la época de los esclavos cimarrones, llegó a oídos de Nicolás Vidal poco antes de que su madre bebiera el último sorbo del cántaro. Sus hombres lo vieron recibir la noticia en silencio, sin alterar su impasible máscara de solitario ni el ritmo tranquilo con que afilaba su navaja contra una cincha de cuero. Hacía muchos años que no tenía contacto con Juana La Triste y tampoco guardaba ni un solo recuerdo placentero de su niñez, pero ésa no era una cuestión sentimental, sino un asunto de honor. Ningún hombre puede aguantar semejante ofensa, pensaron los bandidos, mientras alistaban sus armas y sus monturas, dispuestos a acudir a la emboscada y dejar en ella la vida si fuera necesario. Pero el jefe no dio muestras de prisa.
A medida que transcurrían las horas, aumentaba la tensión en el grupo. Se miraban unos a otros sudando, sin atreverse a hacer comentarios, esperando impacientes, las manos en las cachas de los revólveres, en las crines de los caballos, en las empuñaduras de los lazos. Llegó la noche y el único que durmió en el campamento fue Nicolás Vidal. Al amanecer las opiniones estaban divididas entre los hombres, unos creían que era mucho más desalmado de lo que jamás imaginaron y otros que su jefe planeaba una acción espectacular para rescatar a su madre. Lo único que nadie pensó fue que pudiera faltarle el coraje, porque había dado muestras de tenerlo en exceso.
Al mediodía no soportaron más la incertidumbre y fueron a preguntarle qué iba a hacer.
-Nada -dijo. -¿Y tu madre? -Veremos quién tiene más cojones, el Juez o yo -replicó imperturbable Nicolás Vidal.
Al tercer día Juana La Triste ya no clamaba piedad ni rogaba por agua, porque se le había secado la lengua y las palabras morían en su garganta antes de nacer, yacía ovillada en el suelo de su jaula con los ojos perdidos y los labios hinchados, gimiendo como un animal en los momentos de lucidez y soñando con el infierno el resto del tiempo. Cuatro guardias armados vigilaban a la prisionera para impedir que los vecinos le dieran de beber. Sus lamentos ocupaban todo el pueblo, entraban por los postigos cerrados, los introducía el viento a través de las puertas, se quedaban prendidos en los rincones, los recogían los perros para repetirlos aullando, contagiaban a los recién nacidos y molían los nervios de quien los escuchaba. El Juez no pudo evitar el desfile de gente por la plaza compadeciendo a la anciana, ni logró detener la huelga solidaria de las prostitutas, que coincidió con la quincena de los mineros. El sábado las calles estaban tomadas por los rudos trabajadores de las minas, ansiosos por gastar sus ahorros antes de volver a los socavones, pero el pueblo no ofrecía ninguna diversión, aparte de la jaula y ese murmullo de lástima llevado de boca en boca, desde el río hasta la carretera de la costa. El cura encabezó a un grupo de feligreses que se presentaron ante el Juez Hidalgo a recordarle la caridad cristiana y suplicarle que eximiera a esa pobre mujer inocente de aquella muerte de mártir, pero el magistrado pasó el pestillo de su despacho y se negó a oírlos, apostando a que Juana La Triste aguantaría un día más y su hijo caería en la trampa. Entonces los notables del pueblo decidieron acudir a doña Casilda.
La esposa del Juez los recibió en el sombrío salón de su casa y atendió sus razones Callada, con los ojos bajos, como era su estilo. Hacía tres días que su marido se encontraba ausente, encerrado en su oficina, aguardando a Nicolás Vidal con una determinación insensata. Sin asomarse a la ventana, ella sabía todo lo que ocurría en la calle, porque también a las vastas habitaciones de su casa entraba el ruido de ese largo suplicio. Doña Casilda esperó que las visitas se retiraran, vistió a sus hijos con las ropas de domingo y salió con ellos rumbo a la plaza. Llevaba una cesta con provisiones y una jarra con agua fresca para Juana La Triste. Los guardias la vieron aparecer por la esquina y adivinaron sus intenciones, pero tenían órdenes precisas, así es que cruzaron sus rifles delante de ella y cuando quiso avanzar, observada por una muchedumbre expectante, la tomaron por los brazos para impedírselo. Entonces los niños comenzaron a gritar.
El Juez Hidalgo estaba en su despacho frente a la plaza. Era el único habitante del barrio que no se había taponeado las orejas con cera, porque permanecía atento a la emboscada, acechando el sonido de los caballos de Nicolás Vidal. Durante tres días con sus noches aguantó el llanto de su víctima y los insultos de los vecinos amotinados ante el edificio, pero cuando distinguió las voces de sus hijos comprendió que había alcanzado el límite de su resistencia. Agotado, salió de su Corte con una barba del miércoles, los ojos afiebrados por la vigilia y el peso de su derrota en la espalda. Atravesó la calle, entró en el cuadrilátero de la plaza y se aproximó a su mujer. Se miraron con tristeza. Era la primera vez en siete años que ella lo enfrentaba y escogió hacerlo delante de todo el pueblo. El Juez Hidalgo tomó la cesta y la jarra de manos de doña Casilda y él mismo abrió la jaula para socorrer a su prisionera.
-Se los dije, tiene menos cojones que yo -rió Nicolás Vidal al enterarse de lo sucedido.
Pero sus carcajadas se tornaron amargas al día siguiente, cuando le dieron la noticia de que Juana La Triste se había ahorcado en la lámpara del burdel donde gastó la vida, porque no pudo resistir la vergüenza de que su único hijo la abandonara en una jaula en el centro de la Plaza de Armas. Al Juez le llegó su hora -dijo Vidal.
Su plan consistía en entrar al pueblo de noche, atrapar al magistrado por sorpresa, darle una muerte espectacular y colocarlo dentro de la maldita jaula, para que al despertar al otro día todo el mundo pudiera ver sus restos humillados. Pero se enteró de que la familia Hidalgo había partido a un balneario de la costa para pasar el mal gusto de la derrota.
El indicio de que los perseguían para tomar venganza alcanzó al Juez Hidalgo a mitad de ruta, en una posada donde se habían detenido a descansar. El lugar no ofrecía suficiente protección hasta que acudiera el destacamento de la guardia, pero llevaba algunas horas de ventaja y su vehículo era más rápido que los caballos. Calculó que podría llegar al otro pueblo y conseguir ayuda. Ordenó a su mujer subir al coche con los niños, apretó a fondo el pedal y se lanzó a la carretera. Debió llegar con un amplio margen de seguridad, pero estaba escrito que Nicolás Vidal se encontraría ese día con la mujer de la cual había huido toda su vida.
Extenuado por las noches de vela, la hostilidad de los vecinos, el bochorno sufrido y la tensión de esa carrera para salvar a su familia, el corazón del Juez Hidalgo pegó un brinco y estalló sin ruido. El coche sin control salió del camino, dio algunos tumbos y se detuvo por fin en la vera. Doña Casilda tardó un par de minutos en darse cuenta de lo ocurrido. A menudo se había puesto en el caso de quedar viuda, pues su marido era casi un anciano, pero no imaginó que la dejaría a merced de sus enemigos. No se detuvo a pensar en eso, porque comprendió la necesidad de actuar de inmediato para salvar a los niños. Recorrió con la vista el sitio donde se encontraba Y estuvo a punto de echarse a llorar de desconsuelo, porque en aquella desnuda extensión, calcinada por un sol inmisericorde, no se vislumbraban rastros de vida humana, sólo los cerros agrestes y un cielo blanqueado por la luz. Pero con una segunda mirada distinguió en una ladera la sombra de una gruta y hacia allá echó a correr llevando a dos criaturas en brazos y la tercera prendida a sus faldas.
Tres veces escaló Casilda cargando uno por uno a sus hijos hasta la cima. Era una cueva natural, como muchas otras en los montes de esa región. Revisó el interior para cerciorarse de que no fuera la guarida de algún animal, acomodó a los niños al fondo y los besó sin una lágrima
-Dentro de algunas horas vendrán los guardias a buscarlos. Hasta entonces no salgan por ningún motivo, aunque me oigan gritar, ¿han entendido? -les ordenó.
Los pequeños se encogieron aterrados y con una última mirada de adiós la madre descendió del cerro. Llegó hasta el coche, bajó los párpados de su marido, se sacudió la ropa, se acomodó el peinado y se sentó a esperar. No sabía de cuántos hombres se componía la banda de Nicolás Vidal, pero rezó para que fueran muchos, así les daría trabajo saciarse de ella, y reunió sus fuerzas preguntándose cuánto tardaría morir si se esmeraba en hacerlo poco a poco. Deseó ser opulenta y fornida para oponerles mayor resistencia y ganar tiempo para sus hijos.
No tuvo que aguardar largo rato. Pronto divisó polvo en el horizonte, escuchó un galope y apretó los dientes. Desconcertada, vio que se trataba de un solo jinete, que se detuvo a pocos metros de ella con el arma en la mano. Tenía la cara marcada de cuchillo y así reconoció a Nicolás Vidal, quien había decidido ir en persecución del Juez Hidalgo sin sus hombres, porque ése era un asunto privado que debían arreglar entre los dos. Entonces ella comprendió que debería hacer algo mucho más difícil que morir lentamente.
Al bandido le bastó una mirada para comprender que su enemigo se encontraba a salvo de cualquier castigo, durmiendo su muerte en paz, pero allí estaba su mujer flotando en la reverberación de la luz. Saltó del caballo y se le acercó. Ella no bajó los ojos ni se movió y él se detuvo sorprendido, porque por primera vez alguien lo desafiaba sin asomo de temor. Se midieron en silencio durante algunos segundos eternos, calibrando cada uno las fuerzas del otro, estimando su propia tenacidad y aceptando que estaban ante un adversario formidable. Nicolás Vidal guardó el revólver y Casilda sonrió.
La mujer del juez se ganó cada instante de las horas siguientes. Empleó todos los recursos de seducción registrados desde los albores del conocimiento humano y otros que improvisó inspirada por la necesidad, para brindar a aquel hombre el mayor deleite. No sólo trabajó sobre su cuerpo como diestra artesana, pulsando cada fibra en busca del placer, sino que puso al servicio de su causa el refinamiento de su espíritu. Ambos entendieron que se jugaban la vida y eso daba a su encuentro una terrible intensidad. Nicolás Vidal había huido del amor desde su nacimiento, no conocía la intimidad, la ternura, la risa secreta, la fiesta de los sentidos, el alegre gozo de los amantes. Cada minuto transcurrido acercaba el destacamento de guardias y con ellos el pelotón de fusilamiento, pero también lo acercaba a esa mujer prodigiosa y por eso los entregó con gusto a cambio de los dones que ella le ofrecía. Casilda era pudorosa y tímida y había estado casada con un viejo austero ante quien nunca se mostró desnuda. Durante esa inolvidable tarde ella no perdió de vista que su objetivo era ganar tiempo, pero en algún momento se abandonó, maravillada de su propia sensualidad, y sintió por ese hombre algo parecido a la gratitud. Por eso, cuando oyó el ruido lejano de la tropa le rogó que huyera y se ocultara en los cerros. Pero Nicolás Vidal prefirió envolverla en sus brazos para besarla por última vez, cumpliendo así la profecía que marcó su destino.
Translation - English
“The Judge’s Wife” by Isabel Allende
Translated by Rachel Goforth
Nicolás Vidal always knew that he would lose his life because of a woman. It was predicted the day he was born and confirmed the day he let the owner of the general store read his fortune in the grounds of his coffee, but he never imagined that Casilda, the wife of Judge Hidalgo, would be the cause. He saw her for the first time on the day she arrived in town to get married. He did not find her attractive; he preferred bolder, dark featured women. This ghostly young girl in her traveling clothes, with her evasive gaze and delicate hands, useless for such things as pleasing a man, turned out to be delicate as a flower. Knowing well his destiny, he took care to avoid women altogether, and for the majority of his life he avoided all emotional contact, hardening his heart to love and limiting himself to brief encounters to overcome the loneliness. Casilda seemed so insignificant and distant to him that he did not take precautions with her, and the moment came when he forgot the prediction that was always present in his decisions.
From the roof of the building where he was crouched down with two of his men, he watched the bride as she got out of the car on her wedding day. She arrived accompanied by half a dozen family members as pale and delicate as she was. They attended the ceremony, fanning themselves in frank consternation and later left never to return.
Like all the rest of the townsfolk, Vidal didn’t believe that Casilda would be able to endure the climate and that soon the midwives would be dressing her for her funeral. In the unlikely case that she resisted the heat and the inescapable dust, without a doubt she would succumb to the bad temper and rage of the confirmed bachelor who was her husband. Judge Hidalgo was twice her age, and being unmarried for so many years, he did not know how to accommodate a woman. The whole province feared his severe disposition and his stubbornness in executing the law, even at the expense of justice. In his duties as a judge, he ignored all reason, equally punishing the theft of a rooster and premeditated homicide. Despite the unavoidable dust of that hopeless town, he always wore his conventional black judge’s robes and shoes shined with beeswax so that everyone would recognize the dignity of his position. His colleagues always said that he wasn’t fit for marriage, but nevertheless, the fatal premonitions from their wedding did not come to pass. Instead, Casilda survived three successive births and seemed content. On Sundays she arrived at noon mass with her husband, impassive in her Spanish shawl, untouched by the harsh weather of the perennial summer, colorless and silent like shadow. No one ever heard more than a soft greeting from her, or a gesture more bold than a nod of her head or a smile so fleeting that it seemed volatile, as if it were going to catch fire suddenly. It was almost like she wasn’t even there, so it surprised everyone to see the influence that she had over the Judge, who changed noticeably.
Even though Hidalgo continued with the same severe disposition, his decisions in court took an unusual turn. To the surprise of the public, he let a boy go free who had stolen from his employer, with the argument that over the past three years the employer had paid him less than what was fair and that the stolen money was a form of compensation. He also refused to punish an adulterous wife with the reasoning that her husband did not have the moral authority to demand faithfulness of his her because he himself kept a mistress. Rumors spread around town that Judge Hidalgo had turned over a new leaf. When he crossed the threshold into his house, he took off his formal clothes, played, laughed, and sat with Casilda and the children around his knees. But these rumors were never confirmed. In any case, the townsfolk attributed his acts of benevolence in court to his wife, and his prestige grew. But none of this interested Nicolás Vidal, as he found himself outside the law and was certain that there would not be any mercy for him if they were to bring him shackled before the judge. He did not pay heed to the gossip about Casilda, and the few times that he saw her from afar confirmed his first impression that she was merely a dim ghost of a girl.
Vidal had been born thirty years before in a windowless room in the only brothel in the town. He was son of a woman known as Juana la Triste and an unknown father. He did not have a place in this world and his mother knew it. Because of this, she tried to rip him from her womb with herbs, candle stubs, lye cleansings, and other brutal methods, but the creature inside her insisted on surviving. Years later, seeing her son differently, Juana la Triste knew that the drastic measures that she took to abort him had made his body and soul hard as iron. Just after he was born, the midwife held him up to observe him by the light of an oil lamp and immediately noted that he had four nipples.
“Poor boy, he will lose his life because of a woman”, she predicted, guided by her experience in matters of this nature.
Her words weighed heavily on the boy. Perhaps his existence would have been less miserable with the love of a woman. To compensate for the numerous times that she tried to kill him before he was born, his mother chose a handsome name for him and a solid surname, chosen at random. But this name was not enough to thwart the ill predictions of the midwife. Before he was ten years old his face was scarred by knives from fighting, and not long after that he became a fugitive. At twenty, he was the leader of a gang. Because of his violent tendencies he developed strong muscles, and living his life on the road made him cruel. The solitude with which he had been condemned for fear of losing his life determined the hard look in his eyes. Any inhabitant of the town could tell just from looking at him that he was the son of Juana la Triste, because he had her same watery eyes that always seemed on the verge of crying but never did.
Every time a crime was committed in the region, the guards left with dogs, hunting Vidal to quiet the complaints of the citizens. After a few laps around the hills, they always returned empty handed. In reality, they didn’t want to find him because they were afraid to fight him. His gang was so fearsome that the villages and farms paid them to stay away. If they received their payments, the men would remain peaceful. But still, Vidal forced them to remain active in a whirlwind of death and destruction so that they wouldn’t lose their taste for conflict or their reputation. Nobody dared to confront them. On a few occasions, Judge Hidalgo asked the government to send armed troops to reinforce his police, but after a few useless excursions, the soldiers returned to their quarters and the bandits to their adventures.
Only once was Nicolás Vidal almost brought to justice, but he was saved by his lack of empathy. Tired of seeing the law broken, Judge Hidalgo decided to ignore his conscience and set a trap for the bandit. He realized that he was going to commit an atrocious act in the name of justice, but he chose the lesser of the two evils. The only bait that the judge could think to use was Juana la Triste, since Nicolás Vidal did not have any other relatives, nor did he have any lovers. He took the woman from the brothel where she had been scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets due to the lack of clients willing to pay for her services, put her in a cage made to her measurements, and placed her in the center of the Plaza de Armas, with nothing more than a jar of water to comfort her.
“When the water is gone she will start to shout. Then her son will come, and I will be waiting with soldiers to arrest him,” said the Judge.
The rumor of this punishment, which hadn’t been in use since the days of runaway slaves, reached Nicolás Vidal soon after his mother had taken the last sip of water. His men watched him receive the news silently, without changing the calm rhythm with which he sharpened his knife. It had been many years since he’d had any contact with Juana la Triste, and he had no fond memories of his childhood, but this was not an issue of sentiment. It was an issue of honor. No man could put up with such an insult, thought the bandits. They readied their weapons and horses, and prepared to go into the ambush even if it cost them their lives. But their leader showed no signs of haste.
With each passing hour, the tension in the group grew. They looked at one another, sweating, without daring to speak a word. They waited impatiently, hands on their revolvers, the manes of their horses, and the grips of their bows. Night came and the only one in the camp who slept was Nicolás Vidal. By dawn the men were divided in their opinions. Some believed that their leader was much more heartless than they had ever imagined, and others thought that he was planning a spectacular effort to rescue his mother. The only thing that no one suspected was that he lacked courage, because he had shown many times that this wasn’t the case. At noon they asked him what he was going to do because they couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer.
“Nothing,” he said.
“What about your mother?”
“We will see who has more balls, the Judge or I”, replied Vidal, composed as ever.
On the third day, Juana La Triste still hadn’t called out for pity or begged for water because her tongue was dry in her mouth and she was unable to speak a word as she lay curled up in her cage, disoriented, with dry lips. She moaned like an animal when she was lucid, and the rest of the time she spent in a hellish stupor. Four armed guards stood watch over the prisoner to stop the townsfolk from bringing her water. Her wailing could be heard in every corned of the town, carried by the wind, entering though closed shutters and doors. It made the dogs howl and the babies cry, and it grated on the nerves of everyone who heard it. The judge couldn’t avoid the parade of people to the plaza pitying the old woman, nor could he stop the prostitute’s sympathy strike, which happened to coincide with the miners’ payday. On Saturday the streets were filled with rough mine workers, eager to spend their earnings before returning to the tunnels, but the town offered no diversion beside the cage and the whispers of pity from person to person from the river to the coast.
The priest lead a group of parishioners who presented themselves before Judge Hidalgo to remind him of Christian kindness and to request that he free the poor innocent woman of her martyr’s death. But the magistrate bolted the door of his office and refused to hear them, betting that Juana la Triste could stand one more day and that her son would fall for his trap. So, they decided to appeal to his wife, Casilda, instead.
The judge’s wife received them in the dark parlor of their house and listened silently to their arguments, in her typical manner with downcast eyes. It had been three days that her husband was absent, shut up in his office, awaiting Nicolás Vidal with irrational determination. Casilda knew everything that happened in the street without even looking out the window, as the noise of the whole affair could be heard even throughout vast rooms of her house. Lady Casilda waited for the visitors to leave, dressed her children in their Sunday clothes, and took them out to the plaza. She carried a basket of provisions and a jar of fresh water for Juana la Triste. The guards saw her coming around the corner and guessed her intentions, but they had strict orders, so they crossed their rifles in front of her. When she tried to move forward, they took her by the arms to stop her and the children began to shout.
Judge Hidalgo was in his office at the front of the plaza. He was the only one in the neighborhood who hadn’t plugged his ears with wax, because he remained focused on the ambush, listening for the sound of Nicolás Vidal’s horses. For three days and nights he had put up with the weeping of his victim and the insults of the townsfolk protesting in front of the building. It wasn’t until he heard his children shouting that he realized he had reached his limit. Exhausted and unshaven, he left the court with tired eyes and the weight of his defeat on his back. He crossed the street, entered the plaza, and walked towards his wife. They looked at each other with sorrow. It was the first time in seven years that she confronted him, and she chose to do it in front of the whole town. Judge Hidalgo took the basket and the jar of water from Casilda’s hands and then opened the cage to free his prisoner.
“I told you, he is more cowardly than I,” laughed Nicolás Vidal when he found out what had happened.
But his grin turned sour the next day, when he received news that Juana la Triste had hanged herself from a light post in front of the brothel where she had spent her life. Her only son had abandoned her in a cage in the middle of the Plaza de Armas and she couldn’t bear the shame.
“The Judge’s time has come,” said Vidal.
His plan was to enter the town at night, take the judge by surprise, give him a spectacular death, and put him in the accursed cage. Upon waking the next day, all would be able to see his humiliated remains. But Vidal found out that the Hidalgo family had left for a spa on the coast to recuperate from the defeat.
The word that the gang was pursuing them to take revenge reached Judge Hidalgo in the middle of his route, at an inn where they had stopped to rest. The inn wouldn’t offer enough protection until his guards arrived, but they had a few hours advantage, and their car was faster than the horses. He figured that he could make it to another town to get help. He ordered his wife to get into the car with the children, pressed the pedal to the floor, and hit the road. He should have arrived with an ample margin of safety, but it was written that that day Nicolás Vidal would find himself confronted with the woman he had avoided his whole life.
Exhausted from sleepless nights, the hostility of the townsfolk, the embarrassment he suffered, and the pressure of the race to save his family, the Judge’s heart stopped and exploded without a sound. The car, now without a driver, left the road, took a few tumbles, and left them finally beside the road. It took Casilda a few minutes to realize what had happened. She often imagined that one day she would be a widow, as her husband was much older than she, but she never imagined that he would leave her at the mercy of his enemies. But she didn’t stop long to think about it, because she realized that she needed to act quickly in order to save her children. She looked around the place where they had ended up and was on the verge of crying out in grief. In the bare expanse under the merciless sun, there were no signs of human life, only rugged hills and the bright white sky. But with a second look around, she noticed the shadow of a cave on a distant slope. She began to run toward it, carrying two of the children in her arms with the third clinging her skirt tail.
Casilda climbed to the top three times, carrying her children one by one. It was a natural cave, one of the many in the mountains of that region. She searched inside to make sure that it wasn’t inhabited by an animal, situated the children on the ground, and kissed them without shedding a tear.
“Within a few hours the guards will come to look for us. Until then, don’t leave here for any reason, even if you hear me shout. Do you understand?” she ordered.
The children cowered, frightened, and with one last look of goodbye, their mother descended the hill. She arrived at the car, lowered her dead husband’s eyelids, dusted off her clothes, fixed her hair, and sat down to wait. She didn’t know how many men were in Nicolás Vidal’s gang, but she prayed that there were many so that it would take some time for them to satisfy themselves of her. She gathered her strength, asking herself how long it would take to die if she tried to do it little by little. She wished that she were more voluptuous and robust, so she could resist them longer and gain time for her children.
She didn’t have to wait long. Soon she saw dust rising on the horizon and heard a horse’s gallop. She clenched her teeth in anticipation, but it surprised her to see only one man on horseback. He stopped a few meters away from her with his gun in his hand. His faced was full of knife scars, and she recognized him immediately as Nicolás Vidal, who had decided to pursue Judge Hidalgo without his men, as this was a private matter to be settled between the two of them. Casilda realized that she would have to do something much more complicated than simply die slowly.
It only took one look around for the bandit to realize that his enemy had avoided any punishment, as he was sleeping peacefully in death. But there was his woman, floating in the reverberation of the light. He dismounted his horse and neared her. Casilda did not move or lower her eyes, which shocked Vidal; for the first time someone was challenging him without a hint of fear. They assessed each other for a few seconds that seemed to last forever, each one weighing the strengths of the other, estimating their own tenacity and accepting that they faced a formidable adversary. Nicolás Vidal put away his revolver, and Casilda smiled.
The judge’s wife earned each instant of the next few hours. She employed all the techniques of seduction known since the dawn of man, as well as others that she improvised out of necessity, to give the man the greatest delight possible. Not only did she employ her body like a master artisan, plucking each fiber in search of pleasure, but also put the refinement of her soul to work in her favor. They both understood that they were gambling with their lives, and this added a terrible intensity to their encounter. Nicolas Vidal had avoided love since his birth, never knowing intimacy, tenderness, the secret laughter, the celebration of the senses, or the lively pleasure of lovers. Each minute, the detachment of guards drew closer, and with them the firing squad. But each moment also brought him closer to this extraordinary woman, and because of this he eagerly gave in return the gifts that she offered him. Casilda was modest and timid. She had been married to an austere old man who had never even seen her naked. During this unforgettable evening she never lost sight of her goal to gain time, but for a moment she abandoned it, amazed by her own sensuality, and even felt something like gratitude to this man. Because of this, when she heard the far-off sound of the guards, she begged him to run and hide in the hills, but Nicolás Vidal preferred to hold her in his arms and kiss her one last time, thus completing the prophecy that marked his destiny.
More
Less
Translation education
Other - Ohio University
Experience
Years of experience: 12. Registered at ProZ.com: Feb 2015.
Portfolio