As the semester progresses, I find the idea of finishing my translations more impossible than ever. This thesis I’ve been gestating for more than a year seems too stubborn, too imperceptible at times to complete.
One of my favorite stories from the collection is titled, “The Indecisive.” Below, I’ve included a particularly tricky and fascinating excerpt:
The woman had a lover. The willows fell with delicate weightlessness, sweeping the coast, evaporating the undergrowth.
The lover resided on the other side of the river. In an identical house, yet inhabited by him. At night, he turned on the light to await her. In the middle of the nocturnal river’s rumblings, gasping in the darkness, the house’s light–at the other side of the shore–was a levitating beacon, a meteor suspended, a ship that promises travels. With his light he called her, a promise of yearning realized, of desires that were slowly satisfied. For many years, so many years ago, there was a wooden bridge to link both shores. Then, the bridge, while uniting the two margins, hindered the growth of profound dreams. The path to the other shore unraveled the desires, withered them. The bridge had been swept away by the current after some time; then the house no longer existed, not the woman, her jealous husband, or the house on the other shore. But though it was an inaccessible shore, there also existed an imperative craving, an urgent yearning, a woman desiring and a lover who awaits.