Un extraño en la noche - A stranger in the night. ESPAÑOL-ENGLISH
La tarde se desangra en el horizonte y el mar se va vistiendo de luto. El viento helado, que ha estado batiendo furiosamente la isla durante todo el día, ha callado. La vida se escapa por la última ranura rojiza; es la hora en que salen los espectros de sus escondrijos y yo ya empiezo a pensar en buscar cobijo.
The evening is bleeding into the horizon and the sea is dressing in mourning. The icy wind, which has been furiously beating the island all day, has fallen silent. Life escapes through the last reddish slit; it is the hour when the spectres emerge from their hiding places and I am already beginning to think about seeking shelter.
Siento como el frío de la piedra del banco me muerde las nalgas, cuando de pronto reparo en una silueta negra que surge de la penumbra, avanzando por el paseo que lame la costa en dirección al pueblo. Cruza delante de mí, caminando en silencio. Es una figura extraña; viste una pesada chaqueta militar y su cabeza está coronada por un turbante granate oscuro. Su rostro está enmarcado por unas espesas patillas negras y se adivinan unas cejas enormes. Parece un personaje salido de los montes del Pamir. Observo como se aleja; se lo traga la noche. Más allá, la luz que sale de la ventana de una de las primeras casas del pueblo le espera para revelar su paso. Me incorporo y salgo tras él, aunque en realidad no es eso, es que nuestros caminos coinciden, al menos hasta el pueblo.
I feel the cold of the stone bench biting into my buttocks as I notice a black silhouette emerging from the gloom, walking along the promenade that laps the coast towards the village. He crosses in front of me, walking silently. He is a strange figure; he wears a heavy military jacket and his head is crowned with a dark maroon turban. His face is framed by thick black sideburns and huge eyebrows are visible. He looks like something out of the Pamir Mountains. I watch as he walks away, swallowed by the night. Beyond, the light from the window of one of the first houses in the village waits for him to reveal his passage. I get up and follow him, although it's not really that, it's just that our paths coincide, at least as far as the village.
Paseo lentamente, observando las oscuras siluetas de los barcos inmóviles en el puerto. ¿Qué hace un personaje así en la isla en invierno? ¿Vivirá en uno de los barcos? ¿Habrá venido navegando? ¿Será un pirata? Me asaltan las preguntas. Siempre he sentido propensión a interesarme por los motivos que traen a los extranjeros a este rincón del mundo; por sus vidas, por cómo es la vida en sus tierras. Muchas veces les interpelo, para satisfacer mi curiosidad. Esta vez la curiosidad me ha venido tarde, probablemente la primera impresión que tuve del extraño fuera un tanto intimidatoria, y quizá por eso no surgió esa urgencia por dirigirme a él y chafardear sobre su vida.
I walk slowly, observing the dark silhouettes of the still ships in the harbour. What is such a character doing on the island in winter? Does he live on one of the ships? Has he sailed here? Is he a pirate? I am assailed by questions. I have always had a propensity to be interested in the reasons that bring foreigners to this corner of the world; in their lives, in what life is like in their countries. I often question them, to satisfy my curiosity. This time my curiosity came late, probably the first impression I had of the stranger was a bit intimidating, and maybe that's why I didn't feel the urge to approach him and inquire about his life.
Tan absorto estoy mirando los barcos y haciéndome estas cábalas que olvido vigilar el paso del extranjero por delante de la luz de la ventana. Se ha ido, me digo, y en silencio sigo mi paseo hacia casa. Al llegar encenderé la chimenea, calentaré un plato de lentejas que sobraron del mediodía y me sentaré a leer al calorcito de la lumbre.
Enfilo la calle que sube a la iglesia y una vez arriba doblo a la izquierda, frente a la plaza vacía. A escasos metros la luz de Babel lo delata como el único local abierto en invierno a esas horas. Paso por delante de la puerta y miro hacia dentro.
So absorbed am I in watching the boats and asking myself these questions that I forget to watch for the stranger passing in front of the window light. He's gone, I say to myself, and silently continue my walk home. Once I get there, I'll light the fireplace, heat up a plate of lentils left over from midday and sit down to read by the warmth of the fire.
I walk up the street that leads up to the church and, once at the top, I turn left, facing the empty square.A few metres away the light of Babel gives it away as the only place open in winter at that time of day. I walk past the door and look inside.
Esta es la quinta crónica turca. Aquí dejo los enlaces a las anteriores:
This is the fifth Turkish chronicle. Here are the links to the previous ones:
https://steemit.com/hive-185836/@ibizaki/el-turco-de-babel-babel-s-turk
https://steemit.com/hive-185836/@ibizaki/turko-a-la-kill-bill
I think Turk from Babel is a real philosopher, he has so much in his mind and he loves to learn the people's character, their inner world. But also reading the the story I have a feeling that he is very lonely person, hope he will find a friend, girlfriend or even an animal who he can talk to :)
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Thanks for your comment.
In the real chess world there always has been a bit of a lonely life for the players. Chess players travel all around the place all the time, need to study many hours daily to keep at the top, and their trade is almost unknown to the public. They can't just go and share all their creative ideas with anyone, as a guitarist may share his music. It is also hard to make enough money to support a family, so in that sense they usually fall on the single side of life. The image of a chess player and loneliness is not farfetched.
Interesante escrito!
Gracias, me alegro de que te lo pareciera.