Kino awakened in the near dark. The stars still shone and the day had
drawn only a pale wash of light in the lower sky to the east. The roosters had
been crowing for some time, and the early pigs were already beginning their
ceaseless turning of twigs and bits of wood to see whether anything to eat had
been overlooked. Outside the brush house in the tuna clump, a covey of little
birds chittered and flurried with their wings.
Kino's eyes opened, and he looked first at the lightening square which
was the door and then he looked at the hanging box where Coyotito slept. And
last he turned his head to Juana, his wife, who lay beside him on the mat, her
blue head-shawl over her nose and over her breasts and around the small of her
back. Juana's eyes were open too. Kino could never remember seeing them closed
when he awakened. Her dark eyes made little reflected stars. She was looking at
him as she was always looking at him when he awakened.
Kino heard the little splash of morning waves on the beach. It was very
good - Kino closed his eyes again to listen to his music. Perhaps he alone did
this and perhaps all of his people did it. His people had once been great
makers of songs so that everything they saw or thought or did or heard became a
song. That was very long ago. The songs remained; Kino knew them, but no new
songs were added. That does not mean that there were no personal songs. In
Kino's head there was a song now, clear and soft, and if he had been able to
speak of it, he would have called it the Song of the Family.
His blanket was over his nose to protect him from the dank air. His eyes
flicked to a rustle beside him. It was Juana arising, almost soundlessly. On
her hard bare feet she went to the hanging box where Coyotito slept, and she
leaned over and said a little reassuring word. Coyotito looked up for a moment
and closed his eyes and slept again.
Juana went to the fire pit and uncovered a coal and fanned it alive
while she broke little pieces of brush over it.
Now Kino got up and wrapped his blanket about his head and nose and
shoulders. He slipped his feet into his sandals and went outside to watch the
dawn.
Outside the door he squatted down and gathered the blanket ends about
his knees. He saw the specks of Gulf clouds flame high in the air. And a goat came
near and sniffed at him and stared with its cold yellow eyes. Behind him Juanas
fire leaped into flame and threw spears of light through the chinks of the
brush-house wall and threw a wavering square of light out the door. A late moth
blustered in to find the fire. The Song of the Family came now from behind
Kino. And the rhythm of the family song was the grinding stone where Juana
worked the corn for the morning cakes.
The dawn came quickly now, a wash, a glow, a lightness, and then an
explosion of fire as the sun arose out of the Gulf. Kino looked down to cover
his eyes from the glare. He could hear the pat of the corncakes in the house
and the rich smell of them on the cooking plate.
The Pearl
John Steinbeck
1947 Penguin Books
A Perla
traducido por Benigno Fernández Salgado
Editorial Galaxia.
Kino espertou case ás escuras.As
estrelas aínda relucían e o día a penas tendera un pálido manto de luz sobre a
parte inferior do ceo, cara ó leste. Os gatos estiveran cantando un pedazo e os
cochos, moi madrugadores, comenzaran xa a fozar entre os garabullos e achas de
leña, para ver se algo de comer lles pasara antes desapercibido. Fóra da casopa
de xestas, no plantío de chumbeiras, unha niñada de paxariños rechouchiaba
mentres axitaban as ás.
Os
ollos de Kino abríronseñ. Primeiro mirou o cadrado de luz da porta e logo o
barrelo pendurado en que durmía Coyotito. Finalmente, volveu a cabeza para
Juana, a súa muller, que permanecía deitada onda el, na esteira, co seu chal
azul sobre o peito tapándolle o nariz e, por detrás, unha parte das costas. Os ollos
de Juana xa estaban tamén abertos. Kino non se acordaba de llos ver nunca
pechados ó espertar. Os seus escuros ollos eran coma dúas pequenas estrelas. E
agora, ela, coma outras veces, estaba a miralo como sempre o miraba cando
espertaba.
Kino
sentía o suave murmurio das ondas matutinas da praia. Era mió agradable. Kino
pechou os oolos outra vez para escoita-la súa música. Quizais soamente el
fixera esto ou quizais tódolos seus o fixeran. No seu pobo houbera unha vez tan
grandes creadores de cancións que podían converter en canto todo o que vían,
pensaban, facían ou oían. Máis diso había moito tempo. As cancións permanecían;
Kino sabíaas, pero ninguén engadira novas cancións. Non é que non tivesen
cancións de seu. Na mente de Kino había agora unha canción clara e doce, á que
el lle chamaría, se dela puidese falar, a Canción da Familia.
Estaba
coa manta sobre o nariz para se proteger do aire húmido. Os seus ollos
pestanexaron ó se mover algo ó seu carón. Era Juana que se erguía, case sen
facer ruído. Cos seus fortes pés descalzos dirixiuse ó berce pendurado onde
Coyotito durmía, inclinouse sobre el e susurroulle, como para aloumiñalo, unha
palabra tenra. Por un instante, Coyotito mirou para riba, pechou os ollos e
adormeceu de novo.
Juana
foi cara ó lume, sacou do rescaldo unha brasa aínda viva e asoproulle para que
prendese mentres lle partía e achegaba uns garabulliños.
Daquela,
Kino ergueuse, puxo a manta sobre os ombros e envolveuna ó redor da cabeza e do
nariz. Calzou as sandalias e saíu ve-lo amencer.
Xa
fóra da porta, dobregouse e recolleu as puntas da manta sobre os xeonllos. No
alto do ceo viu como se inflamaban os farrapos de nubes do Golfo. Unha cabra
achegouse a el, e uliscándoo, mirouno cos seus ollos fríos e acastañados.
Detrás del, o lume de Juana lapeaba e lanzaba músicas polas regandixas da
parede ó tempo que no chan proxectaba un cadrado de luz ondulante fóra da
porta. Unha tardía avelaíña entrou atraída polo lume. A Canción da Familia viña
agora de dentro, de detrás de Kino. O ritmo desa melodía familiar procedía da
moa de pedra na que Juana traballaba o millo para as tortas da mañá.
O amencer, agora, chegaría de contado: unha
tenue pincelada, unha luz difusa, un luminoso roibén e por fin unha explosión
de lume cando o sol se alzase sobre o Golfo. Kino baixou a vista para
protexe-los ollos do resplendor. Sentía os golpiños das tortas de millo na casa
e o rico arrecendo que viña da pedra de cociñar.
