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Go shoppingTranslated by John Rutherford
So sleepy. The light comes in round the edges of the blind. Net curtains. She’d just woken up. She half-covered her face, so cold out there, and snuggled up. Her feet touched a bulky form, some legs. There was someone in the bed, there was someone with her in that bed. [private]She moved her feet away with care, very slowly. She remained motionless. Where was she? She’d just woken up, she’d slept there that night. Now the morning light was coming in there. And who was by her side? She was still motionless. She had to get out of there. First she slipped her feet out, inch by inch, without making any noise, without moving the sheets very much, and then she slid her whole body out. There were some red slippers on a flower-patterned carpet, she put them on. She noticed her breasts, large and drooping, inside her nightdress. On the bedside table there was an alarm clock, a crossword-puzzle magazine and an imitation oil-lamp. She turned round and looked at the form in the bed. It was a man. A bit bald. And fat. A broad hairy hand was sticking out. She looked for the door, it was on the other side of the room. She passed by the mirror on a wardrobe door, she caught a glimpse of herself, fat and with salon-blond hair, she turned back and stopped in front of it. How old would she be? Fifty-odd.
Fifty-seven or fifty-eight. She had wrinkles under her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Reflected behind her was the form of the man in the bed. She left without making any noise and carefully pulled the door to.
A dark corridor, there was an open door through which came the grey light of dawn. She walked slowly. It was a kitchen. A window with semi-transparent plastic curtains filtered light from an inner yard. It was a small kitchen. The bedroom too, the whole flat must be small. This must be her home. She was the woman of the house. And the fat man must be her husband. Did he love her? Who could tell. Maybe they had children. She switched the light on. There was a small fridge on the right. She opened it. A couple of chicken thighs on a plate. Tomatoes, greens, a small saucepan of milk. Breakfast. She’d have to make the breakfast. Where would the coffee be? Or would they have hot chocolate? The alarm clock, soon it would ring. What time would it be set for? She closed the fridge without making any noise, with small, light steps she went to the bedroom, she entered, the fat man was still asleep. She walked to the bedside table, picked up the alarm clock and held it to the light coming in round the blind. It was a few minutes before eight, and the clock was set for eight. She put the alarm clock down without making any noise and walked lightly out. She went back to the kitchen. Where would the matches be?[/private]
Suso de Toro (Santiago, 1956) is a journalist and author of novels, short stories and essays. In 2001, de Toro’s articles about the crisis that followed the sinking of the oil ship Prestige on the Galician coast played a decisive role in the development of the social movement ‘Nunca máis’ (‘Never more’). In addition to translating Don Quixote and La regenta from Spanish to English, John Rutherford directs translation workshops at Oxford University’s Centre for Galician Studies, which have produced Them and other stories by Mendez Ferrín, Things by Castelao and From the beginning of the sea: An anthology of Galician contemporary short stories.
‘Up Early’ was first published in From the beginning of the sea (foreigndemand.net).
