Da tradução dos clássicos russos

To be cosily sitting by one's fireside again such a morning and to be feeling not at all the worse of it, seemed extraordinary to my mother; she would not have been surprised if it had laid her up with a violent sick headache. But no! Nothing of the kind; instead of that she was feeling particularly energetic and pleased with life, and long before Sophy's curiosity was half satisfied, she laid hold of the volume of Anna Karenina in the Russian and began '... the old monster says here...'

The news of Joe's dementia had spread very quickly to our dear friend and neighbour Sophy Petrovna, and directly she had heard that the coast was clear, that Joe was in the hands of the police, she had put on her goloshes and her fur tippet and had set off up the hill to hear all about it. At lunch she had teased my father and he had teased her back, and after lunch she had settled down to roll herself one cigarette after another and to hear, over the coffee, every detail from my mother. She had heard a great deal, but eventually my mother grew restive; a whole day was being wasted owing to that wretched man, and the heaven-sent opportunity of getting a Russian opinion on the passage which had been troubling her was being wasted too, because of Sophy's greediness for gossip. So seizing Anna Karenina she opened the pages and, as she scanned them hastily, her expression completely changed; all the rather shy, girlish propitiatory warmth left her face and her features assumed a sharp, masterful expression. Sophy was sometimes a little put out by my mother's manner while some of these special points were being referred to her. For she had a habit of picking out phrases which, though they would never have attracted attention had one been reading the book for pleasure, were always troublesome. And when she felt that she had solved the problem satisfactorily, my mother would split her explanation into two, and say:

'But you see, Sophy, that what you have said is ambiguous. Does he mean this - or that? He cannot have intended both.'

David Garnett, Beany-Eye. Penguin Books, 1948

N.B.: a mãe de David Garnett, Constance Garnett, foi efectivamente uma prolífica tradutora de autores russos, nomeadamente Tchékhov.

the new man who was writing now in Russia

In any emergency it would, however, be much better if she were dressed and knew what was happening, and in any case she was feeling too uneasy to go to sleep. So she sat up. To pass the time she took a book of stories by the new man who was writing now in Russia, and opened it at one called 'Ward Number 6'. The slightly quizzical and sceptical lines round her mouth slowly vanished; she read more slowly and appreciatively as Tchehov's intention came home to her. It was terrible; it was scarifying - but it was a masterpiece with a most biting moral. Breathlessly, with a rather childish smile and parted lips, she read on.

David Garnett, Beany-Eye. Penguin Books, 1948

Por fim, Ivan Dmítrich, vendo que era inútil resistir, deixou de raciocinar e entregou-se ao desespero e ao medo. Começou a isolar-se e a evitar as pessoas. O serviço, que já antes lhe repugnava, tornou-se-lhe insuportável. Tinha medo que o levassem a meter-se em sarilhos, que lhe metessem à socapa dinheiro de um suborno no bolso para depois o apanharem, ou que ele próprio, por descuido, cometesse um erro nos papéis oficiais que pudesse ser considerado fraude, ou que perdesse dinheiro que não fosse dele. É curioso: o seu raciocínio nunca dantes fora tão flexível e inventivo como agora que fantasiava, dia a dia, milhares de motivos sérios de receio pela sua liberdade e honra. Ao mesmo tempo, ia enfraquecendo a olhos vistos o seu interesse pelo mundo exterior, em particular pelos livros, e já a memória começava a traí-lo.

Tchékhov, Enfermaria n.º 6 (trad. de Nina Guerra e Filipe Guerra)

next morning the terror would be very near

Beany-eye found that drink had a very queer effect on him. So long as he was drinking, the nameless thing which he was afraid of kept a long way off, usually it was driven right away out of sight, and if Frank left him in the bar, the more he drank the more he could make the men laugh at what he said. Though, if he stayed long enough, some bastard was sure to laugh in the wrong place and would get crowned with a broken glass or an empty bottle. But Beany-eye himself always felt fine, and if he could drop off asleep or fall unconscious, he would be all right. But when he couldn't sleep, then things began to look different, and if he started to get the horrors, or to think of them before he did fall asleep, he knew that when he woke up next morning the terror would be very near.

David Garnett, Beany-Eye. Penguin Books, 1948

Pesadelos

"Los dos primeros cuentos de este libro son de índole fantástica. Sólo ocurrieron para siempre en la imaginación. El último, The Sailor's Return, es realista. Esperamos que nunca haya ocurrido, tan verosímil y tan dolorosa es la trama. Estas historias pertenecen al más antiguo de los géneros literarios, la pesadilla"

Jorge Luis Borges, Biblioteca personal.