Cuando recibí la noticia de que Puerto Rico en la olla había sido aceptado para traducción, lo
festejé con mi esposa y unas cuantas copas de espumoso. Hoy miro el momento y caigo
en la cuenta de lo cerca que estuve de escribir otro libro. En este caso en inglés.
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| Arroz con habichuelas , Osiris Delgado, 1965 |
Confieso que al principio me entró un sentimiento de
frustración que clasifiqué de indómito. Lo ocasionó el efecto del espejo roto. Es decir, tener una
primera impresión de mirarme y no reconocerme en unas páginas que reflejaban una lengua y una
semántica distintas, que devolvían a mis ojos miles de palabras escritas con una intención y con
significados perfectamente conocidos, y que aparecían ahora construidas en
inglés de otra forma, viviendo en el cuerpo de oraciones nuevas, páginas desiguales
y sentidos disímiles. Dicho de otro modo, se rompió de golpe la imagen mental
que me había hecho del texto y sus significados, la que me había acostumbrado a
ver hasta que revisé por última vez el manuscrito que publiqué en el vernáculo.
A lo hecho pecho, me dije, y me puse a revisar los capítulos
traducidos y a redactar las clarificaciones solicitadas por un redactor sin
rostro. A tropezones, a mitad de la tarea, me di cuenta que había dominado la
desilusión y me divertía. ¿Habrá sido porque
me sentía dominante ante un traductor profesional pero extremadamente honesto
con sus dudas léxicas?
Acabé exactamente el
día 13 de febrero del 2013. Entonces pensé otra cosa. Si podría librarme del Síndrome
de Diógenes, nombre de una patología contemporánea que tiene como uno de sus
síntomas el coleccionismo de objetos en desuso. Aunque en el fondo ésa señal nada
tiene que ver con la conducta moral del memorable cínico de Sinope, decidí
poner las clarificaciones al traductor en mi computadora, la nueva casa electrónica
donde los historiadores continuamos acumulando palabras dichas.
De todas- ¡y fueron muchas ¡-hoy quiero compartir con
80grados cuatro de ellas, aquéllas con la que más me divertí. Por cuestión de
orden, copio textualmente, primero la solicitud de clarificación del traductor,
seguida luego de mi explicación. Los errores en el difícil son de mi cuenta. Las
clarificaciones, por supuesto, están abiertas a críticas, comentarios y
anécdotas.
Comienzo con la turbación
del traductor ocasionada por una metáfora empleada por Miguel Meléndez Muñoz al
usar el puertorriqueñismo “aplatanarse” para significar, con ironía, el proceso
de aculturación de los inmigrantes españoles.[2]
Traductor: - “Chapter Five, Viandas,
page 197, paragraph 1, in the quote from Miguel Meléndez Muñoz: “pielden
el colol [sic]…” Is this colloquial speech for “pierden el color” (ie., they lose their pale skin color and get
bronzed by the sun)
Cruz: - “Well, not exactly. It’s a metaphor to
signify the common arrogant Spanish immigrant who began his life in the Island
as a full Spanish, and then fell in love with the exuberant landscape and the
tropical/colonial way of life. Then
acquainted a “mulata” and married her. In a figurative language, he loses his
native superior arrogance (“pierde el
color pálido) (white skinned colored). Its not referring to him being
bronzed, as a sun tan.”
Sigo con el adjetivo amarran, usado en nuestro lenguaje
culinario coloquial para designar el sabor astringente de un alimento,
normalmente de naturaleza vegetal.
Traductor: - “Chapter Five, page 212,
paragraph 3, line 4: “…y amarran,”. I
am not entirely sure of the meaning of amarran
here?”
Cruz: - “In Puerto Rican colloquial
culinary language, “amarran” is a form used to signify the experience of a
dry/sour, astringent palatal sensation,
usually expressed when any “vianda” has an unexpected , disgusting flavor. Is
derived from the noun “amarra”, “to tie”, “to tie up” which in fact is the
sensation felt in the mouth”.
El otro es el modismo “para que se
pierda que me haga daño”, usado en el texto original para ilustrar la práctica
antigua – hoy entendida como glotonería-de hartarse para aprovechar ése único momento
de abundancia, siempre, ojo, en un contexto histórico de inseguridad
alimentaria, de “miedo al hambre” para usar
una frase genial de Massimo Montanari.[3]
Traductor: - “Chapter Seven, p. 286,
paragraph 3, last 2 lines: the saying “para
que se pierda, que me haga daño.” I
am a little uncertain about this expression.
Could you give me a rough translation, or explain it in Spanish. Thanks.
Cruz:- “It means leftovers that an
eater decides to gulp although his belly is already full. It is also used when
foods have fall down to the floor from the table, and the eater decides to pick
it up and eat it, no matter what civility norms rule on the table, or the floor
is dirty. It is an attitude developed in the past/pre-industrial times by poor
people or people suffering from food insecurity or chronic hunger, hence the
invention of the colloquial saying. My best translation is: “If it is going to
waste, better to be in my belly”.
Por último, la clarificación
de la frase que me llevó a escribir esta pieza: “que ha comido un matrimonio”
Traductor: -“Chapter Two, Beans, p.
106, paragraph 2, line 2: “…que ha comido un matrimonio…” in the context of the
preceding paragraph about the Sello Rojo comercial, it seems make sense to translate this
literally as “anyone who has eaten “a marriage…” Ok?”
Cruz:- “No. In the context of our
eating practices, to eat rice with beans
became so inextricably linked that it turned to signify the moral –although
very fragile and very often unaccomplished- compromise of a an everlasting marriage (“un
matrimonio”). That’s why the Sello Rojo`s ad I mention is important. Both
characters- cartoons in fact- where crated as to represent a couple ( a grain
of white rice as a male/ a red kidney
bean as a female) that finally got married, with the everlasting compromise
of being inseparable as a well carried
engagement promises. To best clarify, let`s imagine the following story.
Suppose you take a seat in a Puerto Rican “fonda” (commonly a family
owned small restaurant – plastic table cloth, no luxuries, civil servants/
service workers/ muscle and sweat workers/ middle class professionals as their
regulars-. Five minutes pass.Then you see an eater take a seat next to your table. At the time, you
haven’t been addressed by the waiter – who possibly decides to attend the new customer first, not so much because he worries about your
Spanish speaking abilities, but because he don’t speak English at all. But you happen to listen to the
eater selections, which you have read already from a menu that is chalked
written in a card board somewhere inside. You take into account that menu is
composed/organized as follows:[4]
(1) Not too often, but in this case, a first or appetizer. If it happens, is usually a chicken soup, or a cream of
tubers or green plantain, and fritters for example. (2) An entrée that plays the role of the main course (i.e. meat, chicken, fish, dry codfish, a canned corned
beef, or a canned Vienna sausages concoction). Very often eaters go to the
entrée directly. (3) Finally, a sweet (flan,
tembleque, preserved papaya, or a slab of pasta de guayaba with slices of creole
cheese for example).Then, at the end of the board, you
see the word “acompañantes”, and under,
1.
arroz y habichuelas
2.
papas
fritas
3.
tostones
4.
viandas
5.
arroz guisado,
6.
coditos
( a new comer “acompañante”, a sort of
macaroni salad ( chopped onion, red/green pepper, capers, apple, boiled eggs
and mayo).
As the
waiter approaches the eater next to you, you hear he orders “pollo guisado” (stewed chicken, also called fricasé de pollo). And the waiter immediately
asks the eater, “¿Con qué lo quiere?” (What would you like as “acompañate?”).
The eater readily responds “matrimonio”. Although it happens you do not have a
definition for “matrimonio” ( because you haven`t seen the dish in the chalked
menu, the waiter does not need an explanation; he straight away knows is “arroz
con habichuelas”.But, for
your embarrassment, an additional five minutes pass, and you are still unattended
when the eater next by your side is served. You glance at his first eating gestures, and you observe, then, that his main course is served in a single serving plate, the chicken as the center, the white rice in a side of the dish (lots of rice) and a salad ( lettuce and tomatoes more than frequently). You also happen to see the stewed beans are served in a separate bowl, as an apparent side dish, as to be eaten by spoonful.
But. Hold! The eater then grabs the bowl, and
pours the beans (broth, pumpkins, ham and all) over the white rice. And, for
your surprise, just before having the first bite of food, the eater takes the
fork and mix [5]the
rice and beans all together. At this moment, rice and beans have engaged, have
“married”, they have become a “matrimonio”.
Finally, twenty minutes later, you are attended by another waiter, who
happens to speak, not English, but “spanglish”.Now days the metaphor is eroding,
especially among adolescents, young adults and some baby boomers also.”
!Buen provecho!
[1] R. Lovera, Historia
de la alimentación en Venezuela, Monte Ávila Editores, 1988.
[3] M. Montanari, El
hambre y la abundancia: historia y cultura de la alimentación en Europa,
Barcelona, Grijalbo, trad. del italiano de Juan Vivanco, 1993; y La
comida como cultura, Trea Editores, 2009.
[5] That’s why we also
name the concoction a “mixta”, but this colloquial culinary slang is commonly
used when rice and beans are eaten with stewed beef.
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