Lá fora no estreito o mar ondula branquejando,
como dizem por aqui. Está bravo, e eu feliz
de não estar lá. De ter pescado hoje
na enseada, jogando minha melhor isca pra trás
e pra frente. Não peguei nada. Nenhuma fisgada
sequer, nem uma. Mas foi bom. Foi ótimo!
Eu levava o canivete de seu pai e fui seguido
algum tempo por um cachorro chamado Dixie.
Certas horas me sentia tão feliz que precisava parar
a pesca. Então deitei na beira de olhos fechados,
ouvindo o som que a água fazia,
e o vento no topo das árvores. O mesmo vento
que sopra no estreito, mas diferente, também.
Por um tempo até me deixei imaginar estando morto -
e isso não foi ruim, pelo menos num par
de minutos, até realmente afundar na ideia: Morto.
Enquanto eu deitava ali de olhos fechados,
logo após ter imaginado como poderia ser
se de fato eu não me levantasse mais, pensei em você.
Abri meus olhos então e levantei depressa
e voltei para minha felicidade outra vez.
Sou grato a você, percebe? E queria te dizer.
Tradução de Rodrigo Lacerda in O fazedor de velhos, pág.83
For Tess - Raymond Carver
Out on the Strait the water is whitecapping
as they say here. It's rough, and I'm glad
I'm not out there. Glad I fished all day
on Morse Creek, casting a red Daredevil back
and forth. I didn't catch anything. No bites
even, not one. But it was okay. It was fine!
I carried your dad's pocketknife and was followed
for a while by a dog its owner called "Dixie."
At times I felt so happy I had to quit
fishing. Once I lay on the bank with my eyes closed,
listening to the sound the water made,
and to the wind in the tops of the trees. The same wind
that blows out on the Strait, but a different wind, too.
For a while I even let myself imagine I had died -
and that was all right, at least for a couple
of minutes, until it really sank in: Dead.
As I was lying there with my eyes closed,
just after I'd imagined what it might be like
if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you.
I opened my eyes then and got right up
and went back to being happy again.
I'm grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you.
as they say here. It's rough, and I'm glad
I'm not out there. Glad I fished all day
on Morse Creek, casting a red Daredevil back
and forth. I didn't catch anything. No bites
even, not one. But it was okay. It was fine!
I carried your dad's pocketknife and was followed
for a while by a dog its owner called "Dixie."
At times I felt so happy I had to quit
fishing. Once I lay on the bank with my eyes closed,
listening to the sound the water made,
and to the wind in the tops of the trees. The same wind
that blows out on the Strait, but a different wind, too.
For a while I even let myself imagine I had died -
and that was all right, at least for a couple
of minutes, until it really sank in: Dead.
As I was lying there with my eyes closed,
just after I'd imagined what it might be like
if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you.
I opened my eyes then and got right up
and went back to being happy again.
I'm grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you.
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