Margaret Jull Costa - The Penguin Book of Spanish Short Stories

Margaret Jull Costa has translated the works of many Spanish and Portuguese writers, among them novelists: Javier Maras, Jos Saramago and Ea de Queiroz, and poets: Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, Mrio de S-Carneiro and Ana Lusa Amaral. Her work has brought her numerous prizes, most recently, the 2018 Premio Valle-Incln for On the Edge by Rafael Chirbes. In 2014, she was awarded an OBE for services to literature.

I would like to thank Chloe Currens of Penguin for inviting me to compile this anthology, my fellow translators for being willing to share their work, and my dear friend Annella McDermott for her continuing support and advice.

The tram was setting off from one end of the Salamanca neighbourhood and heading across Madrid in the direction of Pozas. Gripped by the selfish desire to get a seat before all the other passengers who, naturally, had precisely the same intention I grabbed the handrail of the stairs leading to the upper deck, placed one foot on the platform and climbed aboard, but at that very instant I should have seen it coming! I collided with another traveller entering from the other side. When I looked at him, I saw that he was my friend, Seor Dionisio Cascajares de la Vallina, a sensible, inoffensive fellow, who, on the occasion in question, was kind enough to greet me with an enthusiastic, heartfelt handshake.

Our unexpected collision had no major consequences, if you discount a slight dent inflicted on the straw hat perched on the head of an Englishwoman who was attempting to board the tram behind my friend and who, doubtless due to a lack of agility on her part, received a blow to her bonnet from his walking stick.

We sat down and, dismissing the incident as unimportant, started chatting.

Seor Dionisio Cascajares de la Vallina is a celebrated doctor although his fame does not rest on his deep knowledge of pathology and a thoroughly decent man, of whom no one has ever said that he was likely to steal other peoples property or kill a fellow human being other than in the pursuit of his dangerous and scientific profession. It is true that the trust he inspires in a multitude of families from all strata of society has much to do with his pleasant manner and his indulgent way of giving his patients only the treatment they want, but it is also a well-known fact that, in his bounty, he provides other services too, always of a rigorously honest nature, but which have nothing to do with science.

He knows more interesting things about peoples private lives than anyone else, and is an obsessive asker of questions, although he makes up for the vice of over-inquisitiveness by his equal readiness to tell you everything he knows about other people without your even having to ask. You can imagine, then, how eagerly the curious and the loose-tongued seek out the company of this fine example of human indiscretion.

This gentleman and friend well, hes a friend to everyone was the person sitting next to me as the tram slid smoothly over the rails down Calle de Serrano, stopping now and then to fill up the few remaining empty seats. Indeed, we were soon so crammed together that I was hard put to know what to do with the parcel of books I had with me, and which I placed first on one knee and then on the other. In the end, fearing that I might be bothering the English lady sitting to my left, I decided to perch on top of it.

And where are you off to? Cascajares asked, peering at me over his blue spectacles, which made me feel as if I were being scrutinized by two pairs of eyes.

I gave a somewhat evasive response, and he, doubtless not wishing to miss the opportunity of gleaning some useful snippet of information, asked further questions, along the lines of And whats So-and-so up to these days? And wheres So-and-so living? and other similar enquiries, none of which received very fulsome replies.

Finding each attempt at conversation blocked, he finally set off along the path best suited to his expansive temperament and began to blab.

Poor Countess! he said, shaking his head and adopting an expression of selfless compassion. If she had followed my advice, she wouldnt be in the appalling situation in which she finds herself now.

No, of course, I replied mechanically, thus paying the Countess my own brief tribute of compassion.

You see, he went on, she has allowed herself to become completely dominated by that man, and hell be master of the house one day. The poor thing thinks she can solve everything by weeping and wailing, but its not true. She should act now, because the mans an out-and-out bounder and, I believe, capable of the most heinous of crimes.

Oh, yes, awful, I said, unthinkingly sharing in his imaginings.

Its the same with all men of evil instincts and low social status when they rise a little in the world. They become utterly insufferable. One look at his face will tell you that no good will come of him.

Absolutely. It stands out a mile.

Let me explain the situation to you briefly. The Countess is an excellent woman, angelic, as discreet as she is beautiful, and she really does deserve better luck. However, she is married to a man who does not appreciate what a treasure he has and who devotes his life to gambling and all manner of other illicit pastimes. She, meanwhile, grows bored and weeps. Is it any surprise, then, that she should try to mask her sorrow by seeking honest entertainment elsewhere, wherever theres a piano? Indeed, I myself have told her as much. Countess, I said, life is too short, you need some diversion. In the end, the Count will repent of his folly, and your sorrows will be at an end. And I think Im right.

Oh, Im sure you are! I said officiously, although I was as indifferent to the Countesss misfortunes then as I had been at the beginning.

Thats not the worst of it, though, added Cascajares, striking the floor with his walking stick. Now the Count has got it into his head to be jealous, yes, of a certain young man who has undertaken to amuse the Countess.

It will be the envious husbands fault if he succeeds.

Now given that the Countess is virtue personified, none of this would matter, no, none of this would matter if there were not a dastardly fellow involved, who, I suspect, will bring disaster down upon the household.

Really? And who is this fellow? I asked, my curiosity piqued.

A former butler, of whom the Count is very fond, and who has set out to make that poor unhappy, sensitive lady suffer. It seems he is in possession of a compromising secret and with that weapon intends to well, I dont know quite what exactly. Its disgraceful!

It certainly is, and he deserves to be made an example of, I said, joining him in unleashing my fury on the man.

But she is innocent, she is an angel. Oh, but here we are at Cibeles already, yes, theres the Parque de Buenavista on the right. Stop the tram will you, my boy. Im not one of those men who likes to jump off while the tram is moving and risk cracking my skull open on the paving stones. Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.

The tram stopped and Seor Dionisio Cascajares de la Vallina got off, having once more shaken my hand and caused a second dent in the English ladys hat, had not yet recovered from the first assault.