La letra en la lata...

Hoy, dentro de una caja de aluminio en la que papá guardaba las boletas pagas de los servicios y el impuesto municipal, encontré una carta firmada por una mujer. Una carta y dos fotografías. En la primera la mujer (supongo que la misma que escribió la carta) saluda desde la escalerilla de un barco; es altísima, delgada y tiene un pañuelo en la cabeza. La segunda es un retrato, también de ella pero debe haber sido tomada por lo menos diez años más tarde. Dios mío, ¿quién es Anna Juosten? Necesito un traductor urgente.

Helsinki, April 1995

Dear Jacinto,


You are such a sly one, you. You’ve been working on that blessed dictionary of yours all this time without telling me anything. You must have assumed I was not going to learn about it ever. However, I did. Do you see? The universe, as you put it, is straightforward: it opens up to our awareness in clear, transparent ways. It found me out, your world. It came across me and now I know your purposes. Now I am aware of your plight, my dear friend.

How come you have never asked for my help? That, I can’t explain. But for sure, I would have accepted had you ever called on me. For I am a part of this universe which you are so fervently (and secretly) trying to describe, to put into words, to transform into language. I am a part of it whether you like it or not.

Oh, but I do not care, dear. I don’t give a dime, let me tell you. I am going to disregard this petty act of negligence on your side and I´ll help you on behalf of our friendship. Sooner or later you will need me to write down a Finnish version of the dictionary, since you will be interested in translating it into Nordic languages, won’t you?

Consider it, Jacinto, get rid of your pride and let me in before it is too late. As harsh as it may sound, my days --and yours also-- are numbered. And please, don’t take me wrong: I am speaking out of sheer respect and, perhaps, I must admit, nostalgia.

Por ese tango que bailamos una vez.

Yours,

Anna Juosten.