The Cubs: original version, nicknames, and a few things that got lost (?) in translation

Reading English translations of literary works always frightens me a little because if you cannot read it in the original language, you get the feeling that you might be missing out on certain nuances that just do not turn out the same, even in the best of translations. There is simply no substitute for being able to read a work in the original version.  For that reason, I deeply regret not having knowledge of French (beyond a single beginner’s course, French “101″ as it were), as I am certain I would have been able to “feel” more deeply many of the works we have read, particularly something such as Notebook of a Return to the Native Land: poetry almost demands to be read in the original.

Now… the Spanish works we have read: that is another story. I have dutifully read all of the English translations. Partly because it is difficult to comment in class or reference page numbers and things underlined for discussion if I do not, and because, of course, that is the common language of the course. But whenever time permitted, I have also read the Spanish version, particularly in the case of books such as Pedro Páramo which I had already read years ago, but wanted to re-read in the light of literary movements and social change that we are discussing in the classroom.  And now we come to the crunch: The Cubs, Los cachorros. 

Without getting into a discussion of obvious translations such as ”P.P.” (very unfortunate) for Pichulita (I would have made his English nickname ‘Willie’ which I think does the trick without sounding too much like kindergarten potty humor), I believe the translation to be quite adequate on the whole. That notwithstanding, I can honestly say I got an entirely different “feel” for the story after reading it in Spanish. 

Without going into nit-picky examples, I would like to point out one very key sentence at the end of the story which I do not believe got quite the right interpretation. It refers to the eventual demise of Cuéllar. The part in question is highlighted in boldface in each version:

(p. 43) “…poor guy, we said at the funeral, how much he suffered, what a life he had, but this finish is something he had in store for him.”  = “…pobre, decíamos en el entierro, cuánto sufrió, qué vida tuvo, pero este final es un hecho que se lo buscó.” 

Here’s the crunch for me: “something he had in store for him,” as I see it, is something inevitable about a person’s future; it implies, for me, a sense of fate over which one has no real control. In other words, if Cuéllar died in an automobile accident, well, it was pre-destined, it was going to happen, just like the dog was going to attack him, it was just one more example of the luck of the draw, and this poor guy drew the short straw once again. 

The original Spanish version leaves a decidedly different taste in my mouth: “es un hecho que se lo buscó.” This, for me, implies active participation on the part of the victim.  My interpretation of the Spanish would have been more like this: ”poor guy, we were all saying at the funeral, he had nothing but a life of pain and suffering, this was probably the ‘out’ that he was looking for/he must have brought it upon himself.” 

Translation is a fine art, and I am not quibbling with the majority of the translated version which I think is quite good. There are many issues that enter into translation, such as the specifics of a particular culture or subculture, which can never be conveyed perfectly, especially where dialogue is concerned.  The lingo used by a gang of African Americans from a poor suburb of Chicago, for example, would be very difficult to put across in a translation from English into any other language; even in the English verison, many native speakers would be at a loss as to what much of the jargon meant.  But when fairly standard language is used, it is a different case.  My point, in these cases, is simply that the feeling you are left with, especially for a critical interpretation at the end of a story or novel, is as important as the punch line of a joke: one false move, and the impact is either lost or misconstrued.  This particular line was something that jumped out at me as ‘not quite what the doctor ordered’ or, if you like, (maybe) not quite what the writer intended.  Since I am not a professional translator, it is clearly not for me to say.  Vargas Llosa would probably say I was making a mountain out of a molehill!  (On the other hand, you might want to read the ‘Translator’s Note’ at the beginning of the book.)