lunes, 19 de noviembre de 2012

Translation of "Mascarada" by Ginés Cutillas


Masquerade

When Fred told his wife that morning that he was going to buy the newspaper, little could she imagine that the police would knock on their door an hour later to tell her that her husband had died in a car accident. Apparently his car had smashed into a guard rail on the M-30 highway.

During the hours before the funeral, Mary couldn’t stop wondering where he was driving. He always bought the paper from the newsstand on the corner.

Mass was quiet. Children, friends and colleagues hadn’t expected to attend a death so soon. The few whispers running through the halls and vaults were those that praised the generosity and honesty, the good father and even better husband he had been, now lying before them. Nobody skimped on flowers, wreaths and more than one of the mourners even wrote poetry.

Right before being closed up, two sinister whistles echoed inside the coffin.

Instinctively, the attendees looked at the widow who, after the initial shock, moved closer to the coffin, patted the corpse’s pockets and took a cell phone out of the front inside pocket of his jacket, which she had been unaware of. She was so nervous that she gave the phone to her son who, after confirmed that the unfortunate caller was a Laura, read out loud: “Honey, where the hell are you?”

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