Vamos a volver a esta conversación en diez años

      I went to a writing workshop sponsored by Sociedad de Escritores Ramon Romero with the Nicaraguan writer Ulises Juárez Polanco. I wrote my second short-short story in Spanish. You can read the first one in the previous post.

      This is the way these stories have come about: I have a conversation with someone and hear something that seems universal to me - experiencing the frailty of old age, coming to terms with the loss of a father, the ways men can mess up relationships even when they are important to them - but, the context seems specifically Nicaraguan and I wonder if I really understand what is going on for the person. Then, in two cases at least, I write fiction based on the conversation and my understanding of it. It seems to me that if I can write a story that rings true I am at least on my way to a deeper understanding of the culture.

     So here is the story as written in Spanish and translated into English:

Vamos a volver a esta conversación en diez años

Después de la clase de Ingles, los dos amigos, Memo y Chema, fueron a tomar a El Refugio. Memo era mas joven que Chema por diez años. Tuvo veinte años y Chema tuvo treinta.

En el bar, hablaron sobre varias cosas; sobre como el Ingles es un idioma loco, sobre beisbol y el inicio de los juegos de los Tigres, sobre cual chica de la clase de Ingles era la mas caliente, sobre si vale la pena ir a EEUU para trabajar.

La mesera era una mujer gordita y guapa. Cuando ella llegó con las Toñas, pasó tiempo en la mesa platicando y sonriendo. Siempre tocó el hombro de Chema y le preguntó, “?Que quiere, mi amor? ?Algo mas, mi amor?”

A las seis de la tarde, había doce botellas de Toña vacías en la mesa. Chema miró su celular y dijo a su amigo, “Tengo que salir pronto. Mi esposa me busca. Ya esta enojada conmigo.” Los amigos tomaron en silencio un rato. Luego, Memo le dijo lo siguiente a Chema:

“No voy a votar. Se que Daniel va a ser presidente, pero el no me gusta. No creó trabajo en Nicaragua. Cuando no hay trabajo, los hombre tienen que salir a buscar otras oportunidades. Mi papá fue a Los Estados Unidos cuando yo tuve ocho años. Fue para ayudar a la familia, pero el nos olvidó. Olvidó a mi mama, a mi hermanito, y a mi. Ahora tiene otra familia. No he hablado con el por ocho años. Cuando tuve quince años fue muy duro. Tuve que ayudar bastante a mi mamá. Ahora soy hombre y me  vale verga. Es mejor. Aprendi. Se que tipo de hombre quiero ser. Cuando este con mi pareja y mis hijos, siempre me quedaré con ellos. Voy a trabajar y cuidar de ellos. Nunca voy a olvidar a mi familia.”  

La mesera volvió. Ella presionó su cadera contra el hombro de Chema. Ella le preguntó, “?Algo mas, mi amor?” El puso su mano en la de ella y le respondió, “?Como no, guapa? Traigame una Toña bien fría y una orden de alitas bien picante.”

Chema  le dijo a su amigo joven, “Cuando tuve su edad, pensé lo mismo que me acaba de contar, pero con tiempo las cosas cambiaron. Vamos a  volver a esta conversación otra vez en diez años. Vos habla conmigo cuando tengas treinta años y cuando estés casado por diez años.” 

We’re going to return to this conversation again in ten years.

After their English class, the two friends, Memo y Chema, went to get something to drink at The Refuge. Memo was younger than Chema by ten years. He was twenty and Chema was thirty.

In the bar they talked about this and that; about how English was a crazy language, about baseball and the start of the Tiger’s season, about which girl in the English class was the hottest, about if it would be worth it to go the United States to work. 

The waitress was a plump, good looking woman. When she arrived with their Toñas, she spent time at the table, chatting and smiling. She always touched Chema’s shoulder and asked, “What do you want, my love? Can I get you anything else, my love?”

By six o’clock, there were twelve empty Toña bottles on their table. Chema looked at his cell phone and said to his friend. “I got to go soon. My wife is looking for me. She’s already pissed at me.” The friends drank in silence for a bit. Then Memo said the following to Chema:

“I’m not going to vote. I know Daniel will be president, but I don’t like him. He hasn’t created jobs in Nicaragua. When there are no jobs the men have to leave to look for other opportunities. My father went to the United States when I was eight. He went to help the family, but then he forgot about us. He forgot about my mom, my little brother, and me. Now he’s got another family. I haven't spoken to him in eight years. When I was fifteen it was very hard. I had to help my mom a lot. Now I’m a man and I don’t give a fuck. It is better. I learned. I know what kind of man I want to be. When I’ve got a wife and kids I’m going to stick with them. I’m going to working take care of them. I’ll never forget about them.”

The waitress returned. She pressed her hip against Chema’s shoulder. She asked him, “Anything else, mi love?” He put his hand in hers and said, “Why not, good looking? Bring me a real cold Toña and an order of real spicy wings.”

Chema said to his younger friend. “When I was your age I thought the same thing that you just told me, but with time things changed. We’re going to  return to this conversation again in ten years. Talk to me when you’re thirty and you’ve been married for ten years.”