Dictatorship of the Proletariat
Félix Terrones
Translated from the Spanish by Andrea Reece
He noticed it the first damn time he saw me. That imperceptible tremor brought on by the sight of a beggar, which, once I saw the glint in his eyes, transformed into a secret, unsettling and lethal sense of power. Yet I was able to act as if nothing were wrong, casually adjusting my jacket, searching with exaggerated care for a coin in my pocket, and letting it drop obligingly into his pot (recalling this, my actions seem ludicrously over the top, but at the time they calmed me). Needless to say, I bumped into him the following day, and again the one after. Eventually, I resigned myself to giving him a coin every morning, until one day he decided he wanted a banknote instead, or, preferably, my wallet. He subsequently claimed my jacket, and then my shirt. When he demanded my briefcase containing the firm’s documents, checks and promissory notes, I gritted my teeth—I still remember the rage and determination in his eyes. I have nothing left to give but my house keys, which is why I don’t want to see him this morning. Yet when I spot him on the street, standing tall and smartly dressed, he’s impossible to resist. I grovel along the ground so he deigns to notice the keys he has dropped. I think he glances at me, but maybe he doesn’t. As I watch him vanish round the corner with his briefcase and his keys, I pick up the coin he tossed me and scuttle away to hide among the rats and the cockroaches. That is where I belong.
Dictadura del proletariado
Se dio cuenta desde la maldita primera vez en que me vio. Ese temblor imperceptible que siempre me ha provocado ver a un medigo se convirtió, apenas vi el brillo en sus ojos, en un ascendiente secreto, perturbador y destructivo. Pude, sin embargo, actuar como si no pasara nada, es decir, acomodarme la chaqueta y buscar con negligente cuidado una moneda en mi bolsa, moneda que no tardaría en caer complaciente en su tarro (ahora que recuerdo todo esto me parece de sobra, esfuerzos ridículos pero que en su momento me tranquilizaron). De más está decir que, al día siguiente, también lo encontré y también después. De hecho, con el tiempo me terminé resignando a entregarle una moneda cada mañana hasta que un día decidió que no quería una moneda sino un billete o mejor mi cartera. Despues me pidíó mi cartera cuando no mi camisa. Cerré los dientes cuando me exigió, todavía recuerdo sus ojos llenos de rabia y determinación, que le entregara mi maleta, llena de los documentos, cheques y pagarés de la empresa. Por eso que esta mañana no quiero verle, ya que no me queda nada más para entregarle salvo las llaves de mi casa. Pero me resulta imposible resister pues apenas lo veo erguido y muy bien vestido en el fondo de la calle me arrastro por los suelos para que se digne advertir las llaves que están ahí, que ha dejado caer. Creo que me mira un segundo, aunque no es seguro. Mientras lo veo perderse calle abajo con su maleta y sus llaves, recojo la moneda que me tiró y huyo a esconderme entre las ratas y cucarachas. Ese es mi lugar.
Félix Terrones (Lima, 1980) is a Peruvian writer and scholar, living between France and Switzerland. Doctor of literature from the Université Michel de Montaigne – Bordeaux III where he graduated with a thesis on brothels in the Latin American novel. Author of the collection of short stories A media luz (PUCP, 2003), the novel El silencio de la memoria (Mundo Ajeno, 2008), the flash fiction collection El viento en tu cara (Nazari, 2014) from which this piece is taken, the novel Ríos de ceniza (Textual Pueblo Mágico, 2015), and most recently, the short story collection Notas en un pasaporte (Editorial Piesa, 2022).
Andrea Reece (Brighton, 1966) translates from Spanish and French. She holds an MA in Literary Translation Studies from the University of Exeter. She won a PEN Translates Award for First, they erased our name. A Rohingya speaks, by Habiburahman and Sophie Ansel (Scribe, 2019), and co-translated a Sunday Times bestseller (My Life in Red and White by Arsène Wenger; W & N, 2020). Her translations also include a set of music biographies (Octopus), a collection of award-winning children’s illustrated science and history books (Button books), a Swiss ecofiction novel (Unsteady Earth by Marie-Jeanne Urech; Strangers Press, 2022) and extracts in Asymptote.