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Rates per language pair: anglais vers espagnol - Tarif standard : 0.06 USD par mot / 25 USD de l'heure français vers anglais - Tarif standard : 0.06 USD par mot / 25 USD de l'heure français vers espagnol - Tarif standard : 0.06 USD par mot / 25 USD de l'heure espagnol vers anglais - Tarif standard : 0.06 USD par mot / 25 USD de l'heure
Using Updates from HP
• Using the Free Update Service
• Viewing Messages
• Opening the Updates Applicat
Using the Free Update Service
Updates from HP is an Internet-based notification service that automatically sends you important product notices, system updates, tips, special HP offers to enhance your PC, and other information relevant to HP Pavilion users.
Messages are sent in the background while you’re connected to the Internet, and you can view them as they arrive or read them later. If a message delivers a system update that needs to be installed on the PC, the service will always request your permission before proceeding.
Note: If the Updates from HP service is disabled, you can reactivate it by double-clicking the Re-enable Updates from HP icon on the desktop.
Because HP maintains strict customer privilege guidelines, the only information accessed from your system is:
• The Windows® registry (system configuration)
• The Updates from HP application data files
Your personal documents, application files, and temporary Internet files (such as Internet cookies) cannot be accessed without your permission. For more information on the HP customer privacy policy, please see the HP Web site at www.hp.com.
The update service works behind the scenes as you use the Internet. Although it uses some computer system resources, the system performance should not be affected unless you have multiple applications running at the same time. If you get a low-system resource message, close some of the open applications.
Note: If you use the HP Pavilion System Recovery CD to recover your system, the updates will be restored the next time you log on to the Internet.
TRANSLATION SAMPLE 2
Corporate Communications
* Please see the reference PDF (PowerReport_english.pdf) for more context.
With a company as large as Invensys, there is
constant activity toward change and progress.
With this activity, I hear many questions about
our name, such as: “What are we going to
do?” and “Are we going to change our
name?” One thing is for sure - there are no
easy answers.
To ensure a unified initiative, the four components
of Lean Enterprise (Kaizen, Six Sigma,
Procurement and Lean Design) are now
reporting to Tom Gutierrez. As other changes
and successes within our Lean Enterprise program
unfold and more deeply impact Power
Systems, we will update you.
Test 3: Industrial Software
A maintenance scheduling system can be summarized as a grouping of reminder notices which identify what work is to be performed on which equipment (or types of equipment), how often and by people with what types of skills. The Ellipse Maintenance Scheduling module supports maintenance personnel so that they may successfully meet these challenges. The Maintenance Scheduling module is designed to identify and create templates for regularly performed tasks, such as scheduled services, for grouped equipment and/or their components. The Maintenance Scheduling module also provides for unexpected work (that is, ad hoc or corrective). Both scheduled and ad hoc tasks are included within the work group work schedule and are subject to work group resource availability.
Test 4: Marketing
Natural Products Expo Europe, held in Amsterdam June 16-17 this year, brought together an impressive range of manufacturers, distributors and retailers. Over 2500 visitors representing 56 countries were able to investigate new products and form new alliances with 130 the exhibiting companies. Over 67% of visitors were at board or director level.
Feedback from many exhibitors indicated a high quality of visitors from a business perspective. Many also used the event to showcase and launch new products or make related announcements.
Traduction - espagnol Cómo utilizar Updates de HP
• Cómo utilizar el servicio gratuito de actualizaciones y noticias
• Cómo ver los Mensajes
• Como abrir el programa Updates
Cómo utilizar el servicio gratuito de Actualizaciones y Noticias
Updates de HP es un servicio de información a través de Internet, que envía automáticamente avisos importantes acerca de productos, actualizaciones del sistema, consejos útiles, ofertas especiales de HP para mejorar el rendimiento de su PC, y otras informaciones relevantes para los usuarios de HP Pavillion.
Los mensajes se envían mientras Ud. está conectado a Internet, y los puede ver en el momento en que llegan o leerlos más tarde. Si un mensaje contiene una actualización del sistema que debe ser instalada en su PC, el servicio siempre solicitará su permiso antes de llevar a cabo la instalación.
Nota: Si el servicio de Noticias de HP está desactivado, puede reactivarlo haciendo doble click sobre el ícono Re-activar Updates de HP en el escritorio.
Dado que HP mantiene estrictas normas de Privacidad de Clientes, la única información de su sistema a la que accede el programa es la siguiente:
Registro de Windows® (Configuración de Sistema)
• Los archivos de datos del programa Updates de HP
Sus documentos personales, Archivos de Programa, y archivos temporales de Internet (por ejemplo las cookies) no pueden ser abiertos sin su permiso. Para mayor información acerca e la Política de Privacidad de Clientes de HP, por favor visite la página web de HP www.hp.com.
El servicio de actualizaciones y noticias trabaja en segundo plano, mientras Ud se encuentra en Internet. Aunque el mismo utiliza algunos recursos del sistema de su computadora, el rendimiento de la misma no debería de verse afectado, a menos que Ud. tenga varios programas funcionando simultáneamente. Si recibe un mensaje de recursos insuficientes del sistema, cierre algunos de los programas en funcionamiento.
Nota: Si utiliza el CD de Recuperación de Sistema de HP Pavillon, para recuperar sus sistema, el programa de Noticias será restaurado la próxima vez que Ud. se conecte a Internet.
TRANSLATION SAMPLE 2
Comunicaciones Corporativas
* Favor de leer el archivo PDF PowerReport_english.pdf para obtener información contextual.
En el caso de de una empresa tan grande como Invensys, existe una actividad constante orientada hacia el cambio y el progreso.
Durante estas actividades, oigo muchas preguntas acerca de nuestro nombre, como por ejemplo, “ Qué vamos a hacer? Y “ ¿Vamos a cambiar nuestro nombre?
Una cosa es segura: no existen respuestas fáciles. .
Para asegurar una iniciativa unificada, los cuatro miembros de Lean Enterprise (Kaizen, Six Sigma,
Procurement and Lean Design) están actualmente reportando ante Tom Gutierrez. A medida que se vayan desarrollando otros cambios y se constaten nuevos éxitos dentro de nuestro programa Lean Enterprise, que impacten más profundamente a Power
Systems, les mantendremos informados.
Test 3: Software industrial
Un sistema de programación de tareas de mantenimiento se puede describir brevemente como un conjunto de alertas que identifican qué trabajo se debe realizar, en qué equipo (o tipos de equipo) , cuán frecuentemente se debe hacer, y qué habilidades deben tener quienes lo realizan. El módulo Ellipse Maintenance Scheduling asiste al personal de mantenimiento para que sea capaz de superar estos exitosamente estos desafíos. El módulo Ellipse Maintenance Scheduling está diseñado para identificar y crear plantillas para las tareas que se realizan regularmente, por ejemplo reparaciones programadas para grupos de equipos, o sus componentes. El módulo Maintenance Scheduling también se ocupa de trabajos no programados ( es decir ad hoc o correctivos) . Tanto las tareas programadas como las imprevistas son incluidas dentro del programa de tareas del grupo de trabajo, y están sujetas a la disponibilidad de recursos de este último .
Test 4: Marketing
La Expo-Europa Productos Naturales , que tuvo lugar en Amsterdam los días 16 y 17 de Junio del corriente, reunió una extraordinaria variedad de fabricantes, distribnuidores, y minoristas. Más de 2500 visitantes, que representaban a 56 países, tuvieron la posibilidad de examinar nuevos productos y formar nuevas alianzas con 130 empresas expositoras. Más del 67% de los visitantes eran o bien directores, o bien miembros de las juntas directivas de las empresas a las que pertenecían.
El feedback obtenido de muchos de los expositores indicó una alto nivel de visitantes, desde una perspectiva de negocios. Muchos también utilizaron el evento para lanzar al mercado nuevos productos, o para hacer anuncios relacionados a los mismos.
espagnol vers anglais: EXTRACT FROM LITERARY TRANSLATION (SP-EN)
Traduction - anglais La Cumparsita by Matos Rodríguez
Rosario Infantozzi Durán
Translation by Verónica Pamoukaghlián
Introduction
“Good Friday in Atlántida; a cool, quiet, sunshine morning in the Fall; the family gathered for breakfast while, thank God, the children are still asleep. Father reads the newspaper in his wheel-chair; mother, my sister Rosina and I spread butter on toast. It is an inviting setting for telling secrets, and I finally decide to drop the bomb I've been meaning to let loose for a while.
—You know, I have the wish to write a book about uncle Becho's life.
Father puts down the paper. Mother is paralyzed, toast in hand, mouth still wide open. Rosina – the practical scientist– keeps minding her toast.”
Thus begins the prologue to Yo, Matos Rodríguez, el de La Cumparsita, published by Ediciones de la Plaza on April 1992 and that is how my personal adventure began, in the quest for a story which had been zealously silenced by my family.
In my explorer’s knapsack I carried nothing, other than the memory of stories my grandmother used to put into words, so that they would linger, buoyant, in the memory of those of us who listened, in the hope –I fancy– that one of us would take up the challenge and make them our own. The day would come when her brother, Gerardo ‘Becho’ Matos Rodríguez, the anonymous author of the most famous tango in the world, would be rescued from the silence and darkness of oblivion, to become part of History.
It wasn’t much of a beginning, but it was something. In that prologue, I was saying precisely that.
“—You will have to squeeze the brains of those who survived him for memories. —Rosina’s unquestionable logic.
Until then, my father had continued to read the paper, seeming to pay no heed to our conversation. I decided to do as my sister said and I shot:
—What about you dad? What do you think of my idea? You also knew him. How was Becho? How would you define him? Was he a nice guy from a well to do family who indulged in living the life of a Bohemian? A frustrated architect? A true artist?
And dad, who always told it like it was and never had second thoughts about speaking his mind, looked at me over the rim of his glasses, and answered gravely, with reverence and tenderness:
—Becho?… Becho was a crazy son of a …!”
During the following four-and-a-half years, I tirelessly interviewed my uncles and parents – sole guardians of this story – trying to underpin my memories, pinning them down on the reality of places, dates and circumstances. But the essence of Becho eluded me; no matter how much I asked, I couldn’t find it in family anecdotes. Until, one day, I understood that my elders remembered the famous, bohemian composer, incorrigible traveler, the funny, loving, open-handed uncle and, finally, the sick, haunted man. But nobody had kept record of the vulnerable, sensitive teenager who had been able to compose La Cumparsita. Not until the day when uncle Jorge showed up at our place, carrying an extremely old cardboard suitcase.
“—When Becho died —was his brief explanation— mother put all his papers in this suitcase. It’s been in the basement for forty-two years. I never had the courage to open it. I have a feeling that it's high time someone did it.”
I can still recall what it felt like, deep into the night of that freezing winter morning, when I opened the suitcase and finally stood in front of that which I had so tirelessly and desperately sought. The elusive ghost of my great-uncle became alive before me and he borrowed my pen to make himself heard. Ever since that moment, the series of third person accounts I had so diligently written, turned into his autobiography, without my stir.
Twelve years later and without denying the bedazzled and somewhat naive perspective of that first book, my own maturity as a woman and as a writer compels me to review its content. Matos Rodríguez's La Cumparsita is not Yo, Matos Rodríguez…, but it contains it. It is not a novel, although it has novel-like passages. It has no intention whatsoever to become the specialist's reference material, although every letter and document has been collected by me and reviewed by my editors with the precision of a historian. Nevertheless, there are some letters that have found their way into its pages, that I was forced to write myself, because doing it slipped Becho's mind.
The publication of Yo, Matos Rodríguez… not only revealed the story of Becho and our family relationship, but it also allowed me to get in touch with a lot of people, who came up to me, either with questions or with enlightening information. Finally, I discovered that, despite my belief that “there must be very few people alive, if any, who knew him personally and can provide a first-hand account…” as that prologue put it, there were such people and they generously shared with me their knowledge and recollections.
The questions people asked, for which I had no answers, together with my firm determination to turn this story into a movie, forced me to go on digging. Slowly, the outline of some traits in my great-uncle's personality, hitherto unimagined and unimaginable, unthought-of and unthinkable, started to take shape before my eyes. Thus, new light was shed on observations and anecdotes that ran in our family, on loose ends, casual remarks, stories I had put on hold because I did not fully understand them. The things that remained in the dark started to come to light, to be clarified and completed, as when in a film set the cinematographer asks for lights to be turned on one after the other, revealing actors and decor alike, in all their bareness.
In 2002 I finally managed to realize part of that dream. It couldn't be the feature film yet, but with the help of Carlos Maggi –uncompromising mentor– who guided my steps through the process of writing the script, my sister Rosina and my brother Pepe, and the support of a fantastic technical and artistic crew, we shot a short film relating one of the scenes from that coming feature: the intimate, overpowering moment when Matos Rodríguez finds the chords of La Cumparsita “some place in the depth of the night and the pain.”
Of the various reasons that drove me to revise my former book, the one most dear to me was that of having been the addressee of the letters from an anonymous, passionate seventy-something, a woman who had been involved with my uncle in a secret and disparate romantic relationship, and wrote to me out of the need to share her fifty-year-long silenced love story. Hence, chapter five of this new work records Magdalena's story, with slight alterations to preserve her identity, this being the only moment when my uncle keeps quiet, to give way for a woman's voice.
Rosario Infantozzi Durán
Montevideo, January 2004.
An exercise in freedom
For want of a conventional prologue, I transcribe here the wise advice Carlos Maggi was generous enough to bestow on me, over the long time spanning between Yo, Matos Rodríguez, el de La Cumparsita and this new book.
Rosario Infantozzi Durán
Talented young woman:
Plentiful and good, twice as good. The monologue you sent me is worth a hundred times more than the whole script I read.
Tango sings of what is lost and your uncle –lying on that bed– thinks he is about to lose everything. Long ago I flirted with that topic and I wrote that tango's sole claim is to repeat nostalgia, a typical feeling of emigration: someone who leaves everything behind, to find himself alone on a deserted shore, without anything, with no one. That time I crafted, in the fashion of a payador, * these here –all too consonance-prone verses– which were published by Alfa in 1964, as part of my book Gardel, Onetti y algo más: 1
I once had, yes, I did,
what I had, today I've lost
The stubborn melancholy
of the tango thus repeats,
retracing meanwhile on me
the footprints that the days leave.
[…]
I once had, not anymore,
what I had, today I've lost
Thus does the tango repeat
its verse of brooding full,
and in its deeper sound screams
the inner flesh of the heart,
because of a single pull
does death the world remove.
It is in the place where that bed is, where –as you wrote in your monologue– that all the great things in the world must take place, the most dramatic things. That's where an unparalleled melody was created. Becho is a harassed young man who descended into the pits of Hell and re-emerged bearing a different song, someone who heard music that was not of this world, as he shuddered to imagine himself some place in the depths of the night, far away from everything, nearing Nothingness, yearning… It would come to him from the bottom of his uneasiness and he would whistle loose threads of a melody that was infinitely sad… then he would forget it… and he'd reach out once more to seize it… on and on, until the cardboard keyboard appeared. It is moving and it is unique. The core of your story is in those hours of blackness, that's where everything that happened later will come from.
Today, still, everyone who listens to La Cumparsita feels that there is something in that melody, a belonging gone missing, a lost “someone”, a regret. I don't know… but it's there.
I thought out a task for you to carry out, because these things are usually motivated as an exercise and then they go as far as one can take them. The lyrics Becho wrote contain episodes of this journey to the end of the night. Seek them out, they are remarkable. Transform them, make them happen, assume that you are Shakespeare, and you might pull out something worthwhile.
The cumparsa *
of endless miseries parades
around that infirm being
who shall before long die of sorrow…
You have to take those lyrics, from which his secret autobiography transpires, and see it, imagine it backwards, sort it out, verse by verse… “that infirm being, who shall before long die of sorrow”… but striving to be as neat and self-contained as the melody he created, which doesn't falter, it stabs. Now tell me what went through his soul and his life when it was time for him to say goodbye to everything. Now you must rush upon the night of things yet uninvented till you rip off one scrap. That's your task.
There is a myth about the descent of the gods who gave him a miracle called La Cumparsita. What then?… Tell me about what happened next. The rest of the story of Matos Rodríguez must be the counterpoint of the merry, frivolous life that kept him busy for years on end, lost in the night like someone doing crossword puzzles. The young man in raw flesh who composed the saddest, least cliched melody in the world, is always there, but nobody ever sees him and the adult doesn't let him show. He comes in gusts of wind, I don't know how. This much I do know, he was never able to vanish or die, or stop haunting Matos. In a way, he embarrassed him always.
Don't be afraid to distort. This thing you're at, it's magma. It is never too late for the rational mind to step in –afterwards- with compasses and ruler to measure, polish and rearrange, to elucidate the delirium or else to make it even more delirious. “The night, locked in a crystal jar” Kafka wrote.
Now, Allez… hop!, get to work, botija, * you are holding one end of a string. Exert your freedom, which is the sole retribution for someone who writes, in the hope of becoming a writer. Don't be conventional, set yourself loose. Becho is in an extreme situation, allow that ghost to speak out, fight him, love him, kill him. The one who is writing is not a home-loving, plump little bourgeois lady, innocent and sweet, it is a kind of monster, a God to her novel. Smash to smithereens that notion about having been his niece, get down to it and let yourself fly. There's nothing to fear when everything is allowed.
What are you waiting for? If it were easy, anybody would do it and it would be of no value at all.
Carlos Maggi
1. Yo tuve sí, yo tenía, / tenía y hoy lo perdí. / La tenaz melancolía / del tango repite así, / mientras va rastreando en mí / las pisadas de los días. […] Yo tuve sí, ya no tengo, / tenía y hoy lo perdí. / El tango repite así / su verso meditabundo / y grita en su son profundo / la entraña del corazón / porque de un solo tirón, / la muerte se lleva el mundo.
I'm deeply grateful to:
My daughter María Victoria, for having generously offered me long hours of hard work, her dazzling creativity and her unbeatable skills in Internet research.
My sons Juan María and Gonzalo, for their unconditional support of a mother they may find rather unconventional.
My sister Rosina and my brother Pepe, for having joined me in my need to learn and to thank.
The editors of this book, Graciela Pujol and Carina Gobbi, who struggled tenaciously and patiently to make the story that is told here shine brightly, without failing to respect my impulsive rhythm as an Aries writer.
Elena Durán de Costa, dearly loved friend, reliable and professional, who has given me her time and knowledge to put together “the official story” of the eternal judicial problems, which always hanged around La Cumparsita.
Professor Jean Arrighi, for having brought me the book I needed to complete this puzzle.
Enriqueta Suzacq, childhood friend, always ready to support anything I do, even when she thinks it's all crazy stuff.
Sofía Battegazzore, student, friend and companion in a journey through the recesses of Becho's mind in search of the truth.
Horacio Loriente, Ruben Zerboni, Boris Puga y Eduardo Gutiérrez Cortinas, who generously shared their knowledge and memories with my editors and me.
Carlos Maggi who, with a man's eye and great tenderness, guided me along the discovery of the fullness and complexity of my uncle Becho's life.
Raúl Barbero, Elena Soliño de Camou, Rafael Bordabehere and Roberto Introini's family, who provided valuable materials.
Claudia Amengual, my fellow writer and translator, for reading the English translation and contributing her point of view.
Because they gave to me such deep strong roots, which enabled me to grow my own wings, I dedicate this book to all “my elders” –wherever they may be– and, specially, to my aunt Coca, who is still here, in the battle front, supporting me in all of my projects.
Chapter 1
Montevideo, summer of 1917
Creation
I'm only twenty and, lying on this bed, I die of fear. Until just yesterday, I had my whole life ahead of me; today I can't figure out what is going on with me. Nobody tells me a thing. They believe I don't realize how serious my illness could be. But, don't they realize that not knowing is worse, because, this way, I don't know who or what I have to fight?
Until yesterday, the sun rose in the East and set in the West, and I was healthy, in love, bursting with projects. Until only a couple of days ago, I didn't know that my father owned the Moulin Rouge cabaret, that my mother was going to be indignant when she found out, and they were going to split up, leaving me and Becha stunned and ashamed. Until a couple of days ago, my girlfriend's father hadn't come up to me, to tell me that he didn't look on our relationship with a keen eye: “Nothing personal, Matos, it is because of the thing about your father, you understand me, right?”.
What right does the old man have to shatter the dreams of Becha, who wants nothing but to be married to Coto in a church wedding, wearing a white dress, and start a dynasty? What right does he have to distress mom, who was naturally funny, sly and joyful as a tinkerbell? What right does he have to be there when I go into the cabaret with my friends and everyone feels ill at ease, because I feel ill at ease? I wish I'd had been the one who liked the milonga, * and I'd had a father to straighten me out. Instead, I have a father who likes the milonga more than I do.
Until just yesterday, death was something that happened to other people.
A family guy
Many things had happened on that summer of 1917 and they'd had me lie in to rest so that I would think of death.
Although, it might have been better not to think…
By that time we lived with mother and father on Constituyente Street number 1779, corners of Minas and Magallanes. My sister Ofelia –Becha to us– was dating Enrique Durán Guani (Coto), and, although they had already been together for six years, they would only get married on November 1919.
Besides being my brother-in-law, Coto always was my more-than-brother, my safe haven in the midst of storms. A serious, responsible Architecture student, the descendant of an ancient, illustrious Uruguayan family, elegant, formal, utterly discreet… a gentleman. “You must study Architecture, Becho –he would say to me– so that you can build houses, monuments, lasting things. Once you graduate, you can come to work with me at my firm”.
Partly to please him, partly because I could draw with amazing ease, I went into the study of Architecture as well. But, studying, really studying, back when I was twenty, was hardly my strong point. I studied life wherever it had a pretty woman's face, an ambiance of gaiety, game or cocktails. Back where I'm from, the student who turns out to be a party lover 1 spends his life in a company more agreeable than that of books, and gets to old age, always two years short of getting his degree.
At times, and only to see his satisfied look, I tried, rather unsuccessfully, to take life seriously. Far from losing his self-possession, Coto has always treated me with infinite patience, loving me the only way this quiet, good man is capable of loving: without passing judgement, without demanding anything, with an understanding for my somewhat derailed youth and the complicity of one who might wish he could do the same, but doesn't dare. I think he assumed –or else I made him assume– the father's role, which dad never played in my life.
My father, Emilio Matos Fuentes, was the second-born in a family of Spanish immigrants, who came from Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Canary Islands. As any true European, his parents, Francisco Matos and Rosa Fuentes, dreamed of sending their first-born off to Europe, so that he would study and acquire that je ne sais quoi, which was only acquired through contact with the Old World. Since one of my grand-mother Rosa's sisters lived in Paris and was childless, paperwork was taken care off, a trunk was filled with the most elegant clothes that it was possible to have made in Montevideo, and a ticket to Paris was purchased. Before their disbelieving eyes, this first-born son backed down, because he “was going to miss them all very much”. Without hesitation, my father, who was fourteen years old, proposed to take his brother's place. With the very little time, and the much too oversize suits, he set off, without shedding one single tear, to go out and conquer the world. Seven years later he returned, with a book-keeping Diploma, and a savoir faire which immediately won my mother over. Edelmira Rodríguez Estevan was a pretty, joyful, sparkling Uruguayan girl, almost eleven years older than him. They got married and had two children, my sister Becha, born on May 25th, 1895, and later on, me, born on March the 18th, 1897, at two o`clock in the morning. We lived, by then, on Colón Street, number 186, in the heart of the Old City.
My father, aided by his European Diploma, found no obstacle to secure a good future by handling the book-keeping of the most important local firms, such as the Marine cargo Agency Pino and the Rogelio y Ricardo García Fuentes Fabric Store, which later became Campomar. But in 1913, he was offered a job handling the book-keeping of a famous cabaret which had just opened in Montevideo: the Moulin Rouge. It appears that, at first, he handled things professionally and kept his good behavior, but, as years went by, the job started to take up more and more of his time and dedication. Thus, trapped in an ambiance of pleasure, which had always fascinated him, he ended up becoming, behind mother Edelmira's back, the cabaret's proprietor.
Thinking of death
Many things had happened on that summer of 1917. I had shot up and had become the slenderest tall lad, all legs and arms, with a charm irresistible to women and an equally irresistible soft spot for horse tracks and race horses. This was something that stemmed from my childhood and was a symbol of freedom, because all my school copybooks were full of drawings of horses. Between the effort this growing up demanded of my nature, the little sleep I got and the little food I took because I was dazzled with chicks, 2 I started feeling a little weak. Mamma didn't realize, because she had other problems that kept her awake at night, but Sixta –my old black nanny, who was still with us although I was rather grown up– was worried about my thinness, my pallor and my cough. She sensed that there was something wrong with me and, in the hope that they would help me recover my strength, she would fix me egg flips. I'm still crazy about egg flip, I don't know if it is because of their flavor or because they bring back reminiscences of home and a time of careless joy.
I would hear the black woman bustling around in the kitchen, opening the cupboard doors, taking out the egg basket… crack!… breaking the egg against the edge of a cup and then… what a delight!… the sound of whisking the soft, golden mix of egg yolk and sugar… the drop of sweet wine and… damn!… she did it again!… that silence could only mean one thing: Sixta was licking on the spoon to taste the egg flip! I remember the scheme I once thought up, so as not to offend her by saying it out loud: I asked her to whistle while she made it.
Days went by and, though I tried to hide it so as not to add to the lot of the worries in our house, I was getting worse instead of better. That unyielding cough frightened Becha. When I started getting a temperature in the afternoon, she didn't want to wait any longer and called a physician. The doctor came, examined my pupils, and, as he concluded that my lungs had been affected, he ordered for me to stay in bed and rest, with no further ado.
—Don't let your brother get out of bed for nothing in the world —he whispered to Becha, thinking I wasn't listening— his condition could be very serious.
—Tuberculosis, doctor? —my sister asked, choking with fear.
I heard the word tuberculosis and, all of a sudden, everything that seemed real in my life crumbled to pieces. University, Federation, friends, chicks, the racetrack, the project to become an architect and work with Coto, the hope of getting married someday and having children, the dream of owning a little farm to raise race horses.
—Tuberculosis my foot! —interrumpted Sixta, furious, as she filed between the two of them bearing a tray, as if she were a transatlantic parting the waves of the sea. — What my little boy has is that he is dying of sorrow!
—We'll have to wait —the doctor said, without budging in the face of Sixta's outburst—. Meanwhile, you will take care of everything because your mother —he sighed, for he had known mum for many years— the poor Edelmira!, when it comes to this kind of things, she is like a little girl.
—All I want is everything to go back to the way it used to be —Becha said, muffling the sob that had just formed up her throat.
Certainly, too many things had happened on that summer of 1917, and they'd had me lie in and rest, so that I would think of death.
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Études de traduction
Bachelor's degree - Cambridge
Expérience
Années d'expérience en traduction : 9. Inscrit à ProZ.com : May 2004.
TRANSLATOR OF BESTSELLING NOVELS AT AMAZON PUBLISHING
EXPERIENCE IN BUSINESS/TECHNICAL/ SCIENCE/LITERARY/MEDIA & COMMUNICATIONS/INTERNET/FINANCIAL
Background
FRENCH LITERATURE & TRANSLATION DEGREES (Alliance Francaise)
GERMAN LITERATURE & TRANSLATION (Goethe Institut)
ENGLISH LITERATURE & TRANSLATION (Cambridge University, UK)
I have beem in an interpreter for the EUROPEAN UNION in the language pairs EN-SP, FR-SP.
I have worked as an International Hostess for Celebrity Cruises, Translating and proofreading translations between Spanish, French, German, Italian, Portuguese and English.
Translation of Novels and Screenplays for writer Rosario Infantozzi
Translation of Documents and Grant Applications for Bikestation, Los Angeles
Legal and financial translations for KPMG and AUDIKONT, Montevideo
Technical and marketing translations for Global Language Solutions, Los Angeles
Law and Copyright translations for TRANSLATEIT Colombia
I am a published writer in five languages, and have received literary Awards from Argentina, Spain, USA, Puerto Rico.
I taught College-level English Literature at Uruguayan International Schools ST BRENDAN´S and ST. CATHERINE´s-
I got a scholarship from Menendez Pelayo University to do Master´s Degree in Screenwriting in Valencia, Spain. (Oct 06-Jun 07)
Mots clés : FAST, MARKETING, ADVERTISING, LITERATURE, BUSINESS, LEGAL, TECHNICAL, FINANCIAL, INTERNET
Compétences