Metí todo en el visor (con el arbol, el pretil, el sol de las once) y tomé la foto. […]
Lo podría contar con mucho detalle pero no vale la pena. La mujer habló de que nadie tenía derecho a tomar una foto sin permiso, y exigió que le entregara el rollo de película. […] Por mi parte se me importaba muy poco darle o no el rollo de película, pero cualquiera que me conozca sabe que las cosas hay que pedírmelas por las buenas.
***
I framed it all in the viewfinder (the tree, the hand rail, the eleven o’clock sun) and snapped the photo. […]
I could relate this with a lot of detail, but it isn’t worth it. The woman said that no one had the right to take a picture without permission and she demanded that I give her the roll of film. […] As to me, I couldn’t have cared less whether or not to give her the roll of film, but anyone who knows me knows that you must ask nicely.
Entonces tengo que escribir. Uno de todos nosotros tiene que escibir, si es que esto va a ser contado. Mejor que sea yo que estoy muerto, que estoy menos comprometido que el resto; yo que no veo más que las nubes y puedo pensar sin distraerme, escribir sin distraerme (ahí pasa otra [nube], con un borde gris) y acordarme sin distaerme, yo que estoy muerto…
[…] Ahora pasa una gran nube blanca, como todos estos días, todo este tiempo incontable. Lo que queda por decir es siempre una nube, dos nubes, o largas horas de cielo perfectamente limpio, rectángulo purísimo clavado con alfileres en la pared de mi cuarto. […Y] a veces en cambio todo se pone gris, todo una enorme nube, y de pronto restallan las salpicaduras de la lluvia, largo rato se ve llover sobre la imagen, como un llanto al revés, y poco a poco el cuadro se clara, quizá sale el sol, y otra vez entran las nubes, de a dos, de a tres. Y las palomas, a veces, y uno que otro gorrión.
***
So I have to write. One of all of us has to write if this is going to be told. Better that it be me. I am dead and less compromised than the rest. I, who doesn’t see anything except the clouds and can think without distraction, write without distraction (there goes another [cloud], with a gray border) and remember without distraction. I, who am dead…
[…] A great white cloud passes now, as it has all these days, all this uncountable time. What is left to tell is always a cloud, two clouds, or long hours of a perfectly clean sky, a pristine rectangle held by pushpins on the wall of my room. […And] sometimes, in turn, everything becomes gray, everything is an enormous cloud. And suddenly the splashing raindrops snap and for a long time, you can see it rain over the image, like a tear in reverse, and little by little the picture becomes clearer, maybe the sun comes out, and again the clouds enter, in twos, in threes. And the pigeons sometimes, and one or more sparrows.
Sources: Excerpts from Julio Cortázar, “Las babas del diablo,” Las armas secretas (Ed. Sudamericana 1976, trans. from the Spanish by Gonzalo Barr), rearranged to tell a slightly different tale from the short story that inspired Michelangelo Antonioni’s film, Blow-Up (1966); Video clip by dorlec01, “‘6699′ BlowUp Remake (Longer Version)” (2008), juxtaposing in split screen the first park sequence from Antonioni’s Blow-Up with the same views of Maryon Park today; Still photo by Gonzalo Barr
El Gemelo Malvado | 24-Sep-09 at 10:59 am | Permalink
Great: the famous inglourious “probadita”.
Now, I’ve got to read the book again………..
Gonzalo Barr | 28-Sep-09 at 7:06 am | Permalink
Gemelo, Good to hear from you. Congratulations on your book, “South Beach.” I look forward to buying a copy. Reading “Las babas del diablo” and watching “Blow-Up” closely was a great education in adaptation from literature to film. Surprisingly, I found the short story, especially the narrator’s reaction, a little melodramatic. I say, “surprisingly,” because its author was known for playing mind games (and experimenting with form) more than for exploring emotion. Cheers.