An excerpt from “Women of Nanjing” by May-Lee Chai, published in NER 41.3, translated by Maren Walsh
Durante mi viaje a Nanjing, observo como una mujer de mediana edad, quizás un poco más joven que yo, anda por la vereda de la Avenida Zhong Yang con su perro, un animal pomposo blanco similar a un bichón. La mujer va envuelta en capas de tela de gasa amarrilla como una dama de honor. Por su edad, intuyo que debería haber vivido al menos una parte de la Revolución Cultural, cuando todo el mundo tenía que llevar pantalones y chaquetas unisex de color verde o azul. Tuvo también que haber vivido durante el periodo de reforma cuando las manifestaciones estudiantiles resonaban por las calles. Si creció aquí en Nanjing, debe recordar todas las décadas cuando no había calefacción en el invierno, a pesar de la nieve, ni aire acondicionado en el verano, a pesar del calor.
Cuando cambia la luz, ella se agacha y agarra el perro para llevarlo al otro lado de la calle como si fuera un bebe en sus brazos gorditos, y lo deja cuidadosamente en el suelo. El perro baila un poquito en sus patitas traseras y da una vuelta, y sigue a la mujer con ánimo por la vereda.
A veces, la revolución ocurre así: una mujer de mediana edad vestida entera de amarrillo caminando por la vereda con su bichón mimado.
Recuerdo cuando se prohibió tener perros como mascotas, cuando el Partido Comunista los consideraban como residuos del elitismo de la pequeña burguesía.
Cuando era una estudiante extranjera en la Universidad de Nanjing a finales de los 80, los estudiantes chinos solían contarme historias sobre las mascotas que tenían previamente. Hubo un pequeño descanso de esta política oficial, durante los años de transición entre la muerte de Mao en 1976 (que señaló el fin de la Revolución Cultural) y los comienzos del periodo de Reforma Puerta Abierta bajo Deng Xiaoping en diciembre de 1978. Nadie sabía a donde llegarían las reformas, ni mucho menos la rapidez con la que llegarían.
Un estudiante recordaba que cuando era un niño en escuela primaria, de repente se permitió tener mascotas en la ciudad, y por eso, los agricultores del campo empezaron a traer cachorros y gatitos para vender en los centros urbanos. Su familia le compró un perrito, uno chiquitito nomás, pero la política cambió y las mascotas fueron prohibidas de nuevo. Quizás se consideraban como polución spiritual. Quizás las vacunas de la rabia eran caras y escasas, y alguien en el gobierno imaginaba que las mascotas se convirtieran en un peligro a la salud pública en las ciudades más densas. El estudiante ya amaba a su perro, y por eso su familia conspiraba a esconderlo de las autoridades. Recordaba mucha gente que hacía esto, guardando sus mascotas dentro de la casa, y dejando que sus perros y gatos jugaran en los callejones bajo el sol solo cuando estaban totalmente seguros que no había ningún policía en vista.
El estudiante recordaba que un día cuando jugaba con su perro, un perrito muy pequeño, se olvidó a prestar atención, o capaz la policía vino muy de repente, o quizás la policía sabía de sobra lo que hacía la gente con sus mascotas secretas e ilegales, y los esperaban. Escuchó el pito, y la policía ya había llegado. Su abuela salió de la casa inmediatamente, y abrazó a su nieto mientras él lloraba. La policía llevó su perro con las otras mascotas de sus vecinos que había encontrado en el callejón, y los mataron a palos allí en la calle. “Nunca olvidaré,” dijo el estudiante.
Translator’s Note: While translating May-Lee Chai’s piece “Women of Nanjing,” I was interested to discover that translating from English to Spanish posed different challenges than translating from Spanish to English. For instance, I found that it was relatively easy to produce a first draft. In contrast, when translating into English I struggled to get anything onto the page because I would get distracted thinking through all the possible vocabulary I could pick from. However, once I had an English version to work from, I found it relatively easy to perfect. While translating “Women of Nanjing” into Spanish, I found it easy to prepare an initial version, likely because my vocabulary simply wasn’t big enough to consider multiple possible translations as options for each sentence. In addition, weird wording did not feel as glaring to me as it did in English, and so getting anything down on the page at all felt like a success. On the other hand, upon seeking to perfect and review the version I had, I struggled to know when it was good enough or made sense. Indeed, my Spanish skills are sufficient to read books and articles in Spanish easily, as well as to have verbal conversations easily, but I still have difficulties discerning whether my own writing “sounds good.” I can be sure that the grammar is correct, but that is a far cry from having produced a piece of “good writing.” Accordingly, I doubted myself significantly more.
I found that because of this self-doubt, it was helpful for me to take out my translation and look at it for just a few minutes each day, picking away at the parts that were difficult for me. At first, I hadn’t understood why it was necessary to complete a first draft so far in advance from when the final draft was due. However, I found that looking at my work repeatedly through fresh eyes (without forcing myself to complete everything in one sitting) helped me to improve my translation bit by bit. Sometimes, I would notice a better word for a sentence I had already considered to be complete. Other times, I would look at a sentence I had been struggling with for a while, and easily come up with a way to restructure it so that it sounded better. The combination of 1) having time away from the piece to decompress and 2) doing the work in small segments so that it never felt overwhelming helped me to finish a project relatively painlessly.
After completing a semi-final draft, I had my trusted reader look over what I had done. This was wildly helpful—she changed just a couple words here and there, but ultimately the final draft was infinitely better for her help. In addition, I felt much more confident in the translation itself. I also felt pleased that she didn’t change anything with some of the sentences I had been most worried about.
Despite the complexities of translating into my B language, I found ways to work around many of the challenges I faced. A lot of this was due to the opportunity we had to speak with the author in between the first and second drafts of the translation. While I had anticipated that it would be interesting to speak with Professor Chai, I hadn’t realized how helpful it would be to hear her explain her thought process for certain details in the writing which had stumped me. For instance, I found it difficult to effectively translate a text that discussed historical contexts that I’m largely unfamiliar with. I struggled to translate the sentence that refers to the “early reform period,” because a direct translation sounds bad, but I don’t fully understand what the author’s intent was so I’m hindered in my attempts to paraphrase. I recall that Professor Chai identified this section as one we could take liberties with to preserve the intended emotional impact; accordingly, I took out the word “early” in my translation, and identified the reform period only through description of the student demonstrations.
Another translation difficulty that Professor Chai helped alleviate was consistency in verb tenses. I think I am not alone among my classmates to have struggled to determine where to put actions in the present tense and where to put them in the past, seeing as the text itself switches between the two. This confusion was particularly strong for the first sentence (“On a recent trip to Nanjing”). Upon realizing, however, the underlying purpose of the tense changes, I was able to better reproduce them in the target language. This made me think about whether translators generally work in communication with the authors whose texts they translate, or if they work alone. I also wonder whether it is always helpful to communicate with the author, or whether there might be some benefit to simply letting the text speak for itself as best as possible. I imagine different translators would have different opinions on this topic, falling into varying schools of thought over whether it is better to ensure clarity in the target language, or better to be true to the text despite potentially confusing messages.
When thinking about the translation brief, which directs us to translate for the New England Review, I realize that I did not keep the magazine in mind that strongly while translating. However, looking back at my work, I don’t think there is anything I would change to more specifically target NER as the client. I am reminded of the comment that Mary Ann Newman made in her class visit, discussing how she does not keep her target audience in mind so much as she views herself as the potential audience. By putting myself in the position of the reader, I was able to prioritize what messages were most important and which aspects of translation ultimately meant the most to me. For me, this meant prioritizing fluidity and reproducing the emotional impact of the original text. These goals coincide nicely with the assignment as set by the client.