He came today well-dressed in tie and hat,
an umbrella on his arm in spite of the sun.
He sat on the cistern, considered the countryside
and said with a sweep of the hand: It’s all so beautiful
that it grieves me to give up these walks to be dead.
I gave him water and the cats climbed onto his lap
though the hens found him eerie.
He spoke to me gently of the years he lived
locked in a sanatorium for the mentally ill.
If I could come back to life, he said, I assure you
that...and disconsolate he broke down in a speechless sob
while the rooster fled, frightened by a shadow.
He adjusted his hat and exclaimed good-naturedly:
Adieu! It’s back to hell. And he extended his hand.
When he left I wanted to make a gift of some eggs.
Where I’m going, he laughed, there’s nothing real.

He vingut ben mudat amb cordata i capell.
Duia al braç un paraigua a pesar de fer sol.
S’ha assegut a l’aljub, he contemplat el camp
i amb un gest amorós ha dit: Tot és tan bell
que em fa pena deixar aquests camins per ser un mort.
Li he dat aigua i els moixos li han pujat demunt
les gallines, però, li han vist cosa d’estrany.
M’ha parlat amb tendresa dels anys que ha viscut
tuancat a un sanatoria de malalts mentals.
Si pogués tornar a viure, m’ha dit, t’assegur
que..., i molt trist s’ha aturat amb un rictus de plor,
mentre el gall espantat per una ombra ha fugit.
S’ha posat bé el capell, ha exclamat bondadós:
Adéu. Torn a l’infern!, i m’ha donat la mà.
Quan partia he volgut regalar-li uns quants ous.
Allà on vaig, ha rigut, el real no existeix.