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1st Annual ProZ.com Translation Contest: "Awakening" » English to Macedonian » Entry by Tatjana Pantic

Source text in English

Translation by Tatjana Pantic (#7780)

Heathrow Airport is one of the few places in England you can be sure of seeing a gun. These guns are carried by policemen in short-sleeved shirts and black flak-jackets, alert for terrorists about to blow up Tie-Rack. They are unlikely to confront me directly, but if they do I shall tell them the truth. I shall state my business. I’m planning to stop at Heathrow Airport until I see someone I know. (...)

Astonishingly, I wait for thirty-nine minutes and don’t see one person I know. Not one, and no-one knows me. I’m as anonymous as the drivers with their universal name-cards (some surnames I know), except the drivers are better dressed. Since the kids, whatever I wear looks like pyjamas. Coats, shirts, T-shirts, jeans, suits; like slept-in pyjamas. (...)

I hear myself thinking about all the people I know who have let me down by not leaving early on a Tuesday morning for glamorous European destinations. My former colleagues from the insurance office must still be stuck at their desks, like I always said they would be, when I was stuck there too, wasting my time and unable to settle while Ally moved steadily onward, getting her PhD and her first research fellowship at Reading University, her first promotion.

Our more recent grown-up friends, who have serious jobs and who therefore I half expect to be seeing any moment now, tell me that home-making is a perfectly decent occupation for a man, courageous even, yes, manly to stay at home with the kids. These friends of ours are primarily Ally’s friends. I don’t seem to know anyone anymore, and away from the children and the overhead planes, hearing myself think, I hear the thoughts of a whinger. This is not what I had been hoping to hear.

I start crying, not grimacing or sobbing, just big silent tears rolling down my cheeks. I don’t want anyone I know to see me crying, because I’m not the kind of person who cracks up at Heathrow airport some nothing Tuesday morning. I manage our house impeccably, like a business. It’s a serious job. I have spreadsheets to monitor the hoover-bag situation and colour-coded print-outs about the ethical consequences of nappies. I am not myself this morning. I don’t know who I am.
Aerodromot Hitrou e edno od malkute mesta vo Anglija kade može da bidete sigurni deka kje vidite pištol. Pištolite se na policajci so kratki maici i crni panciri, spremni za teroristi da ja dignat vo vozduh prodavnicata za mašni. Malku e verojatno deka tie direktno kje mi se obratat, no ako toa se sluči kje im ja kažam vistinata. Kje im kažam što pravam. Planiram da ostanam na Hitrou se dodeka ne vidam nekogo što go poznavam. (…)

Začuduvački, čekam trieset I devet minuti i ne gledam nitu eden čovek što go poznavam. Nitu eden, i tuka nikoj ne me znae. Jas sum tolku anonimen kako i vozačite i nivnite univerzalni kartici so iminjata (nekoi preziminja gi znam), samo što tie se podobro oblečeni od mene. Otkoga dobiv deca, se što nosam izgleda kako pižama. Palta, košuli, maici, farmerki; kako pižami vo koi sum spiel. (…)

Se slušam sebesi kako mislam na poznanicite što me razočaraa so toa što ne otidoa vo vtornik nautro kon glamurozni evropski destinacii. Moite bivši kolegi od kancelarijata za osiguruvanje se sigurno se ušte zaglaveni na rabota, kako što i sekogaš velev deka kje bidat, dodeka i jas bev tamu zaglaven, go trošev svoeto vreme i ne možev da se smiram dodeka Eli čvrsto čekoreše napred, go dobi svojot doktorat i svojata prva stipendija za istražuvanje na univerzitetot Reding, svoeto prvo unapreduvanje.

Našite prijateli koi neodamna porasnaa, so svoite seriozni raboti i koi sega napola gi očekuvam da se pojavat, mi velat deka rabotata po doma e česno zanimanje, hrabro duri, navistina, da se ostane doma so decata. Tie “naši” prijateli se voglavno prijateli na Eli. Izgleda deka povekje ne znam nikogo i sega daleku od decata i avionite što mi proletuvaat nad glavata, dodeka se slušam kako mislam, gi slušam mislite na nekoj što samo kuka. Ova ne e toa što se nadevav deka kje go slušnam.

Počnuvam da plačam, bez grimasi ili lipanje, samo golemi tivki solzi koi se trkalaat po moite obrazi. Ne bi sakal da me vidi nekoj kako plačam, bidejkji ne sum tip što se raspagja na aerodromot Hitrou, nekoe nikakvo vtornik nautro. Go vodam našeto domakjinstvo besprekorno, kako biznis. Toa e seriozna rabota. Vršam analizi na situacijata so kesite za pravosmukalkata i obeležuvam so boja otpečatenite tekstovi za etičkite posledici na pelenite. Ne sum pri sebe ova utro. Ne znam koj sum.