{"id":36467,"date":"2019-10-18T12:32:33","date_gmt":"2019-10-18T10:32:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/foreignrights.debezigebij.nl\/?page_id=36467"},"modified":"2019-10-18T12:32:33","modified_gmt":"2019-10-18T10:32:33","slug":"sample-translation-i-dont-want-to-be-a-dog","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/foreignrights.debezigebij.nl\/foreignrights\/authors\/alma-mathijsen\/alma-mathijsen-i-dont-want-to-be-a-dog\/sample-translation-i-dont-want-to-be-a-dog\/","title":{"rendered":"Sample translation – I Don’t Want to Be a Dog<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"

Alma Mathijsen –\u00a0I Don’t Want to Be a Dog\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Pages 7-11<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s a different look in your eye. It scares me. You swirl the pasta around your fork with practiced ease, dabbing the meat sauce with your knife. You\u2019re in a hurry to finish your plate, whereas usually it\u2019s me eating your food. For a long time I was embarrassed about this – shouldn\u2019t I eat a bit less? Then I gave up on that feeling, I was having it all already, in a way. The love and the food.<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t know,\u2019 you say.<\/p>\n

Your plate is empty and you look at me. For more than a year now I’ve been hearing those words in answer to every question. Why won\u2019t you talk now? Why can’t I touch you? \u00a0Why can’t I snuggle up to you anymore? There are three raviolis left, in too much oil. I know exactly what you mean, but still don\u2019t dare to hear you say it. I\u2019m not going to respond yet, I tell myself. I\u2019m going to take a very long time eating my food. I\u2019ve tried that before, but it never worked, I\u2019m just too eager, too greedy. My throat tightens. Each mouthful is too big, the pasta squashes against the roof of my mouth. Is this what not liking to eat feels like?\u00a0 You once said you\u2019d rather take a pill than have to eat three meals a day. I think I\u2019d rather die than not eat three meals a day.<\/p>\n

You repeat: \u2018I really don\u2019t know any more.\u2019<\/p>\n

I thought you\u2019d never dare to say that twice in succession. Can I pretend I didn\u2019t hear? So we can just get on with life? So I can get on with writing my piece for tomorrow\u2019s paper, while you pull the bedclothes up to your chin and go back to sleep. Because I don\u2019t know either. I don\u2019t know why we\u2019re here, nor what the point of it all is, nor whether the universe is finite. But that wasn\u2019t what you meant. What you meant was that you really don\u2019t know how to make things better, how you could possibly fix things between us. That word bothers me – really. That you really don\u2019t know. As if there\u2019s a way of not knowing other than really.<\/p>\n

\u2018Nor do I,\u2019 I tell him. I\u2019m lying.<\/p>\n

I can think of a thousand ways and I\u2019ve been suggesting them for years.<\/p>\n

Yet more summers in Italy, more Aperol Spritz, yet more paracetamol next day, less clothes, more fire, and it\u2019s real fires I\u2019m talking about, fires we make ourselves in the night, even if the fire brigade has to come out and we have to run and hide behind the rocks.<\/p>\n

Yet\u00a0 more food you can\u2019t finish which I end up eating so you won\u2019t feel bad in front of the waiter.<\/p>\n

Yet more lounging on the sofa, enlaced, watching The Lobster<\/em> all over again, finding bits of popcorn between the cushions, eating them up and then picking our teeth for the rest of the evening. Getting each other to listen to yet more songs, including the one I\u2019m ashamed of. I\u2019ll join in drinking the whisky that leaves my throat smoky and raw. Yet more \u2018Fluff\u2019 and other nicknames for me which make no sense at all but sound like a declaration of love each time you say them.<\/p>\n

Yet more fingers in my ear and in other places.<\/p>\n

Yet more mirrors and looking in them when you hold me or when you fuck me, yes more of that please, much more.<\/p>\n

Talking anyway, with people we don\u2019t know, have never met, who call themselves therapists and who don\u2019t listen to what we say but to what we mean.<\/p>\n

And afterwards yet more trips to the cinema when the sun\u2019s high in the sky.<\/p>\n

Yet more looking at each other\u2019s phones to see other people\u2019s messages, your feed\u2019s more fun than mine in any case.<\/p>\n

More bike rides in the rain going nowhere.<\/p>\n

You lying down on top of me yet again with me keeping perfectly still, just to feel your weight and then in the end the same yet again.<\/p>\n

You ask for the bill. I can\u2019t hold back my tears and you just look. I don\u2019t dare to raise my eyes because I can\u2019t bear to see you\u2019re still not crying. As we walk back home a completely different feeling comes over me. Suddenly I\u2019ve had enough.<\/p>\n

\u2018Okay then,\u2019 I say, \u2018we\u2019ll stop.\u2019<\/p>\n

When I was a kid I\u2019d crumble a roll of biscuits if I couldn\u2019t have one. If I can\u2019t have a biscuit no one else can either. The old destructive urge rises up through my gut and comes out as hateful speech. I utter the words slowly, rolling them on my tongue before articulating them with precision. Six oven-baked buns with a flourish at the end. This is unexplored territory.<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t know either anymore,\u2019 I say, insincerely.<\/p>\n

\u2018You say you don\u2019t, but what you mean is you do.\u201d<\/p>\n

A woman bends down, her fingers wrapped in a blue plastic bag.\u00a0 An untrimmed poodle bounces about impatiently. Without the least revulsion she scrapes the shit off the paving stone. You give the dog an indulgent look, appearing to have forgotten what I just said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We sit side by side on the sofa in a way we never did before. Now you\u2019re heaving and crying, each tear coursing through your body to erupt as a shuddering sob. For a brief moment I enjoy the sight of it, thinking back to all those times I stood before you, naked, and you ignored me. Now I shall pretend not to notice you crying. I succeed for two seconds, then I let myself fall against you.<\/p>\n

\u2018D\u2019you want me to go now?\u2019 you ask.<\/p>\n

No, don\u2019 t go, do anything you like, but don\u2019t go.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s up to you.\u2019<\/p>\n

Up to me again. That\u2019s not what I want. I want you to stay, I want you to never leave, I want you to hold me and drink me up.<\/p>\n

\u2018Maybe you should,\u2019 I say, murdering everything as I say it.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m making your choice for you, I say the words you\u2019re too cowardly to say. Now it\u2019s me hanging in your arms, heaving.<\/p>\n

\u2018Fluff,\u2019 you say for the last time.<\/p>\n

You kiss me, it\u2019s salty with tears. Stop putting our coat on, take your hand off the doorknob, stop putting one foot in front of the other.<\/p>\n

And then everything\u2019s changed. I collapse onto the carpet, never knew it could prick so sharply into the palms of my hands.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pages 114-118<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2018I like coming here when the others are asleep.\u2019<\/p>\n

Gerard and I go past the lake into the pine wood. The smell is so good, I only know it from pine-scented bath salts. Now and then there\u2019s a waft of dog-marked territory, the further in the wood the fainter it gets.<\/p>\n

\u2018Nearly there now.\u2019<\/p>\n

He spends much of the day in bed; at nightfall he\u2019s gone from his basket. I\u2019m starting to adapt my sleep rhythm to the reunitement. At the consultation they said it\u2019s probably too early for that, the others don\u2019t usually start until the final week, when the placement is certain. I\u2019d rather get used to it now. You don\u2019t usually go to sleep until two a.m. , or even later when you have a gig, could be four or even five in the morning. I don\u2019t know if you\u2019ll take me along to gigs, if I\u2019ll be allowed to wait for you in the dressing room, or if you\u2019ll ask me up on stage on special occasions. Some performers do that. This is my dog Eleanor, she\u2019s coming to say hi, she always wants to say hi. Could you say hi back? Hiiiiiiiii! Sleeping until noon, perhaps even until one, that sounds just fine to me. You often went back to sleep when I started work in the next room. That was so restful. From now on I\u2019ll just sleep as long as you do. Which is why it\u2019s such a good idea to join Gerard on his walks. It\u2019ll be several hours before I can return to my basket.<\/p>\n

\u2018Any changes?\u2019 Gerard asks.<\/p>\n

By now I\u2019ve got hair sprouting all over my body, my nails have turned black and pointy. The ground underfoot is already less painful to walk on.<\/p>\n

\u2018 Look,\u2019\u00a0 I say, raising my left foot, \u2018paw-pads coming on, right?\u2019<\/p>\n

Gerard puts his snout down to check.<\/p>\n

\u2018Looks like it. This is your fourth day. I\u2019m jealous, I must admit.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I won\u2019t have to leave just yet, you know. I still have quite a lot to get done before I\u2019m ready.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Last month there was a young lady here, only twenty-two years old, still had long blond hair when she arrived, within six days she\u2019d transitioned into a golden retriever, and the day after that she was placed. Six days in all, just six days. I don\u2019t want to dwell on it, or I\u2019d get some very dark thoughts.\u2019<\/p>\n

There\u2019s blossom on the trees, the scent is overpowering.<\/p>\n

\u2018What\u2019s your favourite season?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018How d\u2019you mean?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Oh, just in general.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Before I knew Elwin I was hardly what you\u2019d call a fun-loving guy. If you\u2019d asked me then, my answer would probably have been winter. Spring raises expectations, expectations that summer never fulfills \u2013 it\u2019s always a let-down. The same goes for autumn, you might still get a few more fine days, but they\u2019re no good either. But winter, that\u2019s different, at least you know it won\u2019t be getting any worse. You know where you stand. Given the choice back then, I\u2019d have said winter.\u2019<\/p>\n

Twigs crackle as I walk, Gerard is far more light-footed, he makes barely a sound.<\/p>\n

Elwin\u2019s favourite season is summer. Since meeting him I\u2019ve learnt to love the sun. He used to layer on the sunscreen from top to toe, the whole bathroom would smell of it for days. Sometimes he left footprints on the parquet, but I didn\u2019t mind in the least. He installed himself on my sun deck and stayed there for hours on end. Late in the afternoon I settled down beside him. He took my hand in his, which felt hot and sticky, and then he said: \u2018I want it to never end.\u2019\u00a0 And I thought exactly the same. My whole life I couldn\u2019t stand people fawning over each other in that clich\u00e9 lovey-dovey way, but now that it was happening to me I wanted nothing else. The more clich\u00e9 the better. I love you, I wanted to whisper in his ear. I didn\u2019t actually dare say that until months later. Elwin said it back to me right away, it melted my heart.<\/p>\n

\u2018We\u2019re nearly there. When I get back with Elwin, summer will be my favourite again, that\u2019s what I wanted to say. Here we are.\u2019<\/p>\n

Around the base of a thick tree there are hundreds of scraps of litter, all very neatly arranged.<\/p>\n

\u2018This is what he ate every Sunday after his last training.\u2019<\/p>\n

Gerard points to a Twix wrapper. It has two little pebbles on top to keep it from blowing away.<\/p>\n

\u2018I took this book from the monitors\u2019 rooms, it\u2019s not much good, but it\u2019s a thriller and Elwin liked those. I do too, as a matter of fact,\u00a0 I\u2019ve even written a couple myself –\u00a0 am I boasting, now?\u00a0 No matter. This stick is important. I carved his initials into it.\u2019<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t dare ask how he managed to carve the stick – must have done it with his teeth, couldn\u2019t have been with his paws.<\/p>\n

We wrote a song about a stick, just before it was over. I am your stick, I said, you throw me away and fetch me back. That\u2019s a good line, you said, and pulled up your keyboard. In a few minutes you had a tune, we sang it together. I don\u2019t know which of us was the stick, I expect it was me. I\u2019m your stick, you throw me away and fetch me back. This is far too destructive to my mind, you keep taking my love for granted, you destroy me. Singing together like that, fifty times or more, and still not realizing the end is near. I don\u2019t quite know how that works. The future always has clues hidden in the present. I can hardly believe that mine were so obvious while I was so blind.\u00a0 I can\u2019t listen to that song just now. It\u2019ll be different when I\u2019m back with you.<\/p>\n

\u2018These are beech nuts, Elwin didn\u2019t particularly like them, but there\u2019s not much I can gather in this wood. If a waste bin gets blown over by the wind I consider myself lucky.\u2019<\/p>\n

It\u2019s an altar without candles. The other dogs yearn for their sweethearts, but what Gerard does is worship.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My snout is emerging. I felt it this morning. It\u2019s my fourteenth day at the centre. I sleep late in the mornings, just as I planned to do. In the afternoon I try to get as much practice in as possible, I want to be fit for the reunitement. At night I walk with Gerard. He talks an awful lot about Elwin, and I talk about you. They still don\u2019t know why it\u2019s taking so long with Gerard. Sometimes I\u2019m afraid his transition has stopped, but I\u2019ll never mention that to him. My whole face feels different, my nose has turned quite black already, my mouth feels tight. It\u2019s Sunday, which means we\u2019re fed wet food. I\u2019m not keen on that, but the other dogs love it. I like hot food, not the cold and wet kind.\u00a0 I\u2019d rather have pellets, they don\u2019t remind me so much of the food I miss so badly. I hope you\u2019ll go on cooking for me. Whoever decided that dogs don\u2019t like human food deserves to be punched. Gerard prefers eating when everyone else has finished, he doesn\u2019t like seeing the others gorge themselves. He and I wait for the others to finish so we can eat in peace.<\/p>\n

\u2018My arms were the first to change, but I still I haven\u2019t got used to eating straight with my mouth,\u2019 he says.<\/p>\n

The wet food in particular repels him, bits of it get stuck in the corners of his mouth, which are hard to get rid of without using your hands, and he always wants to look clean and tidy.<\/p>\n

\u2018Gug going prackiss ee we gy gouth.\u2019<\/p>\n

Gerard gives me a worried look. Is this really happening already? I can\u2019t pronounce the letters any more.<\/p>\n

\u2018 Gug\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n

The I has gone.<\/p>\n

\u2018Gug prackiss ee gy gouth.\u2019<\/p>\n

The t and the m have also gone. I can\u2019t get my tongue round the sounds any more. Tears well up in Gerard\u2019s eyes. He\u2019s about to lose his friend. I want to feel regret on his behalf, but what I feel is excitement. It\u2019s going faster than I dared to hope. Maybe it\u2019s because I\u2019m younger than Gerard, he\u2019s a bit overage for the programme, really, in fact he bought himself a place.<\/p>\n

\u2018Can you still think straight?\u2019<\/p>\n

How can I tell, I wonder, but it looks like it. I still want to be with you, I know I was once a writer and that Gerard is my friend. I nod my head.<\/p>\n

\u2018You already look different.\u2019<\/p>\n

Gerard looks at his food and then back at me.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s a nice snout, honestly.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Wog will gug be? Wog. Will. Gug. Be.\u2019<\/p>\n

I point to myself.<\/p>\n

\u2018I don\u2019t know, I don\u2019t think you\u2019ll be a pedigree. But that\u2019s not what you were after, is it?\u2019<\/p>\n

A quiet border collie would suit me fine, if such a creature exists. Or your favourite of course, the Australian sheep dog, but that\u2019s not on the cards. You mentioned mongrels, if I remember right. That\u2019s it for you, it seems. A rough-haired, loving mongrel.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

– Translation by Ina Rilke<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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