My novels have been published in a few languages, but rarely have I been able to have someone read them to me in, say, Dutch or Czech. I think I might more easily be able to find a Portuguese speaker around and about, and I can stumble through the Spanish (especially because I know what the original says). But the other three languages? I just stare at the words, amazed that somewhere in there is something I actually wrote.
Or did I?
Last night, Michael's good friend and long time workout partner Mike was over for a barbecue. He's a native Czech, still fluent in the language. So after a couple glasses of wine, I brought out old Kdyz uveris and Mike proceeded to read from the back cover.
At first, it seemed as if it weren't my book at all. But, of course, it had been years since I'd actually written it. But what were these two characters talking about? And what was that ankle doing in there? Whose ankle? And what was happening to it?
The characters were talking about changing, and I didn't know into what. Or whom. But by that time, I was laughing so hard, Michael's daughter Laura yelled, "She's going to blow," and it was close.
At the very end, Mike read, "Sariel," the name of my main character, so I knew I was in the land of the possible. Yes, I thought. Somehow, this must be my book.
So now I'm looking at these versions of my work in Dutch and Portuguese. I think they are stories better left unread.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org