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Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

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John Pope / Grazia Deledda<br />

The Dog<br />

by Grazia Deledda<br />

from Il flauto nel bosco<br />

In the joyful morning by the seashore today, I found a dog.<br />

Three peasants sat on the sand; beside them lay the closed<br />

umbrella, baskets, and shoes that weigh the journey down.<br />

The dog was in front <strong>of</strong> them, motionless with his paws in<br />

the water, and through the bars <strong>of</strong> his muzzle he gazed out to sea<br />

like a prisoner.<br />

I was also walking barefoot in the water, and looked at him;<br />

for I would rather look into the eyes <strong>of</strong> animals than those <strong>of</strong><br />

people, who lie.<br />

The big dog looked at me: he had sweet green eyes and a<br />

young, loyal face: and his high gray back was splashed with brown<br />

continents, like a map. He immediately understood my state <strong>of</strong><br />

mind – good, since the weather was fine and the sea calm – and<br />

followed me.<br />

I heard his steps in the water behind me, like those <strong>of</strong> a child;<br />

he caught up to me and touched me lightly with his snout to let me<br />

know he was there, and as if to ask permission to accompany me.<br />

I turned and caressed his velvety head; and I felt right away<br />

that finally I too had a friend in the world.<br />

He seemed gladdened by something new as well: from heavy,<br />

he became light, running ahead <strong>of</strong> me, almost dancing in the water,<br />

his clean paws emerging in a cloud <strong>of</strong> sparks: and every so <strong>of</strong>ten<br />

he stood still and waited for me, turning to see if I was pleased<br />

with him.<br />

His eyes were happy, as I believe mine were; we had both<br />

forgotten many things.<br />

And the sea accompanied us as a third on this beautiful stroll,<br />

likewise forgetful <strong>of</strong> its anger that too <strong>of</strong>ten rises up - though no<br />

more <strong>of</strong>ten than our own. And the waves played with our feet.<br />

In the humid mirror <strong>of</strong> the shore, the sun’s image preceded<br />

us, stubbornly not letting itself be overtaken or looked at.<br />

Two tall youths passed by, carrying a small blonde girl by her<br />

arms like an amphora: then, no one.<br />

I went on that way until I reached a distant place, a cemetery<br />

<strong>of</strong> dead seashells, scattered like bones across a battlefield.<br />

113

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