"The Veranda"
Une traduction de: Annabelle VERGNE(USA Seattle)
From the top of the valley, I was looking at the angry river, worming its way like a yellow snake, gaining momentum, ready to leap anytime on its prey. The torrential rain of the night had swollen the streams and increased their waters.
Now the river could be heard roaring, carrying away everything in its passage, dislodging huge rocks that were hitting each other, smashing in an endless racket.
Branches and trees were scraping out the river bed and pushed onto the beaches the gravel, necessary element for the building of permanent houses.
Pigs, young goats and cows, their belly swollen with water, were pirouetting around like leaves above the basins, then rushing full speed, carried away by the currents, not willing to miss their date with the sea.
A few days later, the sea, like a stomach having eaten too much food, would vomit them without exception. They would be found under a mangrove tree or a sea grape, resting on the shingles, their potbelly in the sun, stretched like a drum, their body covered with flies, their eyes ready to explode. Then, the worms would do the rest till there would be nothing but bones and horns dried out in the sun and eaten into by the salt. They would then take odd shapes, pointing at the sky like monuments, which would surely attract the attention of strollers appalled by their unlikely posture.
