La abuelita de Kundera [English translation]

Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,

knew every herb and their applications,

they knew what they had inside the mattresses,

they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.

Kundera's grandmother in her small Czech town

and mine in her Belchite, and they both knew

the priest was the confidant of the police.

There were no secrets around them.

Kundera's neighbor looks like mine.

If he is someone distinguished, nobody would say so.

He's a very proper character who spends eight hours

a day typing on a computer.

My neighbor goes back home and turns on the TV

and drinks a toast with the family with El Gaitero cider1

when the announcer affirms that in the whole world

there is no other place safer than our city.

My neighbor never knew that on that same night

on his street a young girl was raped,

that two elderly ladies were attacked and an indigent

turned up in the alley with his throat slit.

My neighbor, that night, got into bed

convinced he had the world under control,

certain of being a very well informed man

in respect to what was happening around him.

Kundera's grandmother, and also mine,

knew every herb and their applications,

they knew what they had inside the mattresses,

they knew how to study the sky and bake bread.

1. A Spanish cider

• Artist:Joan Manuel Serrat
• Album:Nadie es perfecto (1994)