Текст и перевод песни Joan Manuel Serrat - Malson Per Entregues

Malson Per Entregues

Aquell dilluns va alçar-ne neguitós
I a l′esmorzar va comentar amb la dona
Haver somniat que l'empaitava un home
D′aspecte facinerós
Armat amb un 38
Caçant-lo a trets per tota la ciutat,
Pels terrats i sota les clavegueres,
Corre que corre i l'home aquell darrera,
Implacable i decidit
Com un àngel de la mort.
Esfereït i cec, va ensopegar,
Però ans que el botxí rematés la faena
Ell tragué una arma i amb mitja dotzena
De trets va deixar-lo estès
Enmig d'un bassal de sang.
I de darrera un arbre sortí en Pau,
Un company de penúries d′oficina,
Per ensorrar-li un ganivet de cuina
Al ferit en el clatell
Com qui descabella un brau.
I l′endemà, assegut als peus del llit,
Ell li va dir, plorós, amb mala cara,
Que el maleït malson continuava
Amb ell al mig del carrer
Amb una pistola a la mà
Que encara fumejava pel canó.
La gent cridava, plorava i corria.
Ella volia moure els peus i no podia.
Què és el que estava passant?
Qui collons era aquell mort?
En Pau tampoc pogué fugir. Voltats
De policies, cotxes i sirenes,
Les mans emmanillades a l'esquena,
A cops de puny i empentes
Se′ls van endur en un furgó.
Després un racó fosc i un llum als ulls
I uns homes fent preguntes i amenaces
En relació a un mafiós mort a la plaça
Per dos fanàtics fidels
A diabòlics rituals.
Va despertar-se xop i tremolant
La nit següent cap a dos quarts de quatre.
"Demà sens falta anirem al psiquiatre...",
Ella va dir-se mentre ell
Li contava sanglotant
Que el jutge, sense haver-se'ls escoltats,
Els condemnava a divuit anys i un dia.
Es pensava que mai més no tornaria
A mirar-se en els seus ulls
Ni a sucar pa en el seu plat.
Per sort, en Pau, camí de la presó,
Utilitzant la coneguda argúcia
Del tinc pipí i tinc la pixera fluixa,
Va saltar en marxa del tren
I va fugir en la foscor,
I ell es podria en un calabós fred
Amb un camell penjat que només reia
I un transvestit amb barbes que li deia:
"Quan t′hi acostumis veuràs
Que no s'hi està malament."
Quan van tornar del metge es va adormir
Profundament com un nadó al sofà
I hauria pogut seguir clapant fins l′endemà
Si no l'hagués despertat
La seva pobra muller
Cridant que en Pau havia telefonat
Que els de la pasma els segueixen les passes,
Que no era un bon amagatall la casa,
Que fondejat en el port
Esperava un vaixell grec.
Caigué rodó i en recobrar-se tingué
La sensació que el terra es bellugava,
Va obrir els ulls i es va topar amb una cara
Molt semblat a Charles Boyer
Somrient-li a un pam de nas,
Oferint-li una tassa de cafè
I amb veu de vell llop de la mar li deia:
"Avez-vous bien dormi, madame, monsieur?
Dans une demie-heure nous
Arriverons à Marseille.
C'est joli la liberté,
N′est-ce pas, monsieur?
C′est joli la liberté."

Nightmare for Delivery

That Monday he woke up feeling anxious
And at breakfast, he told his wife
About a dream where he was chased by a man
With a villainous look
Armed with a .38
Shooting at him all over the city,
Across rooftops and under sewers,
He ran and ran with the man behind him,
Relentless and determined
Like an angel of death.
Terrified and blind, he stumbled,
But before the executioner could finish the job
He pulled out a gun and with half a dozen
Shots, left him lying
In a pool of blood.
And from behind a tree, Pau appeared,
A colleague from the hardships of the office,
To plunge a kitchen knife
Into the wounded man's neck
Like someone butchering a bull.
And the next day, sitting at the foot of the bed,
He told her, tearful, with a grimace,
That the damn nightmare continued
With him in the middle of the street
With a gun in his hand
Still smoking from the barrel.
People screamed, cried, and ran.
She wanted to move her feet but couldn't.
What was happening?
Who the hell was that dead man?
Pau couldn't escape either. Surrounded
By police, cars, and sirens,
Their hands handcuffed behind their backs,
With punches and shoves
They were taken away in a van.
Then a dark corner and a light in their eyes
And men asking questions and making threats
Regarding a mobster killed in the plaza
By two fanatic followers
Of diabolical rituals.
He woke up drenched and trembling
The next night around a quarter to four.
"Tomorrow, we're going to the psychiatrist...",
She told herself while he
Sobbed as he told her
That the judge, without having listened to them,
Sentenced them to eighteen years and a day.
He thought he would never again
Look into her eyes
Nor dip bread in her dish.
Luckily, Pau, on the way to prison,
Using the well-known trick
Of "I need to pee and my bladder is loose,"
Jumped off the moving train
And fled into the darkness,
And he ended up in a cold cell
With a hanging camel that only laughed
And a bearded transvestite who told him:
"Once you get used to it, you'll see
It's not so bad here."
When they returned from the doctor, he fell asleep
Deeply like a baby on the sofa
And could have continued sleeping until the next day
If he hadn't been woken up
By his poor wife
Shouting that Pau had called
That the cops were on their trail,
That the house wasn't a good hiding place,
That a Greek ship was waiting
Anchored in the port.
He collapsed and upon regaining consciousness had
The feeling that the ground was moving,
He opened his eyes and came face to face with
Someone who looked a lot like Charles Boyer
Smiling at him just inches away,
Offering him a cup of coffee
And with the voice of an old sea wolf, he said:
"Did you sleep well, madam, sir?
In half an hour we will
Arrive in Marseille.
Freedom is beautiful,
Isn't it, sir?
Freedom is beautiful."