Španski vojak je stal na plaži pri Ballyliffinu,
uspelo mu je priplavati na obalo s potapljajoče se ladje –
poslednje pohajkovalke propadle Armade, ki jo je odpihnil veter –
ter zrl v grad na skrajnem koncu nasipa
in se spraševal, kateri plemič ga je tjakaj ustoličil, in ali
kak služabnik ravnokar strmi vanj skozi teleskop.
So psi skokoma grabili po pesku, da bi se prebili do njega?
V Burgosu je slovel po tem, da je znal ravnati z lovskimi psi,
tudi nekaj angleščine se je učil, toda tukaj so govorili irsko.
Mar je ubežal utopitvi, da bi ga sesekljal na koščke, nato pa
požrl trop irskih volčjakov? Želel si je,
da bi imel zaboj zlatih palic, ki so ostale na ladji –
z njimi bi si lahko kupil vsakršno količino orožja.
Pogledoval je za skalami, za katerimi bi se skril in čakal –
na kaj? Nobene pomoči ne bo ne iz Španije ne
od kateregakoli od teh irskih domorodcev – čeprav je bil
tukaj, da bi jim pomagal poraziti brutalne, protestantske Angleže,
ampak s kakšno pomočjo bi jim lahko postregel sam? Pa vendar, mar ni njegova domovina sprejela izgnanega donegalskega princa O’Donella
in po njem poimenovala dolge avenije v središču Madrida?
In mar ni poslala cele Armade, da bi pomagala Ircem?
Nihče ne bi mogel vračunati tako velike nevihte.
Koliko jih je, tako kot on, stalo na vetrovni severni obali
in se spraševalo, kaj jih še čaka. Želel si je,
da bi raziskal in vedel, kako se reče lačen,
če nič drugega. Želel si je, da bi opravil tečaj irščine.
Slišal je, da so irska dekleta mrhe Evrope.
Morda bo imel srečo in ga bo rešila kakšna lepotička?
Iz angleščine prevedel Dražen Dragojević.
The Spanish soldier stood on the beach at Ballyliffin,
he had managed to swim ashore from the sinking ship –
the last windblown straggler of the failed Armada –
and he eyed, at the far end of the strand, a castle,
wondering what nobleman lorded it there, and whether
a servant was peering at him now through a telescope.
Were dogs loping their way to him across the sand?
He was renowned in Burgos for his way with hounds,
and he had some English, but they spoke Irish here.
Had he escaped drowning to be hacked to pieces, then
devoured by a pack of Irish wolfhounds? He wished
he had a box of the gold bars that had been on the ship –
they would have bought him any amount of armour.
He looked around for rocks to hide behind and wait –
for what? There would be no rescue from Spain, nor
from any of these indigenous Irish – although he was
here to help them defeat the brutal, Protestant English,
but what help could he deliver alone? Still, hadn’t those
at home welcomed the exiled Donegal prince, O’Donnell,
and named a long avenue in central Madrid after him?
And hadn’t they sent a whole Armada to help the Irish?
No one could have factored in such a huge storm.
How many, like him, stood on a windy, northern beach,
wondering what could be in store for them. He wished
he’d done research and knew the word for hungry,
if nothing else. He wished he’d done a course in Irish.
He’d heard that Irish girls were the lookers of Europe.
Maybe he’d get lucky and a beauty would rescue him?
