Me gusta visitar Barnes and Noble, aunque no tenga algo concreto en mente para comprar. Siempre encuentro algo interesante...
El año pasado, para diciembre, en búsqueda de regalos navideños (para mí y para Héctor), encontró un libro llamado Fairy Tales. Traditional Stories Retold for Gay Men, de Peter Cashorali (liga para el libro en Amazon).
El título inmediatamente llamó mi atención, me resultaba claro de lo que se trataba y solo me interesaba leer cuáles cuentos estaban ahí dentro. Dentro de mis historias favoritas están La bella durmiente y La bella y la bestia; al menos, el segundo, estaba en el libro.
Lo compré con ansias de comenzar a leerlo. Tenía ya pensado hacer un trabajo similar al que tenía en las manos --incluso, en una entrada del blog, escribí sobre La bella durmiente del bosque, en Duerme por cien años--; contar los cuentos de hadas de manera que las historias resultaran diferentes, con príncipes enamorados de otros príncipes o princesas que salvan a sus amadas de las garras de un dragón.
En principio me sorprendió encontrarme con un trabajo como el que yo quería elaborar; sin embargo, conforme comencé a leer las historias de Cashorali, me di cuenta que no era precisamente el giro que yo había pensado. Mi intención era (es) apegarme estrechamente a las historias originales y simplemente desarrollarlos a través de personas homosexuales. Lo que Cashorali muestra en su libro, son historias cómicas, divertidas y --a veces-- exageradas, de los clásicos, pero en armonía con temas actuales y herramientas modernas, como la homofobia y el bullying, y los celulares y condominios, en lugar de castillos señoriales. Esto me fascinó.
Cashorali transformó los cuentos de hadas, como lo expresó The Advocate:
"[CASHORALI HAS] TRANSFORMED TRADITIONALLY HOMOPHOBIC FAIRY TALES INTO PLAYFULLY SEDUCTIVE BEDTIME STORIES FOR ADULTS. WITTY AND TERRIFIC."
Muestro a partir de esta entrada la transcripción del cuento BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, en su idioma original. Espero que sea de su agrado, me tomará varias entradas transcribir completamente el cuento, pero seguramente será una tarea placentera.
Nota. Con esta publicación no pretendo reclamar ningún tipo de derecho intelectual o de otro tipo. Todo el crédito y la propiedad pertenecen al autor.
Fiary tales: traditional tales retold for gay men/Peter Cashorali; foreword by Robert H. Hopcke.-- 1st ed. ISBN 978-0-06-251309-0
---------------------
There was once a very prosperous and therefore much
respected merchant who had three sons. The oldest cared for nothing but power
and wanted to rule the world. The next oldest was in love with brutality and
was never so happy as when he was destroying something or someone, preferably
with his hands. Their names were Bradley and Brian, and the merchant couldn´t
have been prouder of them. His youngest son was a different matter entirely. He
didn’t seem to have very much drive, he always did as he was told, and he had
an embarrassing fondness for flowers, which were not a commodity the merchant
traded in. his name was Buddy, but because, as even his father had to admit, he
was much prettier than boys usually are, everyone called him Beauty. It wasn’t
meant as a compliment.
One day the merchant called his sons
together. “Boys,” he announced, “I have to be away on business for a couple of
days, and I want you to keep an eye on my affairs while I’m gone. What do you
want me to bring you from my trip?”
“A handgun in a velvet case,” Bradley
said.
“Kid leather boxing gloves with about
five punds of lead in each one,” Brian said.
“That’s fine, boys,” the merchant
nodded. “Beauty, what about you?”
Beauty shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a
flower, if you see an interesting one.” It was what Beauty always asked for,
though so far he’d never been brought one.
“Hmmph,” said the merchant, which was
what he always said. He tossed his briefcase in the back of his car and drove
off. No sooner was he out of sight than Bradley and Brian went into his study.
Brian Forced the lock of the drawer where the merchant kept his private papers
and Bradley eagerly began going through them.
“This is men’s work,” they told Beauty. “You
go make us some coffee”.” And because Beauty wanted nothing so much as to be
accepted by his brothers, he did as he was told.
A few days passed. The merchant closed
his deals in a profitable manner and was driving home. He had a handgun for
Bradley and boxing gloves for Brian, but there had been no flowers in the
boardrooms where he’d attended his meetings, only a few dusty philodendrons,
and so he brought nothing for Beauty. The merchant came to a road he didn’t
recall seeing before, which looked like it ran toward home in a much more
direct way than the one he was on. “What’s time if not money?” he said to
himself, and he pulled onto it. But the road gave a turn, and then another, and
soon the merchant found himself among canyons and pine trees. He drove the rest
of the day without seeing another car, or a house, or a jogger. Evening came and
he had to drive more slowly, because the road was unlit. Suddenly his
headlights dimmed and the car stopped. He tried his cellular phone, but that
was dead as well. Swearing to himself to keep up his spirits, he locked his car
and started to walk.
[...]
