#36 Wed (7/27/22) - The Dream of Pedro Henríquez Ureña by J.L.B. (Libro de sueños)

 

El sueño de Pedro Henríquez Ureña 

El sueño que Pedro Henríquez Ureña tuvo en el alba de uno de los días de 1946 curiosamente no constaba de imágenes sino de pausadas palabras. La voz que las decía no era la suya pero se parecía a la suya. El tono, pese a las posibilidades patéticas que el tema permitía, era impersonal y común. Durante el sueño, que fue breve, Pedro sabía que estaba durmiendo en su cuarto y que su mujer estaba a su lado. En la oscuridad del sueño, la voz le dijo: 

Hará unas cuantas noches, en una esquina de la calle Córdoba, discutiste con Borges la invocación del anónimo Sevillano Oh muerte, ven callada / como sueles venir en la saeta. Sospecharon que era el eco deliberado de algún texto latino, ya que esas traslaciones correspondían a los hábitos de la época, del todo ajena a nuestro concepto del plagio, sin duda menos literario que comercial. Lo que no sospecharon, lo que no podían sospechar, es que el diálogo era profético. Dentro de unas horas, te apresurarás por el último andén de Constitución, para tu clase en la Universidad de La Plata. Alcanzarás el tren, pondrás la cartera en la red y te acomodarás en tu asiento, junto a la ventanilla. Alguien, cuyo nombre no sé pero cuya cara estoy viendo, te dirigirá unas palabras. No le contestarás, porque estarás muerto. Ya te habrás despedido para siempre de tu mujer y de tus hijas. No recordarás este sueño porque tu olvido es necesario para que se cumplan los hechos. 

Jorge Luis Borges, Libro de sueños

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The Dream of Pedro Henríquez Ureña

Curiously, the dream that Pedro Henríquez Ureña had at dawn one day in 1946 did not consist of images but of slow words. The voice that he said them was not his but it resembled it. The tone, despite the pathetic possibilities that the subject allowed, was impersonal and ordinary. During the dream, which was brief, Pedro knew that he was sleeping in his room and that his wife was next to him. In the darkness of the dream, his voice said to her:

A few nights ago, on a corner of Córdoba Street, you discussed with Borges the invocation of the anonymous Sevillano Oh death, come quietly / as you usually do in the saeta. They suspected that it was the deliberate echo of some Latin text, since these translations corresponded to the habits of the time, completely alien to our concept of plagiarism, undoubtedly less literary than commercial. What they did not suspect, what they could not suspect, is that the dialogue was prophetic. In a few hours, you will be hurrying down the last platform of Constitución, for your class at the University of La Plata. You'll catch up with the train, put your bag on the net, and settle into your seat by the window. Someone, whose name I do not know but whose face I am seeing, will address a few words to you. You will not answer him, because you will be dead. You will have already said goodbye forever to your wife and your daughters. You will not remember this dream because your forgetfulness is necessary for the facts to be fulfilled.

Jorge Luis Borges [GT tr.]

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