Herman Melville falleció 28 de septiembre de 1891, uno de los más grandes de la literatura estadounidense, inglesa y universal. Como ya había escrito un post acerca de su obra (ver aquí), me permito saltar referencias a su vida y obra, y pasar a la comunicación de mi intento: una microficción, que hago desde la perspectiva de su viuda, Elizabeth Shaw (Lizzie); obviamente, siendo ficción, no necesariamente coincide de modo realista y veraz.

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Herman Melville died September 28, 1891, one of the greatest of American, English and universal literature. Since I had already written a post about his work (see here), I allow myself to skip references to his life and work, and moving on to the communication of my intent: a microfiction, which I do from the perspective of his widow, Elizabeth Shaw (Lizzie); obviously, being fiction, it does not necessarily coincide in a realistic and truthful way.

Escribo esta nota porque me la solicita usted expresamente, señor… Disculpe. Herman era un indeclinable aventurero, y eso lo acompañó hasta su último momento. Un apasionado, diría.

Sé que yo era una esposa aferrada a los principios vigentes; no pensé nunca en abandonarlo, pese a que, por su carácter, podía producirme situaciones muy desagradables, a mí y a nuestros hijos. Sus marcas de familia eran muy fuertes (¿qué podría decir yo de las mías?), y estando un poco atormentado, bebía mucho. Lo apoyé hasta el último momento, acudiendo a la herencia recibida, y él pudo retirarse de ese oficio que ejerció bien. Ser inspector de aduanas, quizás le permitía mantener ese contacto con el mar, para un hombre que había dedicado gran parte de su vida a esa presencia total, que lo signó para siempre.

Siendo tripulante por años de embarcaciones, en particular de cazadores de ballenas, vivió el mar como un misterio. Así lo vi entonces, cuando por un dilatado tiempo escribió Moby Dick. Sí, es el reto o la confrontación del individuo frente al misterio que nos excede. Que es también, en menor medida, nuestra vida cotidiana.

I am writing this note because you expressly requested it, sir... Excuse me. Herman was an indeclinable adventurer, and that was with him until his last moment. A passionate one, I would say.
I know that I was a wife who was attached to the principles in force; I never thought of abandoning him, even though, because of his character, he could produce very unpleasant situations for me and our children. His family marks were very strong (what could I say about mine?), and being a little tormented, he drank a lot. I supported him until the last moment, drawing on the inheritance he received, and he was able to retire from that profession, which he did well. Being a customs inspector perhaps allowed him to maintain that contact with the sea, for a man who had dedicated a large part of his life to that total presence, which marked him forever.

Being a crew member for years of ships, particularly whale hunters, he lived the sea as a mystery. That is how I saw it then, when for a long time he wrote Moby Dick. Yes, it is the challenge or the confrontation of the individual in front of the mystery that exceeds us. Which is also, to a lesser extent, our daily life.

Gracias por su lectura | Thank you for reading.