Ἕνα μαχαίρι

Ἀπάνω μου ἔχω πάντοτε στὴ ζώνη μου σφιγμένο
ἕνα μικρὸ ἀφρικανικὸν ἀτσάλινο μαχαίρι
-ὅπως αὐτὰ ποὺ συνηθοῦν καὶ παίζουν οἱ Ἀραπάδες-
ποὺ ἀπὸ ἕναν γέρο ἔμπορο τ᾿ ἀγόρασα στ᾿ Ἀλγέρι.

Θυμᾶμαι, ὡς τώρα νἀ ῾τανε, τὸν γέρο παλαιοπώλη,
ὅπου ἐμοίαζε μὲ μίαν παλιὰ ἐλαιογραφία τοῦ Γκόγια,
ὀρθὸν πλάι σὲ μακριὰ σπαθιὰ καὶ σὲ στολὲς σχισμένες,
νὰ λέει μὲ μία βραχνὴ φωνὴ τὰ παρακάτου λόγια.

«Ἐτοῦτο τὸ μαχαίρι ἐδῶ ποὺ θέλεις ν᾿ ἀγοράσεις
μὲ ἱστορίες ἀλλόκοτες ὁ θρύλος τό ῾χει ζώσει,
κι ὅλοι τὸ ξέρουν πὼς αὐτοὶ ποὺ κάποια φορὰ τό ῾χαν,
καθένας κάποιον ἄνθρωπο δικό του ἔχει σκοτώσει.

Ὁ Δὸν Μπαζίλιο σκότωσε μ᾿ αὐτὸ τὴ Δόνα Τζούλια
τὴν ὄμορφη γυναίκα του γιατὶ τὸν ἀπατοῦσε.
Ὁ Κόντε Ἀντόνιο μία βραδιὰ τὸ δύστυχο ἀδερφό του
μὲ τὸ μαχαίρι τοῦτο ἐδῶ κρυφὰ δολοφονοῦσε.

Ἕνας Ἀράπης τὴ μικρὴ ἐρωμένη του ἀπὸ ζήλια
καὶ κάποιος ναύτης Ἰταλὸς ἕναν Γραικὸ λοστρόμο.
Χέρι σὲ χέρι ξέπεσε καὶ στὰ δικά μου χέρια.
Πολλὰ ἔχουν δεῖ τὰ μάτια μου, μ᾿ αὐτὸ μοῦ φέρνει τρόμο.

Σκύψε καὶ δές το, μι᾿ ἄγκυρα κι ἕνα οἰκόσημο ἔχει,
εἰν᾿ ἁλαφρύ, γιὰ πιάσε το, δὲν πάει οὔτε ἕνα κουάρτο,
μὰ ἐγὼ θὰ σὲ συμβούλευα κάτι ἄλλο ν᾿ ἀγοράσεις»
-Πόσο ἔχει; -Μόνο φράγκα ἑφτά. Ἀφοῦ τὸ θέλεις πᾶρ᾿ το.

Ἕνα στιλέτο ἔχω μικρὸ στὴ ζώνη μου σφιγμένο,
ποὺ ἰδιοτροπία μ᾿ ἔκαμε καὶ τό ῾καμα δικό μου
κι ἀφοῦ κανέναν δὲν μισῶ στὸν κόσμο νὰ σκοτώσω
φοβᾶμαι μὴ καμιὰ φορὰ τὸ στρέψω στὸν ἑαυτό μου...

Νίκος Καββαδίας


A dagger

I always carry tightly under my belt
a small african steel dagger
-- like those that blacks are used to playing with --
that I bought from an old merchant in Algiers.

I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper,
who looked like an old oil painting by Goya,
standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms,
saying in a hoarse voice the following words :

"This here dagger that you want to buy
legend has surrounded with eery stories,
and everyone knows that those who owned it at some time,
each has murdered one close to him.

Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it,
his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.
Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother
was slyly murdering with this here dagger.

A black his young lover out of jealousy
and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain.
From hand to hand it passed and into mine.
Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver.

Come close and look at it, it has an anchor and a crest,
it's light, why take it, it's not even a quarter,
but I would advise you to buy something else."
-- How much? -- Seven francs only. As long as you want it, take it.

A small dagger I have tightly in my belt,
that a whim made me make it my own;
and because I hate no one in the world to kill,
I am afraid lest some day I turn it against myself ...

Nikos Kavvadias

Translated by Tefkros Symeonides

(Picture: The antiquary shop, William Merritt Chase)