Washington, May 10, 1954, Monday

My darlings,

I have a letter from May 2 to answer, yours, Elisa, and another from May 3, yours, Tania. I don’t know why they are taking so long to arrive: sometimes they take 8 days. Yours, Elisa, with great news about Geneva, which I already knew because it had come out in the Embassy newsletter – congratulations! congratulations! congratulations! And with it came a clipping from Raquel de Queiroz. Your letter, Tania, gives good news from everyone, and the possibility of a good tenant – how did it turn out?

Today I received the telegram giving the ticket price. I’ll explain why I sent the question. We travel with Aerovias, which gives us a discount, but several people started saying that it was cheaper with Panamerican, if we pay in Brazil (with the fixed price of the ticket, but not a fixed dollar value, it would be very cheap). Each person said something different, and the man at Aerovias was waiting, and I was already annoyed with a thousand calculations. And the thing was getting urgent; so, the only thing was to know how much the ticket would be in cruzeiros. It was great that I asked because, despite the work it gave me, we found out that, even paid in Brazil and even with the favorable exchange rate, it’s still cheaper with Aerovias. We wanted to avoid Aerovias because of the connection in Miami and consequently the discomfort with two children. But we’ll go that way anyway, because it’s a good discount. So, tomorrow the money goes to Miami and we’ll have the tickets with us, and the problem, God willing, will be resolved.

Paulinho’s food has proceeded, as I already told you, by way of a gentleman. I’ll send his number soon, so one of you can call and ask him if he’s already cleared his luggage and if he’s already got the two boxes at home. So you, please, let me know immediately, so I can rest easy on this point, and know that the man didn’t lose his crates or anything of value. In no way do I want to change Paulinho’s diet in those two months in Rio.

I’m writing this letter to you, Elisa, without knowing at all whether you already departed for Geneva. I will send it to the Marquês de Abrantes address.

I’m very behind in my correspondence with you both because I’ve been very busy. I received the proofs of P.C.S. (Perto do coração selvagem was translated by E. Plon, in 1954.), already on a certain type of paper that Érico recognized as the definitive paper: that is to say, my corrections must have gone out too late. And there were so many corrections that they would have had to redo the pagination, etc. etc. If they arrived too late, it’s better I forget about it, if I don’t want it to make me seriously upset. Upon Érico’s advice, I sent a letter saying the “translation was scandalously bad” etc., that I would rather the book never be published in France than to come out as it is, without corrections. I sent examples of the translation errors. This work took me about ten days, working often until two-something in the morning, as I was even forced to write in French. To give you an idea of the translation, here are some examples: in Portuguese, “after a few moments, the flames suddenly revived,” was translated as: “after a few moments, everything that called her, awoke” (certainly the translator, seeing “chamas” thought it was from the verb to call). Where I put: “the father was disheveled,” the translator put: “the father was out of breath.” Where I put: “she was afraid to continue beside so-and-so,” the translator put: “she was disgusted to be” etc. I wrote in the original: “I became dizzy, she said.” The translator translated: “I became stupid, she said.” (The translator must know Spanish better and “tonto” in Spanish means more or less stupid). I wrote: with the dark circles around her eyes… She translated: with her sunglasses… The book is all like that, and in many places it totally loses its meaning. One night, at midnight more or less, I was trying to read and correct, when I came across a rather crude translation, so strong, so unexpected that, even alone, I laughed to the point of crying. Imagine that I wrote, at a bad moment, in the original: “the mouth in the shape of a tut-tut.” And you know how she, all funny, translated it: So: “la bouche en cul-de-poule”. How about that? When I write the word “crap,” she translates it as “excrement,” even when that’s not the case. Not to mention the funny liberties she took. I write “the maid” and she translates: “the black maid” – and in no part of the book is there mention of any black servant. Anyway, I’m trying to get over this annoyance and forget it. It looks like it’s too late, that I can’t do anything. So I will try to forget that the book was translated.

I keep asking you to place your orders now – why don’t you respond?

Everything’s fine here, Paulinho is excellent but only utters unintelligible phrases, I’m already very impatient. Pedrinho is fine, probably very soon he will stop going to the “Child Center.” Maury feels great about the no-fried-foods diet. They really say everyone should eat like this. All the better, the trip is not that far away anymore.

A kiss for you both.
Clarice

Tania, did you already receive the Department of Labour brochures?

Tania, what can I bring for William?