La mujer que llegaba a las seis

The door swung open. At this hour, there was no one in the restaurant besides José. The clock had just struck six o'clock, and he knew that only at six thirty did the usual clients start to arrive. So conservative and regular was his clientele that the clock had not even finished its sixth stroke when a woman entered, like every day at this hour, and sat without saying a word in a tall bar seat. She took out a cigarette, and without lighting it, put it tightly between her lips.

     "Hello reina," said José when he saw her sit down. (reina means "queen", but I like how it sounds in the story, so remember it as a term of affection) He then walked to the other side of the counter, cleaning it with a dry rag against the glass surface. Whenever anyone entered the restaurant José did the same. Even with the lady with whom he had developed a degree of familiarity, the fat, ruddy barkeep performed his same routine of a diligent man. He spoke from the other side of the counter.

     "What do you want today?" he asked.

     "First of all, I want to teach you to be a gentleman." said the woman. She was seated at the end of the line of bar seats, with her elbows on the counter, with the unlit cigarette between her lips. When she spoke, she squeezed her lips to warn José with the unlit cigarette (another strange translation).

     "I hadn't realized that..." said José.

     "You haven't realized anything yet," said the woman.

     The man left the rag on the counter, walking over to the dark cupboards and pine tar and dusty wood, moments later returning with matches. The woman leaned over the counter to reach the flame held between his coarse and hairy hands. José saw her plentiful hair, smeared with thick, cheap Vaseline. He saw the rise of her breast in the twilight, when the woman raised her head up, already holding the lit cigarette in her lips. (Not sure if it's saying he could see her breasts in the twilight, or if it's a metaphor)

     "You look beautiful tonight, reina." said José.

     "Stop that nonsense," said the woman. "Don't believe that saying that will get me to pay you."

     "I didn't mean that, reina." said José. "I'll bet that today you're hurting for lunch." (no idea if that's it)

     The woman sucked in her first puff of dense smoke, crossed her arms, still with her elbows upon the counter, and stared at the street through the wide windows of the restaurant. She had a sad expression upon her face, one of boredom and vulgarity.

     "I'm going to prepare you a lovely steak," said José.

     "I still don't have money," said the woman.

     "It's been three months that you haven't had money, and I always make you something delicious anyways." said José.

     "Today is unique," said the woman darkly, still staring out at the street.

     "All days are the same," said José. "Every day the clock shows six, then you come in and say that you have the hunger of a dog and I make you something good. The only difference is that today you haven’t said that you have the hunger of a dog, but rather that today is unique."

     "And that is true, " said the woman. She returned to look at the man on the other side of the counter, who was searching through the refrigerator. She contemplated for two, three seconds. She then looked at the clock, set above the cabinets. It was 6:03. "It's true, José. Today is unique." she said. She exhaled a puff of smoke and continued speaking with short, passionate words. "Today I didn't come at six o'clock, therefore it is a unique day, José."

     He looked at the clock.

     "I'll cut my arm if that clock is even one minute late." he said. (exaggeration I assume, meaning he wouldn't believe for a second that his clock is off)

     "It's not that, José. It's that today I didn't arrive at six," she said. "I came in at quarter to six."

     "It was moments after six o'clock, reina" said José. "when you arrived here."

     "I had been here a quarter of an hour (at six)," she said.

     José looked to where she sat. She approached his large, flushed face, pulling on one of her eyelids.

     "Blow on me, reina." José said, not convinced of her sobriety.

     She threw her head back. She was serious, annoyed, tender, embellished by a cloud of sorrow and fatigue.

     "Stop this nonsense, José. You know that it's been more than six months that I've not been drinking."

     "If that's what you want to tell others," he said. "But not me. I bet that you drank at least a liter between the two of you." (not sure why he's suddenly talking of two people, but whatever)

     "I have two drinks with a friend," said the woman.

     "Ahhh, now I understand," said José.

     "There's nothing you have to understand," said the woman. "I've been here for a quarter of an hour.

     He shrugged his shoulders.

     "Alright, if that's what you want, you've been here a quarter of an hour. After all, ten minute more or less isn't important to anyone."

     "It does matter, José," said the woman. She stretched her arms above the counter, upon the glass surface, with an air of careless neglect. She said, "And it's not what I want: it's that I've been here for a quarter of an hour." She returned to look at the clock and amended her previous statement.

     "What if I say, it's already been twenty minutes (that I've been here)."

     "That's fine, reina," he said. "I would give you an entire day and night if only to see you happy."

     The whole time during the conversation, José had been moving around behind the counter, removing objects, taking something from one place to put it in another. That was his role.

     "I want to see you happy," he repeated. He quickly turned to the woman.

     "Do you know that I love you very much?" he said.

     The woman looked at him coldly.

     "Oh reallyyyyy? What a discovery, José! Do you believe that I would stay with you for a million pesos?"

     "I didn't mean it that way, reina." said José. "But I'd still wager that you're dying for lunch."

     "Don't bother to say that," she said, her voice even less indifferent. "It's that no woman could bear a load like you, even for a million pesos."

     He turned red in the face. He turned his back to the woman and began shaking the dust off of the bottles in the closet. He spoke without turning his face.

     "You're insufferable today, reina. I think it'd be best if you ate this steak and went to bed."

     "I'm not hungry," she said. She continued looking out into the street, looking at the indistinguishable persons filling the city's late afternoon streets. For a moment, a dark silence filled the restaurant, broken only by the bustling of José working in the closet. The gaze of the woman quickly left the street, and she spoke with a lifeless voice, tender and different.

     "Is it true that you love me, José?"

     "It's true," he said, shortly and without looking at her.

     "Even despite what I said to you?" she asked.

     "What did you say to me?" he said, still without inflection in his voice, still without looking at her.

     "The bit regarding the million pesos," she said.

     "I've already forgotten that," he said.

     "So then, do you love me?" she asked.

     "Yes." replied José.

     There was a pause. José moved his face away from the closet, still without looking at the woman. She exhaled a new breath of smoke, her bust leaning against the counter and then, with caution and mischievousness, biting her tongue before speaking, as if speaking on tiptoe:

     "Even though I won't sleep with you?" she said.

     And only then did José turn to face her.

     "I love you so much that I would not sleep with you." he said. He then walked to where she sat. He stayed looking at her, his powerful arms crossed upon the counter before her, looking into her eyes. He said:

     "I love you so much that I would kill every man who sleeps with you each afternoon."

     At first, the woman appeared perplexed. After looking at him with attention, with a billowing expression of compassion and joking, and after waiting in the short silence, confused, she loudly laughed.

     "You are jealous, José! How rich, you are jealous!"

     José blushed yet again with a timid frankness, almost hussy, as if he was a child who had just realized who he had revealed his secrets to. (not sure about that part) He said:

     "You understand nothing this afternoon, reida."

     Wiping the sweat with the rag, he said:

     "Your bad life is corrupting you."

     The woman's expression suddenly changed. "Well, no." she said, and returned to looking in his eyes, with a strange splendor in her look, at a challenging and distressing time.

     "Well, you aren't jealous."

     "Somewhat, yes." said José. "But not like you said it."

     He loosened his collar and continued cleaning, drying his neck with the rag.

     "Well?" she said.

     "Well, it's that I love you so much that I don't like what you do." he said.

     "What?" she asked.

     "That you're with a different man every day." he said.

     "Is it true that you would kill them so that they wouldn't end up with me?" she asked.

     "I wouldn't kill them to stop them from being with you, no." he said. "I'd kill them because they go to be with you."

     "Same thing." she said.

     The conversation had arrived at an exciting density. The woman spoke with a short, soft, fascinated voice. Her face was almost stuck against the healthy and peaceful face of José, which remained immobile, as if bewitched by the vapor of his words.

     "All of that is true," he said.

     "Well," said the woman, stroking her hand against the rough arm of José, her other hand lightly stroking her cigarette. "Well, are you capable of killing a man?"

     "Because I told you so, yes." he said, his voice with an almost dramatic accentuation.

     The woman began to laugh heartily, with an obvious intention of humor.

     "How horrible, José. How horrible." she said, still laughing. José killing a man. Who would have guessed that behind this fat, kind man, that never charges me, that every day prepares me a steak, is an assassin! How horrible, José! I'm quite frightened!"

     José was confused. Perhaps he felt a bit of indignation. Perhaps, when the woman began to laugh, he felt disappointment.

     "You're drunk, silly." he said. "Go to bed. It's not as if you will have anything to eat anyways."

     But the woman, who had now ceased laughing and was once again serious and pensive, leaned upon the counter. She looked away from him. She watched him open and close the refrigerator another time, without retrieving anything for her. She watched him reluctantly rub the glass, as he did before. Then the woman began speaking again, with a soft, affectionate tone, saying: "Is it true that you love me, Pepillo?"

     "José!" she said.

     He didn't turn to face her.

     "José!"

     "Go to bed." he said. "And take a bath before bed to relax your drunkenness a bit before sleeping."

     "Seriously, José," said the woman. "I'm not drunk."

     "Then you have become quite rude," he said.

     "Come here, I have to tell you something." she said.

     He hesitantly approached, somewhat complacent, yet also distrustfully.

     "Come here!"

     He stopped in front of her. She leaned in, grabbing his hair, but with a touch of tenderness.

     "Tell me against what you said at first." she said.

     "What?" he said. He tried to look with his head bent down, the woman still grabbing his hair.

     "That you would kill a man that went to sleep with me." said the woman.

     "I would kill a man that had been to sleep with you, reina. It's true." he said.

     She let go of him.

     "Well, would you defend me if I murdered?" she said affirmatively, moving with a flirty motion around the enormous pig head of José.

     "Answer me, José." she said. "Would you defend me if I killed someone?"

     "It depends," he said. "You know that's not an easy thing to answer."

     "No one but the police will believe you." said the woman.

     He smiled, dignified, satisfied. She leaned in towards him once again, above the counter.

     "It's true, José. I would bet that you have never told a lie." she said.

     "You won't get anywhere with that." he said.

     "Therefore," said the woman, "The police would believe anything you said without thinking twice about it."

     José tapped on the counter, facing the woman, not knowing what to say. The woman looked once again back to the streets. She looked at the clock and changed her tone of voice, as if she had interest in concluding the discussion that had popped up between them.

     "Would you tell a lie for me, José?" she asked, her voice serious.

     José sharply turned to look at her, as if a fantastic idea had just come into his head. An idea that entered in one ear, turned in his mind for a moment, vague and confused, and left out the other ear, hardly leaving a trace of itself.

     "What mess have you gotten yourself into, reina?" asked José. He leaned in next to her, his arms once again crossed upon the counter. The woman felt his strong breath and could smell a bit of ammonia from his breathing, which was made from the pressure exerted upon the counter by his stomach. (Yeah, uh, what?)

     "If you're serious, reina, what mess have you gotten yourself into?" he asked.

     The woman turned her head to the side.

     "Nothing." she said. "I was only saying it to entertain myself."

     She then turned to look at him.

     "Do you know that possibly you don't have to kill anyone?"

     "I had never thought to kill anyone." he said disconcertingly.

     "No, hombre," she said. "I'm saying that about those who sleep with me." (Wording is weird, not sure)

     "Ah!" he said. "Now you're speaking clearly. I have always believed that you don't need to walk in this life. I'd bet that if you'd let me make you a big steak every day, I wouldn't charge you anything." (These past few lines have confusing wording, could definitely use some help)

     "Gracias, José." she said. "But that's not why. It's the fact that I can no longer sleep with anyone."

     "You return to complicate things," he said. She started to appear impatient.

     "I didn't mess anything up." said the woman. She stretched in her seat, and José looked at her flattened breasts and the bra beneath.

     "Tomorrow I'm leaving and I promise that I will not return to both you ever again. I promise you that I'll never sleep with anyone again."

     "And where did this come from?" asked José.

     "I'd realized it a while ago," she said. "It's only moments ago that I realized how disgusting it is."

     José once again grabbed the rag, and continued wiping down the glass, near the woman.

     "Of course what you do is a disgusting thing. You should've realized that a long time ago."

     "In time, I had realized it." she said. "But only recently was I convinced. I have so much loathing for these men who sleep with me."

     José smiled. He raised his head to look, still smiling, but she looked concentrated, perplexed, speaking with raised shoulders; balancing on the bar seat, with a gloomy expression, her face golden with an autumn powder dust. (Make-up, so everyone's clear. :D)

     "Doesn't it seem like you should leave alone a woman who kills a man because after having been with her the man feels disgust due to all the men that have been with her?" (wat)

     "I wouldn't go as far to say that," said José, remaining still, with a hint of hurt in his voice.

     "And if the woman told the man that she felt disgust when he visited, because she remembers that after she has rolled around with him all afternoon, she feels that neither the soap nor scrub cloth can get rid of his smell from her body?"

     "That happens, reina." he said, now speaking with indifference, rubbing the counter. "That's not a reason to kill him. Simple leave what you do."

     But the women continued talking and her voice was was a steady stream, passionate and loose.

     "And if when the woman said that she felt disgusted, the man stopped dressing and returned yet again to where she stood, too kiss her again, to-"

     "That would not happen with a decent man." he said.

     "But, what if it did happen?" said the woman, with rising anxiety in her voice. "If the man wasn't decent and it happened and then the woman felt that she had enough disgust to die from, and she knew that the only to be finished with him was to give a slash below?" (Not sure if she means knife to the groin or what...)

     "That'd be barbaric." said José. "Fortunately there aren't any men who would do such a thing to you."

     "Yeah..." said the woman, now completely exasperated. "And what to do? Supposing it actually happened."

     "In any case, there's nothing to say on it." said José. He continued washing the counter, without moving where he stood, now paying less attention to the conversation.

     The woman slammed her knuckles upon the glass, now emphatic and affirmative.

     "You are wild, José!" she said. "You understand nothing!" She grabbed his sleeve. "Go on, say that the woman should kill him!" (gracias kthax)

     "It's okay," said José, with a placating tone. "Everything will be as you say."

     "Is that not self-defense?" she said, violently shaking his sleeve.

     José then threw a glance towards her, one of complacency. "Just about." he said. He winked at her, in a gesture that was both friendly and in complacent fear. But the woman continued. She let go of him.

     "Would you tell a lie to defend a woman that did that?" she asked.

     "Depends." he said.

     "On what?" she asked.

     "Depends on the woman." he replied.

     "Suppose that this is a woman you love very much," she said. "Not in order to be with her, you know?But you've said that you love her very much."

     "Yeah, as I love you, reina." said José, faintly and bothered.

     Once again he turned away. He looked at the clock. He saw that  it was nearly six thirty. He thought that within a few minutes the restaurant would start to fill with people, which perhaps explained why he continued to rub the glass with such ferocity, as he looked at the street through the windows. The woman remained on her seat, silent, concentrated, watching his movements with an air of delicate sorrow. Staring at him, as if she could see a man who was a lamp starting to dim. (Yeah metaphors!) Suddenly,  without reaction, she started talking again, with a gentle voice.

     "José!"

     He looked at her with a sad, dense tenderness, like a maternal ox. (Yeah similes?!) He didn't look in order to listen, just to look at her, to know that she was there, hoping for a look that wasn't there for protection or sympathy. Just a look of toying.

     "I told you that tomorrow I'm leaving and you'll never hear from me again." she said.

     "Yeah," he said. "What you didn't tell me was where you're going."

     "For now," said the woman, "to where there are not men wishing to sleep with me."

     José smiled yet again.

     "Seriously, where are you going?" he asked, as if realizing the point of his life, his expression suddenly changing. (Yeah, not sure on this sentence either)

     "That depends on you." she said. "If you know to say the hora I arrived, tomorrow I will go and never again dabble in these things. Do you like the sound of that?"

     José nodded his head, smiling. The woman leaned in towards him.

     "If some day I return here, I will be jealous when I meet another woman talking to you, at this hour, in this same chair."

     "If you return here you should bring me something." he said.

     "I promise to look for a wind-up bear to bring you." said the woman.

     José smiled and threw the cloth threw the air, which landed between him and the woman, as if cleaning an invisible glass. The woman also smiled, now a gesture of kindness. Then he turned away, rubbing the glass on the other side of the counter.

     "What?" he asked, without looking.

     "Is it true that if someone asks you what time I arrived here, you will tell them that it was quarter to six?" she asked.

     "What for?" replied José, still not looking and acting as if he had just heard her speak of it.

     "It's not important," she said. "What's important is that you do it."

     He looked towards the first customer who walked through the swinging door and sat down at a corner table. He looked at the clock; it was six thirty on the dot.

     "It's okay, reina," he said, distractedly. "Whatever you want. I will always do the things that you want."

     "Good," she said. "Well then, make me a steak."

     He headed to the refrigerator, retrieved a plate of meat and put it on the table, then lighting the stove.

     "I'm going to make you a fine farewell steak, reina." he said.

     "Gracias, Pepillo." said the woman.

     She stayed thoughtful as if suddenly submerged in a strange underworld, covered in muddy villages, unknown to her. She didn't look, on the other side of the counter, the noise made from the fresh meat's grease sizzling upon the grill. She didn't look, even after her crackling steak arrived, with a succulent odor that the meat gave off, filling the restaurant's small space. She stayed like that, concentrated, reconcentrated, until she lifted her head, blinking, as if returning from momentary death. She  looked at José who was at the stove, illuminated by its flames.

     "Pepillo."

     "Ah?"

     "What do you think?" she asked.

     "I was thinking if you could find me a wind-up bear."

     "Of course I can," she said. "But what I want you to tell me is if you will give me all that you can for a farewell." (This wasn't in quotes in the book, but didn't make sense otherwise. Still kinda doesn't...)

     José looked away from the stove.

     "Until when will I have to talk to you?" he asked. "Do you want anything more than my best steak?"

     "Yes." she said.

     "What?" he asked.

     "I want another quarter of an hour."

     José stood back to glance up at the clock. He then looked to the customer that sat in silence, waiting in the corner, and finally to the steak, golden in the pot. Only then did he speak.

     "Honestly, I don't understand, reina." he said.

     "You're no fool, José," said the woman. "You remember that I have been here since five thirty."

WOW. That took about five hours to do. I've never translated a text before, so forgive any mistakes I've made. I'll give a short summary below, for those too lazy to read the entire text. Hope you enjoyed it, please give any feedback, corrections, or addendums.

TL;DR

José, a barkeep/owner of a restaurant, is in love with a prostitute, who every day comes in at 6 o'clock, half an hour before all the other customers come in. Over the course of the story, she first states that she came in at 5:45, to his confusion. And makes him promise to say she did. Then you figure out that she probably murdered the most recent guy she slept with, and plans to leave town the next day (hence why she wants him to say she was there, as a solid alibi). After promising to bring him a wind-up teddy bear, her last request (after the steak) is to say that she was actually there since 5:30.