Penance Octavio Escobar Giraldo (bio) Translation from the Spanish Click for larger view View full resolution In Colombian writer Octavio Escobar Giraldo's first publication in English, it isn't only the parishioner saying her Hail Marys. "I confess, Father. I confess that I am happy about the death of Joaquín López." The priest tried to contain his surprise. "They killed Joaquín López?" "Yes, Father, they just confirmed it on the radio. As of this morning, they said that the army was identifying his body." Silently, the priest regretted that he had not heard the news before leaving the rectory. "It's not very Christian to be happy about the death of another human being, my child." "I know, Father. That is why I came to confession." "Did you know Joaquín López?" "No, Father. But my father and brother knew him." The priest remembered how broken the woman had been at the burial of her relatives. He scratched his bald head and softened his voice: "Repent of that feeling, child, for it is a terrible sin. Say five Hail Marys." "Only five, Father?" "If you say them with devotion and repent, then, yes, only five. And see to it that your son isn't absent from Saturday catechism class anymore." "Yes, Father. At eleven o'clock, right?" "Ten, my child. At ten on the dot." "He will be there, Father. I will send along some mandarin oranges for you. They are so sweet! And a few figs in syrup." "That's not necessary, my child." "I will send them along anyway. Thank you for everything, Father." "You're welcome. Now go in peace." The priest blessed the woman through the curtained window and paused for a few seconds before leaving the confessional. He got everything ready for the twelve o'clock mass and told the sacristan to make sure there were no other parishioners inside the church and then to close up. In the entrance hall, he patted the heads of two children playing ball-and-stick, and then, beneath the scorching sun, he crossed the street. The rectory greeted him with that damp mustiness that was ruining his voice. Using the remote control, he searched for the twenty-four-hour news channel. Confirmed: Joaquín López was dead. He watched the news for five minutes as if to convince himself that it was really true, and then he turned off the TV. He went into the kitchen and prepared himself a nice, sweet cup of aguapanela. After gulping it down, he headed off to his room, knelt beside his bed, and, with his gaze fixed on the carved cedarwood crucifix, he prayed fifteen Ave Marias with tremendous devotion. [End Page 36] TRANSLATOR'S NOTE Translating Violence and Silence by D. P. Snyder VIOLENCE AND SILENCE: a slant rhyme. Two sides of the same tarnished coin. The impact of fist on flesh, the pop of gunfire on a provincial street. Missing persons and the thundering silence of impunity. Octavio Escobar Giraldo explores this interplay of violence and silence in "Penance," the short story I've translated for this issue of World Literature Today and the first work by the award-winning Colombian writer to be published in English. For me, the magic and darkness of "Penance" lies in the way Escobar Giraldo offers a compelling portrait of the scars of social violence through the depiction of tranquil, everyday scenes. About two hundred thousand people died in the civil war (1946–64), a period Colombians simply call The Violence. The ongoing internal armed conflict (1964–present) is an asymmetric war between the government, rightist paramilitaries, drug traffickers, and leftist guerrilla groups. Since April 2021, extrajudicial killings by police are on the rise, the majority of these in the mountainous center of the country where the author's hometown, Manizales, is located. Escobar Giraldo's novels are in the noir tradition of Chandler and Onetti, although they are not detective fiction as such: Saide (1995; winner, Premio Nacional Crónica Negra), Destinos intermedios (2010), and his latest, Cada oscura tumba (2022), are linked by characters, locations—and violent deaths. Escobar Giraldo is a professor at...