Eve´s Diary

Eve´s Diary es un cuento cómico de Mark Twain, publicado en 1905, en la edición de navidad de Harper´s Bazaar.

SATURDAY.--I am almost a whole day old, now.  I arrived yesterday. That is as it seems to me.  And it must be so, for if there was a day-before-yesterday I was not there when it happened, or I should remember it.  It could be, of course, that it did happen, and that I was not noticing. Very well; I will be very watchful now, and if any day-before-yesterdays happen I will make a note of it. It will be best to start right and not let the record get confused, for some instinct tells me that these details are going to be important to the historian some day.  For I feel like an experiment, I feel exactly like an experiment; it would be impossible for a person to feel more like an experiment than I do, and so I am coming to feel convinced that that is what I AM--an experiment; just an experiment, and nothing more.
Then if I am an experiment, am I the whole of it?  No, I think not; I think the rest of it is part of it.  I am the main part of it, but I think the rest of it has its share in the matter.  Is my position assured, or do I have to watch it and take care of it? The latter, perhaps.  Some instinct tells me that eternal vigilance is the price of supremacy.  [That is a good phrase, I think, for one so young.]

Everything looks better today than it did yesterday.  In the rush of finishing up yesterday, the mountains were left in a ragged condition, and some of the plains were so cluttered with rubbish and remnants that the aspects were quite distressing.  Noble and beautiful works of art should not be subjected to haste; and this majestic new world is indeed a most noble and beautiful work.  And certainly marvelously near to being perfect, notwithstanding the shortness of the time. There are too many stars in some places and not enough in others, but that can be remedied presently, no doubt.  The moon got loose last night, and slid down and fell out of the scheme--a very great loss; it breaks my heart to think of it.  There isn't another thing among the ornaments and decorations that is comparable to it for beauty and finish.  It should have been fastened better. If we can only get it back again--
eve´s diary
Forbidden picture
from the book
But of course there is no telling where it went to.  And besides, whoever gets it will hide it; I know it because I would do it myself. I believe I can be honest in all other matters, but I already begin to realize that the core and center of my nature is love of the beautiful, a passion for the beautiful, and that it would not be safe to trust me with a moon that belonged to another person and that person didn't know I had it.  I could give up a moon that I found in the daytime, because I should be afraid some one was looking; but if I found it in the dark, I am sure I should find some kind of an excuse for not saying anything about it.  For I do love moons, they are so pretty and so romantic.  I wish we had five or six; I would never go to bed; I should never get tired lying on the moss-bank and looking up at them.
Stars are good, too.  I wish I could get some to put in my hair. But I suppose I never can.  You would be surprised to find how far off they are, for they do not look it.  When they first showed, last night, I tried to knock some down with a pole, but it didn't reach, which astonished me; then I tried clods (lumps) till I was all tired out, but I never got one.  It was because I am left-handed and cannot throw good.  Even when I aimed at the one I wasn't after I couldn't hit the other one, though I did make some close shots, for I saw the black blot (spot) of the clod sail right into the midst of the golden clusters forty or fifty times, just barely missing them, and if I could have held out a little longer maybe I could have got one.
So I cried a little, which was natural, I suppose, for one of my age, and after I was rested I got a basket and started for a place on the extreme rim of the circle, where the stars were close to the ground and I could get them with my hands, which would be better, anyway, because I could gather them tenderly then, and not break them. But it was farther than I thought, and at last I had to give it up; I was so tired I couldn't drag my feet another step; and besides, they were sore and hurt me very much.
I couldn't get back home; it was too far and turning cold; but I found some tigers and nestled in among them and was most adorably comfortable, and their breath was sweet and pleasant, because they live on strawberries.  I had never seen a tiger before, but I knew them in a minute by the stripes.  If I could have one of those skins, it would make a lovely gown.
Today I am getting better ideas about distances.  I was so eager to get hold of every pretty thing that I giddily (unstably) grabbed for it, sometimes when it was too far off, and sometimes when it was but six inches away but seemed a foot--alas, with thorns between! I learned a lesson; also I made an axiom, all out of my own head--my very first one; THE SCRATCHED EXPERIMENT SHUNS (avoids) THE THORN. I think it is a very good one for one so young.
I followed the other Experiment around, yesterday afternoon, at a distance, to see what it might be for, if I could.  But I was not able to make [it] out.  I think it is a man.  I had never seen a man, but it looked like one, and I feel sure that that is what it is. I realize that I feel more curiosity about it than about any of the other reptiles.  If it is a reptile, and I suppose it is; for it has frowzy (messy) hair and blue eyes, and looks like a reptile. It has no hips; it tapers (reduces) like a carrot; when it stands, it spreads itself apart like a derrick (frame); so I think it is a reptile, though it may be architecture.
I was afraid of it at first, and started to run every time it turned around, for I thought it was going to chase me; but by and by I found it was only trying to get away, so after that I was not timid any more, but tracked it along, several hours, about twenty yards behind, which made it nervous and unhappy. At last it was a good deal worried, and climbed a tree.  I waited a good while, then gave it up and went home.
Today the same thing over.  I've got it up the tree again… (Paragraphs from Eve´s Diary, by Mark Twain)

Eve´s Diary está escrita como un diario por Eva, la primera mujer de acuerdo a la biblia. Cuenta desde su creación hasta su muerte, incluyendo el encuentro con Adam, el conocerlo, y la exploración del nuevo mundo. La historia luego hace un salto de 40 años al futuro después de la caída del pecado y la expulsión del Edén.
Es una serie de libros que Twain escribió sobre la historia de Adam y Eva, incluyendo Extracts from Adam's Diary, That Day In Eden, Eve Speaks, Adam's Soliloquy, y  Autobiography of Eve. Eve's Diary tiene un tono más ligero que los otros de la serie.
El libro puede haber sido escrito como una carta de amor de Mark Twain a su esposa Olivia, quien murió en 1904.
The New York Times, 1906
Worcester, Mass. Eve´s Diary, de Mark Twain, una copia de cien recientemente adquiridas por Charlton Public Library, ha sido prohibida por Frank O. Wakefield, uno de los responsables de la biblioteca. Los otros noventa y nueve están bien, pero este libro, dice el señor Wakefield, es cuestionable… antes que los libros pudieran estar en los estantes, la bibliotecaria, la señora H. L. Carpenter, ojeó los libros y le dijo al señor Wakefield que tenía sus dudas…
En el lado izquierdo de cada página hay un dibujo. Cincuenta de ellas representan a Eva en traje de verano. Sus vestidos están cortados al estilo jardín del Edén. En una de ellas se ve a Eva apareciendo entre unos matorrales, sin pudor. Los matorrales no tapan la vista completamente de Eva.
Después de analizar larga y concienzudamente los dibujos de la atrevida Eva reclinada sobre una roca, el señor Wakefield se decidió a actuar.
El señor Clemens le dijo al reportero del Times, quien le había informado sobre esta acción, que lo realizado por la biblioteca Charlton no le importaba en lo más mínimo.
Eve´s Diary, audiobook from Librivox.

¿Otros cuentos recomendables? The Gift of the Magi, un cuento de O. Henry