Translations and Reflections on Life and the Universe

Javi examined the samurai that his father had given him. It had only a silver ball for a head, with no features, its legs open and arched, under a red and black uniform, and brandishing a metal sword in attack position.  He held some admiration for the figure ever since he saw it alone in the cupboard. It wasn't bigger than his hand, nonetheless, it seemed sure of itself, implacable, resolute. He stroked the peach fuzz on his upper lip as the steam caused the pan to agitate and hiss. Javi hurried. He wiped the dust off the shelf with his hand. He placed the samurai on top and turned, limping into the kitchen. He snapped the rag to shoo the flies away. He poured the soup out into the dish and used a spoon to scrape out the carcasses of crimson bugs that floated in it. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and poured it down his throat. He prepared the tray.             It was strange that his dad had not yelled for the food. Javi went down the stairs, feeling a creak each time he