A little night music

"Miniature" -- Yannis Ritsos

The woman stood up in front of the table. Her sad hands
begin to cut thin slices of lemon for tea
like yellow wheels for a very small carriage
made for a child's fairy tale. The young officer sitting
opposite
is buried in the old armchair. He doesn't look at her.
He lights up his cigarette. His hand holding the match
trembles,
throwing light on his tender chin and the teacup's
handle. The clock
holds its heartbeat for a moment. Something has been
postponed.
The moment has gone. It's too late now. Let's drink our
tea.
Is it possible, then, for death to come in that kind of
carriage?
To pass by and go away? And only this carriage to
remain,
with its little yellow wheels of lemon
parked for so many years on a side street with unlit
lamps,
and then a small song, a little mist, and then nothing?