Some years ago a magazine invited me to translate one of my short stories into Spanish. Interestingly, for someone who pays part of his bills translating, it had never before occurred to me that I could translate my own work. I have always thought that writing in two (or more) languages divides the self; in my case the I who writes in Spanish is very different from the one who writes in English.1 There are many reasons for this, but I think the most important reason is that when you write in a borrowed language you are always walking on tiptoe, therefore, you end up choosing clarity over adornment.2