در حال ترجمه Caracal | «Rover» Bockino forum user

[Rover]

Title: Caracal
Author: @Rover
Translator: @Rover
Genres: Espionage, Psychological Thriller, Mystery, Romance
Language: Originally written in Persian – Translated into English by the author
Status: Ongoing
Target Audience: Mature readers interested in slow-burn thrillers, political intrigue, and complex emotional arcs

Summary: The Cold War never truly ended-not after the Berlin Wall fell, nor after the Soviet Union collapsed. Old wounds are about to reopen, and buried conspiracies resurface. Amid the shadows of espionage and betrayal, the secret behind a long-forgotten family murder begins to unravel. After twenty-seven years serving as a Russian intelligence officer, Dominika is forced to confront not only the man behind her family's death, but also the truth about her own identity


​

 

[mahban]

مترجم گرامی، از شما متشکریم که انجمن رمان‌نویسی بوکینو را جهت انتشار رمان خود انتخاب کرده‌اید!

از شما می‌خواهیم قبل از ترجمه اثر خود، قوانین را مطالعه کنید:
⚜️ [

قوانین - قوانین جامع ترجمه | تالار ترجمه

⚜به نام خالق قلم⚜ درود خدمت کاربران عزیز بوکینو! برای فعالیت در تالار ترجمه، مهم نیست رنک مترجم را داشته باشید یا خیر؛ کافی‌ست اثر ترجمه نشده‌ای را از کتابخانه‌ تالار ترجمه انتخاب کنید، تاپیک آن را ایجاد کنید و سپس به ترجمه اثر بپردازید. اما پیش از انجام این کارها، بایستی قوانین تالار را مطالعه...

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]⚜️

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برای آثار دلنشین‌تان جلد طراحی شود؟
بعد از قرار دادن ۱۰ پست در این تایپک درخواست دهید:
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پست‌های اثرتان به تعداد منصوب رسیده و پایان یافته؟!
پس در تایپک زیر اعلام کنید:
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و برای آموزش‌های بیشتر درباره‌ی ترجمه به تالار آموزشگاه مراجعه نمایید.
⚜️[ تالار آموزشگاه ]⚜️

با آرزوی موفقیت برای شما!

[کادر مدیریت تالار ترجمه]​

 

[Rover]

Chapter One: Before the Storm

***
​

Ansu, Spain - 1989, two years before the dissolution of the Soviet Union

The sound of the church bells ringing in the New Year only made the young girl more anxious. She didn't have much time left to write her farewell letter. One way or another, she knew she would have to go to Huesca for quite a while, and the only thing that comforted her about Ramón's absence was the thought of these letters-at least until the end of the Christmas holidays.
Ramón was the youngest son of her father's steward, Monsieur Mortel. She never imagined that all Frenchmen could have such a charming face-though of course, it was those big, dark eyes lined with Arabic kohl that he had inherited from his Eastern mother. That was what had first caught the girl's eye the day they met. She always said, "That black oil cured him of his eye pain!"
They had been meeting for a long time now in the vineyard behind the road. God knows what her father would do if he ever found out about her lover. Without a doubt, he'd send her away to e for her aunt in Huesca-perhaps for good. No one liked that uptight woman. She still didn't know how she would survive the holidays without Ramón, stuck in Aunt Carlota's house. Thankfully, her younger sister was still too little to aon childish mischief and turn to eavesdropping. That gave her the perfect excuse to spend more time with Ramón-though she knew it wouldn't last much longer.
Could she truly marry Ramón one day, without her father's wrath, knowing he wanted one of the Party members as his son-in-law? Ramón claimed that soon he'd move to Madrid for work and rent a home for them both. If the civil unrest settled down, Madrid would be a city paved in gold!
Or maybe it was just the kind of sweet talk young men used to win over their lovers' hearts. Either way, just imagining it was enough to keep her in a good mood-for a while at least. It might even her from nagging poor Felis about her dreadful bacalao¹. It was undeniable-the salsa she made was awful.
She sighed deeply, rested her chin on her hand, and gazed out of her bedroom window at the half-finished stone church tower in the distance.
She wished she had been born into a more modern family-one that at the very least would allow her to own a mobile phone! Then she wouldn't have to worry about distance or write love letters like a girl from the 18th century.
The sound of the church bells echoed in her ears again-or was it her mother's voice this time? She perked up her ears, and as soon as she heard the creaking of the wooden stairs behind the bedroom door, she dropped the letters, covered them with a thick book, and stood up.
At that very moment, the door flew open. Her mother entered with a deep on her pale face-a face that always reminded the village folk of people from Iceland or somewhere equally distant. Thank God she didn't resemble her at all!
The woman her a furious glare and said, with an icy tone:
- Bianca, what are you doing? Do you want us to miss the train? The prayer service has already started!
She glanced around the cluttered room with her gray eyes and added without missing a beat:
- Dear Jesus! Tell me, where's Nora?​

---

Note:
¹ Bacalao: A traditional Spanish dish made with salted cod.
​