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English to Serbo-Croat: Desolation, Pauline Smith General field: Art/Literary
Source text - English Desolation
from The Little Karoo (1925)
Alie van Staden was close on seventy-two years old when she went with her son, Stephan, and her motherless little grandson, Stephan's Koos, to Mijnheer Bezedenhout's farm of Koelkuil in the Verlatenheid. She was a short squarely-built woman, slow in thought and slow in movement, with dark brown eyes set deep in a long, somewhat heavy and expressionless face. In her youth her eyes had been beautiful, but there was none who now remembered her youth and in old age she looked out upon the world with a patient endurance which had in it something of the strength and something of the melancholy of the labouring ox.
All her life, save for six months in her girlhood, Alie had lived in the Verlatenheid - that dreary stretch of the Great Karoo which lies immediately to the north of the Zwartkops Mountains and takes its name from the desolation which nature displays here in the grey volcanic harshness of its kopjes and the scanty vegetation of its veld. This grey and desolate region was her world. Here, as the child of poor whites and as the mother of poor whites she had drifted for seventy years from farm to farm in the shiftless, thriftless labour of her class. Here in a bitter poverty she had married her man, borne her children, and accepted dumbly whatever ills her God had inflicted upon her. With her God she had no communion save in the patient uncomplaining fulfilment of His will as the daily circumstances of her life revealed it to her. Prayer was never wrung from her. That cry of 'Our Father! Our Father!' which comes so naturally to the heart and from the lips of her race never came from hers. Sorrow had
been her portion, bur this was life as she conceived it, and tearless she had borne it. And now of all her sons Stephan alone was left to her, and already Stephan was suffering from that disease of the chest which had killed first his father and then his three brothers, Koos, Hendnck and Piet.
In her son, the bijwoner Stephan van Staden, there was none of old Alie's quiet endurance of life. The bijwoner could not without protest accept the ills which his God so persistently visited upon him. He was a weak and obstinate man who saw in his God a power actively engaged in direct opposition to himself, and at each fresh blow dealt him by his God he lifted up his voice and cried aloud his injury. At Koelkuil his voice was often thus raised, for here his illness rapidly increased, and here he found in his new master a harsh man made harsher by a drought which had brought him close to ruin.
The drought was in fact the worst that any middle-aged man of the Verlatenheid remembered. When Stephan went as bijwoner to Koelkuil the farm had had no rain for over two years and through all his eighteen months of service with Mijnheer only three light showers fell. Day after day men rose to a cloudless sky and hot shimmering air, or to a dry and burning wind that scorched and withered as it blew. Slowly, steadily, the grey earth became greyer, the bare kopjes barer, the veld itself empty of familiar life. The herds of spring-buck seeking water at the dried-up fountains grew smaller and smaller. The field mice, the tortoises, the meer-kats - all the humbler creatures of the veld - died out of ken. The starving jackal played havoc among the starving sheep. The new-born lamb was killed to save the starving ewe. The cattle, the sheep, the ostriches and the donkeys were drawn in their extremity closer to the abodes of men in their vain search for food. Their lowing and bleating drifted mournfully across the stricken land as slowly, steadily, their famished bodies were gathered into the receiving earth and turned again to the dust from which they had sprung.
In the strain of these months there was constant friction between Stephan van Staden and his master. Nothing done by the one was right in the eyes of the other. Stephan, ill and irritable, was loud in his criticism of Mijnheer. Mijnheer, a ruined man, was unjust in the de¬mands he made of his bijwoner. They came at last to an active open warfare intowhich all on the farm save old Alie were drawn. From their conflict she alone remained quietly aloof. Sitting on the high stone step in front of the bijwoner's house, gazing in melancholy across the Ver¬latenheid, she would listen in silence co the arguments of both master and man alike. Stephan's vehemence made him indifferent to her si¬lence. Mijnheer resented and feared it. He read in it judgement of him¬self, and who was this Alie, the poor white, that she should judge him? Why did she never speak that he might answer? Of what did she think as she sat there, immovable as God, on the high stone step in front of the door? He did not know, and would never know, but he came in the end to hate this old woman, so strong, it seemed to him, in her silence, so novverful in her patience. And when, in a spell of bitter cold, the bijwoner suddenly died, he thought with relief that now old Alie must go.
...............
Translation - Serbo-Croat PUSTOŠ
Malog Karua (1925. godina)
Alie van Staden je imala skoro sedamdeset i dvije godine kada je krenula na farmu gazde Mijnheer Bezedenhouta iz Koelkuila u Verlatenheidu, sa svojim sinom Stephanom i unukom, Stephanovim sinom Koosom, koji je rano ostao bez majke. Bila je to oniža žena, tijela četvrtaste građe, spora kako u razmišljanju tako i u pokretu, tamno smeđih očiju duboko usađenih u izduženom, nekako teškom i bezizražajnom licu. U mladosti je imala prelijepe oči, mada se, sada već, niko nije sjećao njene mladosti; a u starijim godinama na svijet je gledala sa strpljivom izdržljivošću, pogledom u kojem se ogledala izvjesna mješavina snage i melanholije pečalbenog vola.
Čitavog svog života, osim šest mjeseci u periodu djevojaštva, Alie je živjela u Verlatenheidu, turobnoj ravnici Velikog Karua koja se prostirala na samom sjeveru Zwartkops planina. Naziv Verlatenheid potiče od pustoši koju priroda na ovom mjestu ističe sivom vulkanskom surovošću svojih brežuljaka, kopja i oskudnom vegetacijom otvorenih pašnjaka. Takav sivi i napušteni region bio je njezin svijet. Tuda, kao dijete, a i kao majka siromašnih bijelaca, lutala je sedamdeset godina od farme do farme u bespomoćnoj i neštedljivoj potrazi za poslom. Tu se, u bednom siromaštvu, udala za svoga čovjeka, izrodila djecu i nijemo prihvatila sve nedaće što joj je njen Bog nametao. Sa svojim Bogom nije bila u zajedništvu, izuzev strpljivog, nepogovornog ispunjavanja njegove volje koju su joj dnevne životne okolnosti donosile. Ni molitvu procijedila kroz zube nije. Vapaj „Oče naš!“, „Oče naš!“, što tako prirodno dopire do srca i kreće sa usana njenog naroda, nikada se nije otisnuo sa njenih. Patnja je bila njena čest, ali je prihvatala takav život i bešćutno ga podnosila. I sada, samo Stephan od svih sinova joj je ostao, a i on je već patio od iste grudobolje koja je prvo njegovog oca ubila, a onda pokosila i trojicu braće, Koosa, Hendricka i Pieta.
U nadničaru Stephanu van Stadenu nije bilo ničega od tihog i tako poniznog života stare majke Alie. Ovaj pečalbar nije htio nikako bez protesta prihvatiti nedaće, kojima ga je njegov Bog uporno kažnjavao. Bio je to slabašan, svojeglav čovjek, koji je u Bogu vidjeo moć usmjerenu baš njemu; i sa svakim novim dodijeljenim mu udarcem podizao bi svoj glas i zavapio svoje rane. U Koelkuilu se on često prolamao, jer je upravo tu Stephanova bolest uzela maha. Kod novog gazde, strogog čovjeka, koji je zbog suše postao još strožiji, skoro je potupuno propao sa zdravljem.
Zapravo, goru sušu nije pamtio nijedan srednjovečni čovjek iz Verlatenheida. Kada je Stephan došao u Koelkuil na farmu kao nadničar, tu kiša nije padala preko dvije godine, a u toku osamnaest mjeseci službovanja, samo su bila tri prolazna pljuska. Dan za danom, stanovništvo se suočilo sa vedrim nebom bez ijednog oblaka i vrelim treperavim vazduhom, ili suvim i vatrenim vjetrom što je duvajući sve za sobom pržio i isušivao. Polako ali sigurno, siva zemlja postajala je sivlja, puste kopje još pustije, a stepe, ionako prazne, praznije porodičnim životom. Krda gazela, u potrazi za vodom na isušenim izvorištima, bivala su sve rjeđa. Poljski miševi, kornjače, merkati - sva ponizna stvorenja stepe su odumrala. Izgladnjeli šakal opustoši izladnjelu ovcu. Novorođeno jagnje žrtvovaše za spas izgladnjele ovce. Stoka, ovce, nojevi i magarad uporno su se držali ljudi, zbog uzaludnog traganja za hranom. Njihovo žalosno mukanje i blejanje nošeno je opustošenom zemljom, dok su se polako i postupno izgladnjele lešine vraćale u darujuću zemlju i pretvarale se u prah od kojega su nastale.
U iskušenju ovih mjeseci stalno je dolazilo do trvenja izmedju Stephana van Stadena i njegovog Mijnheera. Ništa što bi jedan učinio nije bilo dobro u očima onog drugog. Stephan, bolestan i razdražljiv, bio je bučan u kritikovanju Mijnheera. Mijnheer, upropašćeni čovjek, bio je nepravedan u zahtjevima koje je postavljao bijwoneru. Došli su, konačno, u otvorenu svađu gdje su se umješali svi na farmi, osim stare Alie. Samo se ona tiho držala po strani, van njihovog sukoba. Sjedjela bi na najvisočijem, kamenom stepeniku nadničareve kuće, potišteno zagledana u ravnicu Verlatenheida, i u tišini, slušala podjednako razloge i jednog i drugog. U žestini, Stephan je postao ravnodušan prema njenoj ćutnji. Gazdu je ista vrijeđala i istovremeno plašila. Tumačio ju je kao osudu; a ko je bila Alie, siromašna bjelkinja, da ga može osuđivati? Zašto nikada nije progovorila, da bi joj mogao odgovoriti? O čemu je razmišljala, sjedeći tu, nepomično poput Boga, na najvišem kamenom stepeniku ispred vrata? Nije znao, niti će ikada znati. Na kraju počeo je da mrzi tu staricu, činilo mu se, tako snažnu u svojoj tišini i moćnu u svom strpljenju. I kada je zbog oštre zime nadničar iznenada umro, pomislio je sa olakšanjem da stara Alie sada mora da ode.
...............
English to Serbo-Croat: One Good Story, Than One General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English Thomas King
ONE GOOD STORY, THAT ONE
Alright.
You know, I hear this story up north. Maybe Yellowknife, that one, somewhere. I hear it maybe a long time. Old story this one. One hundred years, maybe more. Maybe not so long either, this story.
So.
You know, they come to my place. Summer place, pretty good place, that one. Those ones, they come with Napiao, my friend. Cool. On the river, Indians call him Ka-sin-ta, that river, like if you did nothing but stand in one place all day and maybe longer. Ka-sin-ta also call Na-po. Napiao knows that one, my friend. Whiteman call him Saint Merry, but I don’t know what that mean. Maybe like Ka-sin-ta. Maybe not.
Napiao comes with those three. Whiteman, those.
No Indianman.
No Chinaman.
No Frenchman.
Too bad, those.
Sometimes the wind come along say hallo. Pretty fast, that one. Blow some things down on the river, that Ka-sin-ta.
Three men come to my summer place, also my friend Napiao. Pretty loud talkers, those ones. One is big. I tell him maybe looks like Big Joe. Maybe not.
Anyway.
They come and Napiao, too. Bring greetings, how are you, many nice things they bring to says. Three.
All white.
Too bad, those.
Ho, my friend says, real nice day. Here is some tobacco.
All those smile. Good teeth.
Your friend Napiao, they says, that one says you tell a good story, you tell us your good story.
They says, that ones.
I tell Napiao, sit down, rest, eat something. Those three like to stand. Stand still. I think of Ka-sin-ta, as I told you. So I says to Napiao, Ka-sin-ta, in our language and he laugh. Those three laugh, too. Good teeth. Whiteman, white teeth.
I says to them, those ones stand pretty good. Napiao, my friend, says tell these a good story. Maybe not too long, he says. Those ones pretty young, go to sleep pretty quick. Anthropologist, you know. That one has a camera. Maybe.
Okay, I says, sit down.
These are good man, my friend says, those come a long ways from past Ta-pe-loo-za. Call him Blind Man Coulee, too. Ta-pe-loo-za means a quiet place where the fish can rest, deep quiet place. Blind man maybe comes there later. To that place. Maybe fish.
Alright.
How about a story, that one says.
Sure, I says. Maybe about Jimmy runs the store near Two Bridges. His brother become dead and give Jimmy his car. But Jimmy never drives.
Napiao hold his hand up pretty soft. My friend says that good story, Jimmy and his car. These ones don’t know Jimmy.
Okay, I says. Tell about Billy Frank and the dead-river pig. Funny story, that one, Billy Frank and the dead-river pig. Pretty big pig. Billy is real small, like Napiao, my friend. Hurt his back. Lost his truck.
Those ones like old stories, says my friend, maybe how the world was put together. Good Indian story like that, Napiao says. Those ones have tape recorders, he says.
Okay, I says.
Have some tea.
Stay awake.
Once upon a time.
Those stories start like that, pretty much, those ones, start on time. Anyway. There was nothing. Pretty hard to believe that, maybe.
You fellows keep listening, I says. Watch the floor. Be careful.
No water, no land, no stars, no moon. None of those things. Must have a sun someplace. Maybe not. Can’t say. No Indians are there once upon a time. Lots of air. Only one person walk around. Call him god.
So.
They look around, and there is nothing. No grass. No fish. No trees. No mountains. No Indians, like I says. No whiteman, either. Those come later, maybe one hudred years. Maybe not. That one god walk around, but pretty soon they get tired. Maybe that one says, we will get some stars. So he does. And then he says, maybe we should get a moon. So, they get one of them, too.
Someone write all this down, I don’t know. Lots of things left to get.
Me-a-loo, call her deer.
Pa-pe-po, call her elk.
Tsling-ta, call her Blue-flower-berry.
Ga-ling, call her moon.
So-see-ka, call her flint.
A-ma-po, call her dog.
Ba-ko-zao, call her grocery store.
Pe-to-pa-zasling, call her television.
Pretty long list of things to get, that. Too many, maybe those ones say, how many more that one needs for world. So. Pretty soon that one can fix up real nice place. Not too hot. Not too cold. Like here, we sit here. My summer place is like that one.
I call my summer place O-say-ta-he-to-peo-the. Means cool sleeping place. Other place, they call her Evening’s garden. Good time to fish, that. Evening. Cool, not so hot. That Evening’s garden like here.
Two human beings that one puts there. Call the man Ah-damn. Call the woman, Evening. Same as garden.
Okay.
She looks around her garden. Pretty nice place, that one. Good tree. Good deer. Good rock. Good water. Good sky. Good wind. No grocery store, no television.
Ah-damn and Evening real happy, those ones. No clothes, those, you know. Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha. But they pretty dumb, then. New, you know.
Have some tea.
Stay awake.
Good part is soon here.
That woman, Evening, she is curious, nosy, that one. She walk around the garden and she look everywhere. Look under rock. Look in grass. Look in water. Look in tree.
So.
She find that tree, big one. Not like now, that tree. This one have lots of good things to eat. Have potato. Have pumpkin. Have corn. Have berries, all kind. Too many to say now.
This good tree also have some mee-so. Whiteman call them apples. This first woman look at the tree with the good things and she gets hungry. Make a meal in her head.
Leave that mee-so alone. Someone says that. Leave that mee-so alone. Leave that tree alone. The voice says that. Go away someplace else to eat!
That one, god. Hello, he’s back.
Hey, says Evening, this is my garden.
You watch out, says that one, pretty loud voice. Sort of shout. Bad temper, that one. Maybe like Harley James. Bad temper, that one. Always shouting. Always with pulled-down mean look. Sometimes Harley come to town, drives his truck to town. Get drunk. Drives back to that house. That one goes to town, get drunk, come home, that one, beat his wife. His wife leave. Goes back up north. Pretty mean one, that one. You boys know Harley James? Nobody there to beat up, now. Likes to shout, that one. Maybe you want to hear about Billy Frank and the dead-river pig?
Boy, my friend says, I can taste those mee-so. These boys pretty excited about those mee-so, I think.
Okay, I says.
Keep your eyes open, look around.
Evening, that one says, look pretty good, these. So she eat one, that mee-so. Boy, not bad, real juicy, that one. She is generous, Evening, good woman, that one. Bring mee-so to Ah-damn. I think he is busy then, writing things down. All the animals’ names he writes somewhere, I don’t know. Pretty boring that.
Deer come by, says Me-a-loo.
Elk come by, says Pa-pe-o.
Blue-flower-berry come by, says Tsling-ta.
Ah-damn not so smart like Evening, that one thinks Blue-flower-berry is animal, maybe.
Dog come by, says A-ma-po.
Raven come by, says Ne-co-tah.
Coyote come by, says Klee-qua.
Snail come by, sais E-too.
Squirrel come by, says Qay-tha.
Owl come by, says Ba-tee-po-tah.
Weasel come by, says So-tha-nee-so.
Rabbit come by, says Klaaa-coo.
Flint come by, says So-see-ka.
Fish come by, says Laa-po.
Crayfish come by, says Khan-yah-da.
Boy, all worn out. All those animal come by. Coyote come by maybe four, maybe eight times. Gets dressed up, fool around.
Says Piisto-pa.
Says Ho-ta-go.
Says woho-i-kee.
Says Caw-ho-ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Tricky one, that coyote. Walks in circles. Sneaky.
That Ah-damn not so smart. Like Harley James, whiteman, those. Evening, she be Indian woman, I guess.
Evening come back. Hey, she says, what are all these coyote tracks come around in a circle. Not so smart, Ah-damn, pretty hungry though. Here, says Evening, mee-so, real juicy. So they do. Ah-damn, that one eat three mee-so. Ah-damn, says Evening, I better get some more mee-so.
Pretty soon that one, god, come by. He is pretty mad. You ate my mee-so, he says.
Don’t be upset, says Evening, that one, first woman. Many more mee-so back there. Calm down, watch some television, she says.
But they are upset and that one says that Evening and Ah-damn better leave that good place, garden, Evening’s garden, go somewhere else. Just like Indian today.
Evening says, okay, many good places around here. Ah-damn, that one wants to stay. But that fellow, god, whiteman I think, he says, you go too, you ate those mee-so, my mee-so.
Ah-damn is unhappy. He cry three times, ho, ho, ho. I only ate one, he says.
No, says that god fellow. I see everything. I see you eat three of my mee-so.
I only ate two, says Ah-damn but pretty quick that one throw him out.
Ha!
Throw him out on his back, right on those rocks. Ouch, ouch, ouch, that one says. Evening, she have to come back and fix him up before he is any good again. Alright.
There is also a Ju-poo-pea, whiteman call him snake. Don’t know what kind. Big white one maybe, I hear, maybe black, something else. I forgot this part. He lives in tree with mee-so. That one try to get friendly with Evening so she stick a mee-so in his mouth, that one. Crawl back into tree. Have trouble talking, hissss, hissss, hissss. Maybe he is still there. Like that dead-river pig and Billy Frank lose his truck.
So.
Evening and Ah-damn leave. Everybody else leave, too. That tree leave, too. Just god and Ju-poo-pea together.
Ah-damn and Evening come out here. Have a bunch of kids.
So.
That’s all. It is ended.
Boy, my friend says, better get some more tea. One good story, that one, my friend, Napiao says.
Those men push their tape recorders, fix their cameras. All of those ones smile. Nod their head around. Look out window. Shake my hand. Make happy noises. Say goodbyes, see you later. Leave pretty quick.
We watch them go. My friend, Napiao, put the pot on for some tea. I clean up all the coyote tracks on the floor.
Translation - Serbo-Croat Tomas King
JEDNA OD ONIH DOBRIH PRIČA, BAŠ TA
Znači.
Znaš, ovu priču čuh gore sjevernije. Mož’ bit’ u Jelounajfu, baš tamo, tamo negdje. Čuo sam je davno, mislim. Stara je ova priča. Sto godina, a možda i više. Ova priča, možda, tako duga biti neće.
Ovako.
Znaš, dođoše ti oni kod mene. Ljetovalište, znaš kakvo mjesto! Došli oni sa drugom mojim, Napjaom. Svježe, mirno. Na rijeci, Indijanci je zovu Ka-sin-ta, na toj rijeci sve je kao da samo stojiš na jednom mjestu cipan cijeli dan a možda i duže. Ka-sin-ta se još zove i Na-po. Zna to Napjao, drugar moj. Bijelci je zovu Sveta Veselica , ali ja ne znam šta to znači. Možda nešto kao Ka-sin-ta. A možda i ne.
Dođe ti Napjao sa onom trojicom. Sva trojica bijelci.
Ni jedan Indijanac.
Ni Kinez.
Niti Francuz.
Baš bez veze, ta trojica.
Ponekad vjetar naiđe, kaže zdravo. Brz li je on, brate! Uvijek ponešto oduva niz rijeku, ovu Ka-sin-tu.
Dođoše trojica u moje ljetovalište, i moj prijatelj Napjao. Mnogo glasno govore. A što je jedan od njih veliki! Kažem mu da možda liči na Velikog Džoa. A možda i ne.
Elem.
Oni došli i sa njima Napjao. Donose pozdrave, kako ste, mnoge fine stvari donose, kažu. Trojica, ka’ tri mudraca.
Svaki bijel.
Baš su bez veze.
Ho, reče mi drug, stvarno divan dan. Izvoli malo duvana.
Svi oni smješkaju se. Divni zubi.
Tvoj prijatelj Napjao, kažu, rekao je da pričaš dobre priče, ispričaj nam jednu tvoju dobru.
Kažu oni, vele vala!
Rekoh Napjau, sjedite, odmorite se i pojedite nešto. Ona trojica vole da stoje. Stoje mirno. Pomislim na Ka-sin-tu, kako ti već rekoh. Tako rekoh i Napjau na našem jeziku, a on se nasmija. Smiju se i ova trojica. Dobri zubi. Bijeli čovjek, bijeli zubi.
Velim ja njima, stoje oni dosta dobro. Moj prijatelj Napjao kaže da im ispričam jednu dobru priču. Još kaže, možda ne previše dugu. Mnogo su mladi, brzo zaspu. Antropolog, znaš. Taj ima kameru. Možda.
Okej, rekoh ja, sjedite.
Dobri su ovo momci, reče mi prijatelj, dolaze iz daleka, iz davnina Ta-pe-loo-za. Zovu ga još i Klanac Slijepog Čovjeka. Ta-pe-loo-za znači ‚tiho mjesto gdje počivaju ribe’, duboko tiho mjesto. Slijepi čovjek dolazi tamo možda kasnije. Na to mjesto. Možda da peca.
Dobro.
A priča, kaže jedan od njih.
Naravno. Može li ona o Džimiju što ima prodavnicu pored Dva Mosta. Brat mu osta mrtav i dade Džimiju svoja kola. A Džimi ne vozi nikad.
Napjao polagano diže ruku. Moj prijatelj kaže da je to dobra priča, o Džimiju i njegovim kolima. Samo, ovi ne poznaju Džimija.
Okej. Da ispričam o Biliju Frenku i o svinji mrtve rijeke. Smiješna je ta priča, baš ta o Biliju Frenku i svinji mrtve rijeke. Jako velika svinja. Bili je baš sitan, kao Napjao, moj prijatelj. Povrijedio kičmu. Izgubio kamion.
Ovi vole stare priče, reče mi prijatelj, kao onu kako je stvoren svijet. Dobru indijansku priču poput te, kaže mi Napjao. Ovi imaju i kasetofone, dodaje.
Okej, velim.
Čaja uzmite.
Budni ostanite.
Nekada davno.
Te priče uglavnom tako počinju, baš takve, počinju na vrijeme. Bilo kako. Nije bilo ničega. Jako teško je u to povjerovati, ha?
Samo vi momci slušajte. U pod gledajte. Pažljivi budite.
Nema vode, niti zemlje, nema zvijezda, nit’ mjeseca. Nema baš ničega. Negdje mora biti sunca. A možda i ne mora. Ne znam reć’. Ni Indijanaca nema tamo nekada davno. Puno vazduha. Samo jedna osoba tuda luta. Njega zovu bog.
I tako.
Osvrću se oni tamo ‘vamo, a tamo ničega. Nema trave. Nema ribe. Ni drveća. Ni planina. Niti jednog Indijanca, kako rekoh. A ni bijelog čovjeka. Oni došli poslije možda stotinu godina. A možda i ne. Samo jedan bog tuda šeta ali se ubrzo umorio. Kako bi bilo, taj jedini reče, da načinimo nekoliko zvijezda. I bi zvijezda. A onda reče, kako bi bilo da načinimo mjesec. I eto mjeseca.
Neko je sve ovo zapisivao, stvarno ne znam. Mnogo što-šta je trebalo načiniti.
Me-a-lu, tako su nazvali jelena.
Pa-pe-po, nazvali su velikoga losa.
Tsling-ta, nazvali su plavi cvijet borovnice.
Ga-ling, nazvali su mjesec.
So-see-ka, nazvali su kremen kamen.
A-ma-po, nazvali su psa.
Ba-ko-zao, nazvali su prodavnicu.
Pe-to-pa-zasling, nazvali su televizor.
Baš je to dugačak spisak stvari za načiniti. I previše, neko će reći, šta još kome treba za svijet?! I tako sve to. Vrlo brzo taj bog će moći da napravi stvarno fino mjesto. Ni previše vruće. Ni previše hladno. Kao ovo gdje sjedimo. Moje ljetovalište je kao to mjesto.
Ja zovem svoje ljetovalište O-say-ta-he-to-peo-the. Znači svježe mjesto za spavanje. Drugo mjesto nazvali su njenim vrtom Večernjim. Odlično vrijeme za pecanje. Veče. Sviježe, nije tako vruće. Taj vrt Večernji je kao moje ljetovalište.
Dva ljudska stvora je tu posadio. Nazvao je čovjeka Ah-ti-klet i . Nazvao je ženu Večera . Isto kao vrt.
Okej.
Pogleda ona svoj vrt. Stvarno lijepo mjesto. Drvo dobro. Dobar jelen. Stijena dobra. Voda dobra. Dobro nebo. Dobar vjetar. Nema prodavnice, ni televizora.
Ah-ti-kleti i Večera zaista su srećni bili. Bez odjela, znaš. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Al’ poprilično mutavi. Novi skroz, kontaš?
Čaja uzmite.
Budni ostanite.
Slijedi uskoro dobar dio.
Ta žena, Večera, radoznala je, pravo njuškalo. Šeta tako vrtom i svuda zagleduje. Gleda ispod stijene. Istražuje travu. Gleda u vodu. Posmatra drvo.
I tako.
Pronađe ona to veliko drvo. Ne kao ova sada što su. Na ovome ima puno dobrih stvari za jelo. Krompira. Ima tikve. Kukuruza. Bobica, svih vrsta. Previše da se nabroje.
Ovo drvo rađa još i mee-so. Bjeli čovjek ih zove jabukama. I ta prva žena gleda drvo sa divnim stvarima, te ogladni. U glavi jelo spravi.
Ne diraj taj mee-so. Neko to reče. Ostavi se mee-soa. Ne diraj to drvo. Glas taj reče. Odlazi na neko drugo mjesto da jedeš!
To je onaj usamljeni bog. Halo, eto, vratio se.
Hej, reče mu Večera, ovo je moj vrt.
Pazi me se, rekao je taj prilično bučan glas. Skoro je vikao. Loše volje on je bio. Možda baš kao Harli Džejms. Taj je bio naprasit. Uvijek viče. Uvijek smračenog i podlog izgleda. Ponekad Harli dođe u grad, vozi se kamionom do grada. Napije se. Vozi nazad do kuće. Taj isti kad do grada ode, napije se pa se kući vrati, pretuče svoju ženu. Žena ga napusti. Ode nazad na sjever. Mnogo zao je taj. Je l’ znate momci za Harlija Džejmsa? Sada više nema koga da tuče. Mnogo voli da viče. A možda biste htjeli ipak čuti onu o Biliju Frenku i o svinji mrtve rijeke?
De, de, kaza mi prijatelj, mogu da okusim one mee-so. I ovi momci mislim da jedva čekaju mee-so.
Okej, kaza’ ja.
Oči širom otvorite, naokolo pogledajte.
I ona Večera kaza: kako su samo lijepe ove! Pa pojede jednu, tu mee-so. Čovječe, nisu ni malo loše, stvarno sočne. Velikodušna je Večera, dobra žena to je. Nosi mee-so Ah-ti-kletom. Mislim da je tada bio zaposlen zapisujući stvari. Sva imena životinja negdje je popisiv’o, ne bih znao. Mnogo dosadno.
Jelen dođe, kaže Me-a-lu.
Los dođe, kaže Pa-pe-o.
Plavi cvijet borovnice dođe, kaže Tsling-ta.
Ah-ti-kleti nije baš pametan kao Večera, on misli da je plavi cvijet borovnice možda životinja.
Pas dođe, kaže A-ma-po.
Gavran dođe, kaže Ne-co-tah.
Kojot dođe, kaže Klee-qua.
Puž dođe, kaže E-too.
Vjeverica dođe, kaže Qay-tha.
Sova dođe, kaže Ba-tee-po-tah.
Lasica dođe, kaže da se zove So-tha-nee-so.
Zec dođe, kaže Klaaa-coo.
Kremen kamen dođe, kaže So-see-ka.
Riba dođe, kaže da se zove Laa-po.
Račić riječni dođe, kaže Khan-yah-da.
Čovječe, momak se stvarno iscrpio. Sve su prošle životinje. Kojot je možda prošao četiri, možda osam puta. Dotjerao se, izmotavao.
Kaže da se zove Piisto-pa.
Kaže opet da se zove Ho-ta-go.
Kaže da se zove woho-i-kee.
Sad kaže da se zove Caw-ho-ha.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Baš prepreden taj je kojot! Kruži, prikrada se.
Onaj Ah-ti-kleti nije baš mudar. Kao ni onaj Harli Džejms, bijelac. Večera, e ona bi bila Indijanka, pretpostavljam.
Večera se vrati. Hej, veli ona, otkud ovi silni tragovi kojota svud okolo u krugovima. Nije tako pametan Ah-ti-kleti, al’ prilično je gladan. Uzmi, kaže Večera, uzmi mee-so, mnogo su sočne. I tako učiniše. Ah-ti-kleti pojede mee-soa, komada tri. Ah-ti-kleti, reče mu Večera, moram brže bolje nabaviti još mee-soa.
Ubrzo onaj usamljeni bog, naiđe. Poprilično bijesan. Pojeli ste moj mee-so.
Ne uzbuđuj se, kaza Večera, žena ta prva. Još mnogih će mee-soa biti. Smiri se, gledaj malo televiziju.
Ali svi su uznemireni i jedini kaza Večeri i Ah-ti-kletom da je bolje da napuste to dobro mjesto; vrt, taj vrt Večernji, i da odu negdje. Baš kao što to mora danas Indijanac.
Večera kaza, okej, mnogo je dobrih mjesta okolo. Ah-ti-kleti, taj bi da ostane. Ali taj tip, bog, mislim da je bijelac, kaza mu: i ti idi, i ti si jeo mee-so, moje mee-so.
Ah-ti-kleti nije srećen. Zaplakao tri puta, beu, heu, heu. Ja sam samo jednu pojeo, rekao je.
Ne, ne, ne. Ja sve vidim. Vidim da si pojeo tri moje mee-so.
Samo sam dvije pojeo, reče Ah-ti-kleti, ali ga onaj jedini usamljeni nevjerovatno brzo izbaci van.
Ha!
Izbaci ga na leđa, pravo na stijene. Jao, jao, jao. Večera je morala da se vrati i da ga sredi da bi išta ponovo valjao. I dobro.
Postoji još i Ju-poo-pea, bijelac ga zove zmija. Ne znam baš koje vrste. Bijeli veliki može biti, čujem, možda crni ili koji drugi. Ovaj dio sam zaboravio. On živi na drvetu sa mee-so. E, taj je pokušao da se sprijatelji sa Večerom pa mu je ona strpala jednu mee-so u usta, nevjerovatna Večera. Pa se onda uspuzao na drvo. I sve od tada otežano govorio, hissss, hissss, hissss. Možda je još uvijek gore. Baš kao što je tu ona svinja mrtve rijeke i kao što je Bili Frenk svoj kamion izgubio.
Elem.
Večera i Ah-ti-kleti odoše. I svi ostali. I to drvo. Zajedno ostaše samo bog i Ju-poo-pea.
Ah-ti-kleti i Večera ovamo dođoše. Gomilu djece izrodiše.
I…
To je sve. Svršilo se.
Čovječe, prijatelj mi reče, bolje da napravim još čaja. Dobra je ta priča druže moj, reče Napjao.
Oni ljudi ugasiše kasetofone, popraviše kamere. Svi se smješe. Klimaju glavama. Sve kroz prozor glede. Rukuju se sa mnom. Veselo se raspričaše. Pozdraviše se, vidimo se kasnije. Vrlo brzo odoše.
Posmatramo ih kako idu. Prijatelj moj, Napjao pristavi čajnik. Ja počistih kojotove tragove za mnom sa poda.
prevela Gordana Vuković
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Graduate diploma - Faculty of Philosophy, Niksic, English Language and Literature-Literary Translation Studies
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