Paya Frank .- Diccionario Español - Hebreo

 

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DREAMS {Stories}

 

 

 

It was after a dinner with friends, old friends. There were five of them: a writer, a doctor, and three rich bachelors without a profession.

Everything had been talked about, and a lassitude had been reached, that lassitude that precedes and decides the departure after a party. One of the diners, who had been looking for five minutes, without speaking, at the agitated boulevard, constellated by the gas nozzles and full of humming, suddenly said:

-When nothing is done from morning to night, the days are long.

"And the nights too," added his neighbor.

I hardly sleep, pleasures tire me, conversations do not vary; I never find a new idea, and I experience, before talking to no matter whom, a furious desire to say nothing and hear nothing. I don't know what to do with my evenings.

And the third unemployed man proclaimed:

"I would be willing to pay well for a way of spend, each day, only two pleasant hours.

Then the writer, who had just thrown his coat over his arm, approached.

"The man," he said, "who discovers a new vice, and offers it to his fellow-men, even if it reduced his life by half, would do a greater service to mankind than he who found the means of securing eternal health and youth.

The doctor laughed, and as he nibbled on a cigarette, he said:

-Yes, but things are not discovered in this way. Although the issue has been earnestly sought and worked on since the world has existed. The first men suddenly came to perfection in this. We barely match them...

One of the three unemployed people sighed.

"It's a pity!"

Then, after a minute, he added:

"If only we could sleep, sleep well without being cold or hot, sleep with that annihilation of the nights of great tiredness, sleep without dreams.

-Why without dreams? asked his neighbor.

"Because dreams are not always pleasant," replied the other, "and they are always strange, improbable, frayed, and because in sleep we cannot even taste the best dreams." It is necessary to daydream.

"Who prevents you?" asked the writer.

The doctor threw his cigarette.

"My dear friend, to daydream requires great power and great work of will, and the result is great fatigue. The true dream, that walk of our thought through enchanting visions, is surely the most delightful thing in the world; but it must come naturally, not painfully provoked, and be accompanied by absolute well-being of the body. I can offer this dream to you, provided you promise me not to abuse it.

The writer shrugged.

"Ah! Yes, I know, hashish, opium, green jam, artificial paradises. I have read Baudelaire; and I myself have tasted the famous drug, which has made me terribly ill.

But the doctor had sat down.

"No, the ether, just the ether. You men of letters should wear it from time to time.

The three rich men came over. One of them asked:

"Explain to us, then, the effects."

The doctor continued:

-Let's leave aside the big words, shall we? I am not talking about medicine or morals: I am talking about pleasure. You are free every day with excesses that devour your lives. I want to point out to you a new sensation, possible only for intelligent men, let's say even very intelligent, dangerous as everything that excites our organs, but exquisite. I add that it will require a certain preparation, that is to say, a certain habit, to grasp in all their fullness the singular effects of the ether.

"They are different from the effects of hashish, from the effects of opium and morphine; and they cease immediately after the absorption of the drug is interrupted, while the other dream-producers continue their action for hours.

"Now I will try to analyze as clearly as possible what it feels like. But things are not easy; so delicate, almost incomprehensible, are those sensations.

"I was suffering from violent neuralgia when I used this remedy, which I may have abused a little later.

"I felt sharp pains in my head and neck, and an unbearable warmth on my skin, a restlessness of fever. I took a large vial of ether and, after lying down, began to inhale it slowly.

"After a few minutes I thought I heard a vague murmur which soon became a kind of buzzing, and I had the impression that the whole interior of my body was becoming light, light as air, which was vaporizing.

"Then there was a kind of drowsiness of the soul, of sleepy well-being, although the pains persisted, although they were no longer painful now. It was one of those sufferings that can be endured, and not that horrible tearing against which our tortured body protests.

"Very soon the strange, charming feeling of emptiness in my chest spread, reached the limbs, which in turn became light, light as if flesh and bones had melted and only the skin remained, the skin necessary to make me perceive the sweetness of living, of lying in that well-being. Then I realized that I was no longer suffering. The pain was gone, melted, evaporated. And I heard voices, four voices, two dialogues, without understanding any of the words. As soon as they were but indistinct sounds, as soon as a word or two came to me. But I recognized that it was simply the accentuated ringing in my ears. He was not sleeping, he was awake; I understood, felt, reasoned with extraordinary clarity, depth, power, and joy of spirit, a strange intoxication arising from this multiplication of my mental faculties.

"It was not a dream like that of hashish, it was not the slightly sickly visions of opium; it was a prodigious acuteness of reasoning, a new way of seeing, of judging, of appreciating the things of life, and with the certainty, the absolute awareness that this way was the true one.

"And the old image of the Scriptures suddenly came to my mind. I had the impression that I had tasted the tree of knowledge, that all mysteries were revealed, and that I was under the empire of a new, strange, irrefutable logic. And the arguments, the reasoning, the proofs, came rushing towards me, immediately knocked down by a proof, a reasoning, a stronger argument. My head had become the battleground of ideas. I was a superior being, armed with an invincible intelligence, and I savored a prodigious joy at the realization of my power.

"That lasted a long, long time. I was still breathing through the hole in my ether flask. Suddenly, I realized that it was empty. And I felt a terrible sorrow."

The four men asked at the same time:

"Doctor, quick, a prescription for a quart of ether!"

But the doctor put on his hat and answered:

"As for that, no: go and be poisoned by others!"

And he left.

Ladies and gentlemen, what does your heart tell you about it?

 

END

 

@ Traducido al Ingles, por Paya Frank

SUEÑOS [Relatos]

 

 

Fue después de una cena de amigos, de viejos amigos. Eran cinco: un escritor, un médico, y tres solteros ricos sin profesión.

Se había hablado de todo, y se había llegado a una lasitud, esa lasitud que precede y decide la partida después de una fiesta. Uno de los comensales, que miraba desde hacía cinco minutos, sin hablar, el agitado bulevar, constelado por las boquillas del gas y lleno de zumbidos, dijo de pronto:

-Cuando no se hace nada de la mañana a la noche, los días son largos.

-Y las noches también -añadió su vecino.

Yo apenas duermo, los placeres me cansan, las conversaciones no varían; jamás encuentro una idea nueva, y experimento, antes de hablar con no importa quién, un furioso deseo de no decir nada y no oír nada. No sé qué hacer con mis veladas.

Y el tercer desocupado proclamó:

-Estaría dispuesto a pagar bien una forma de pasar, cada día, sólo dos horas agradables.

Entonces el escritor, que acababa de echarse el abrigo al brazo, se acercó.

-El hombre -dijo- que descubriera un vicio nuevo, y lo ofreciera a sus semejantes, aunque eso redujera su vida a la mitad, haría un servicio más grande a la humanidad que aquél que encontrara el medio de asegurar la salud y la juventud eternas.

El médico se echó a reír, y mientras mordisqueaba un cigarro dijo:

-Sí, pero las cosas no se descubren de este modo. Aunque se ha buscado encarecidamente y trabajado el asunto desde que el mundo existe. Los primeros hombres llegaron de golpe a la perfección en esto. Nosotros apenas los igualamos…

Uno de los tres desocupados suspiró.

-¡Es una lástima!

Luego, al cabo de un minuto, añadió:

-Si tan sólo pudiéramos dormir, dormir bien sin tener ni frío ni calor, dormir con ese anonadamiento de las noches de gran cansancio, dormir sin sueños.

-¿Por qué sin sueños? -preguntó su vecino.

-Porque los sueños no siempre son agradables -respondió el otro-, y siempre son extraños, inverosímiles, deshilachados, y porque durmiendo ni siquiera podemos saborear los mejores sueños. Es preciso soñar despierto.

-¿Quién se lo impide? -preguntó el escritor.

El médico arrojó su cigarro.

-Mi querido amigo, para soñar despierto es preciso un gran poder y un gran trabajo de voluntad, y el resultado es una gran fatiga. El auténtico sueño, ese paseo de nuestro pensamiento a través de encantadoras visiones, es con toda seguridad lo más delicioso del mundo; pero es preciso que venga de forma natural, que no esté penosamente provocado, y que esté acompañado por un bienestar absoluto del cuerpo. Este sueño puedo ofrecérselo, a condición de que me prometa no abusar de él.

El escritor se encogió de hombros.

-¡Ah! Sí, ya sé, el hachís, el opio, la confitura verde, los paraísos artificiales. He leído a Baudelaire; y yo mismo he saboreado la famosa droga, que me ha puesto terriblemente enfermo.

Pero el médico se había sentado.

-No, el éter, tan sólo el éter. Ustedes, los hombres de letras, deberían usarlo de vez en cuando.

Los tres hombres ricos se acercaron. Uno de ellos pidió:

-Explíquenos, pues, los efectos.

El médico prosiguió:

-Dejemos de lado las grandes palabras, ¿de acuerdo? No hablo ni de medicina ni de moral: hablo de placer. Ustedes se libran todos los días a excesos que devoran sus vidas. Quiero indicarles una sensación nueva, posible tan sólo para hombres inteligentes, digamos incluso muy inteligentes, peligrosa como todo lo que excita nuestros órganos, pero exquisita. Añado que les hará falta una cierta preparación, es decir un cierto hábito, para captar en toda su plenitud los singulares efectos del éter.

»Son diferentes de los efectos del hachís, de los efectos del opio y de la morfina; y cesan inmediatamente después de interrumpirse la absorción del medicamento, mientras que los otros productores de sueños prosiguen su acción durante horas.

»Ahora intentaré analizar lo más claramente posible lo que se siente. Pero la cosa no es fácil; tan delicadas, casi inaprehensibles, son esas sensaciones.

»Sufría violentas neuralgias cuando utilicé este remedio, del que quizás he abusado un poco después.

»Sentía vivos dolores en la cabeza y en el cuello, y un insoportable calor en la piel, una inquietud de fiebre. Tomé un gran frasco de éter y, tras acostarme, me puse a aspirarlo lentamente.

»Al cabo de algunos minutos creí oír un murmullo vago que se convirtió muy pronto en una especie de zumbido, y tuve la impresión de que todo el interior de mi cuerpo se volvía ligero, ligero como el aire, que se vaporizaba.

»Luego hubo una especie de modorra del alma, de soñoliento bienestar, pese a que persistían los dolores, aunque ahora dejaban de ser penosos. Era uno de estos sufrimientos que se pueden soportar, y no ese horrible desgarrar contra el cual protesta nuestro torturado cuerpo.

»Muy pronto, la extraña y encantadora sensación de vacío que sentía en el pecho se extendió, alcanzó los miembros, que se volvieron a su vez ligeros, ligeros como si la carne y los huesos se hubieran fundido y sólo quedara la piel, la piel necesaria para hacerme percibir la dulzura de vivir, de estar tendido en ese bienestar. Entonces me di cuenta de que ya no sufría. El dolor se había ido, se había fundido, evaporado. Y oí voces, cuatro voces, dos diálogos, sin comprender nada de las palabras. Tan pronto no eran más que sonidos indistintos, tan pronto me llegaba alguna que otra palabra. Pero reconocí que simplemente era el zumbido acentuado de mis oídos. No dormía, estaba despierto; comprendía, sentía, razonaba con una claridad, una profundidad, una potencia extraordinarias, y una alegría de espíritu, una embriaguez extraña venida de esta multiplicación de mis facultades mentales.

»No era un sueño como con el del hachís, no eran las visiones un poco enfermizas del opio; era una agudeza prodigiosa del razonamiento, una nueva forma de ver, de juzgar, de apreciar las cosas de la vida, y con la certidumbre, la conciencia absoluta de que esta forma era la verdadera.

»Y la vieja imagen de las Escrituras me vino repentinamente al pensamiento. Tuve la impresión de que había saboreado el árbol de la ciencia, que todos los misterios se desvelaban, y que me hallaba bajo el imperio de una lógica nueva, extraña, irrefutable. Y los argumentos, los razonamientos, las pruebas, acudían atropellándose hacia mí, derribados de inmediato por una prueba, un razonamiento, un argumento más fuerte. Mi cabeza se había convertido en el campo de batalla de las ideas. Era un ser superior, armado con una inteligencia invencible, y saboreaba una alegría prodigiosa ante la constatación de mi poder..

»Eso duró mucho, mucho tiempo. Seguía respirando todavía por el orificio de mi frasco de éter. De pronto, me di cuenta de que estaba vacío. Y sentí un terrible pesar.»

Los cuatro hombres pidieron a la vez:

-¡Doctor, rápido, una receta para un litro de éter!

Pero el médico se puso el sombrero y respondió:

-En cuanto a eso, no: ¡vayan a hacerse envenenar por otros!

Y se marchó.

Señoras y señores, ¿qué les dice su corazón al respecto?

 

FIN

 

THE BLACK ANGEL

 

Little Dick's mother had died. As for his father, he must have wandered in some antipodal sea; He had not been heard of for years. The family cared very little about this blond boy who was barely seven years old.

"To the orphanage!" Uncle Patridge decided.

Bridge, the nurse who had nursed Dick from the cradle, mourned the decision with almost every tear in her body.

"Tell me, Bridge," asked Dick, on the eve of the painful separation. Is everything you have told me about the Black Angel true?

Bridge bowed his head gravely. It was a very old Irish legend, in which everyone believed, in their country. And, being so, why didn't it have to be true?

"Then," said Dick, "when children are persecuted by giants, witches, and evil spirits, and call upon the Black Angel, does he really answer their call?"

"Certainly," replied Bridge. Always come to the aid of children who are in danger.

"Oh! Dick exclaimed. How happy I am! Now I'm no longer afraid to go to the orphanage.

The old nurse lifted her apron so that the child would not see her eyes.

* * *

M. Bry's orphanage seemed more like a prison for young delinquents than a charitable institution, where the little ones abandoned by their loved ones had to be made to forget their sadness.

The food was bad and scarce, the work was hard and the punishments extremely harsh.

M. Bry was a large man with bulging black eyes. His greed was surpassed only by his cruelty. The children who were entrusted to their "parental care" had to undo old ropes, glue paper, make the soles of slippers, just as if they were condemned to forced labor.

This meant to M. Bry a good deal of money, which he kept in a heavy iron casket in his room, and which he counted and recounted with morbid pleasure.

One day he entered surreptitiously, like a thief, into the workshop where the poor orphans were toiling; and his gloomy eyes fell upon young Dick, who, alas, was taking a little rest.

"Number 51, you don't do anything!" he shouted, furious.

"No, sir," replied the boy naively. He was looking at a mouse.

"A mouse, huh?" M. Bry howled. And that disgusting bug prevents you from working?

"It's a lovely little animal," said Dick, "and I like it very much.

"Well, not me!" roared the director. And I like pigeon peas even less!

He grabbed the child by the hair and pulled violently. "Ten lashes and six days in the cellar, on bread and water!" That was the sentence.

* * *

The cellars were teeming with mice, to which Dick threw breadcrumbs, which made them docile little animals.

Too bad the wounds on his back began to infest and make him suffer horrors.

The second night he spent in that horrible cellar, the fever caused all kinds of visions in his brain. He saw his mother returning from the corner store with lots of goodies. He saw Bridge...

Bridge! Ah, what a fool he had been not to call the Black Angel to his aid! But now he was going to do it. Yes, immediately!

"Dear Black Angel, my back hurts very much, and I feel very unhappy...

He didn't have to say anything else. He heard a door creak. An arrow of white light pierced through the darkness. The Black Angel stood in front of him.

* * *

It was certainly an impressive apparition. The supernatural being wore a very tight suit and a black velvet mask, whose holes filtered a terrible tiger gaze.

However, the boy did not experience the slightest fear.

He immediately began to tell her everything. He told her of his late mother, of his beloved Bridge, of the ill-treatment inflicted on him by M. Bry, and, finally, of his hope of seeing the Black Angel intervene.

"Very well, little one, I'm here to help you. Lead me to Bry's room!

The voice seemed too dry for an angel's, but Dick did not hesitate for a moment, and held out his little hand to the gloved hand of the mysterious personage.

* * *

That night, M. Bry had treated himself to a huge steak and a lobster salad, generously sprinkled with a wine of many proofs. That is why he thought he was the victim of a nightmare when a rough hand shook him to wake him up and a terrible voice ordered him to open his heavy chest.

"Hurry, you scoundrel!" roared the stranger.

M. Bry then understood that it was not a dream.

He obeyed and, choking a sob, saw his beloved treasure disappear in a large handbag.

The Black Angel was about to leave when his gaze fell on little Dick, who had observed the scene with an astonished but at the same time satisfied air.

The strange fellow leaned over Bry and growled:

"This is for the lashes, you rascal!"

M. Bry received a single punch to the head, but the blow was enough to unravel his brains.

"My son," said the mysterious being, "you have absolutely nothing to say about what you have seen, do you understand?"

"Of course, I won't say anything," Dick promised. But, dear Black Angel, will you kiss my mother with all your heart when she returns to heaven?

There was a long silence. Then, suddenly, Dick felt himself lifted by a powerful arm. He received a kiss on each cheek and felt something warm fall on his forehead.

"Why are you crying, dear Black Angel?" he asked.

But the Black Angel was gone, and the little boy found himself again in the cellar, where several mice were playing in the moonlight, which amused him greatly.

* * *

A new headmaster arrived, who was very affectionate with the children, but stern-looking men also appeared, who asked the orphans all sorts of questions about the late M. Bry.

But little Dick kept his promise and did not betray his beloved Black Angel.

 

END

 

Traducido por Paya Frank