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Un pende

par George Orwell

traduida par Andrew Burns

Mostra ance la testo orijinal

Lo ia aveni en Burma, a un matina empapada par la pluves. Un lus debil, como paper de stanio jala, cade diagonal supra la mures alta e en la patio de la prison. Nos espeta estra la selulas de la prisonidas condenada, un serie de cabanas con baras duplida a fronte, como la cajes de animales peti. Cada selula es des pede par des en grandia e es alga vacua a interna con eseta de un leto de plance e un vaso de acua bevable. En alga de los omes brun e silente acrupi prosima a la baras interna con sua covreletos envolveda sirca los. Estas es la omes condenada, ajendida per pende en un o du semanas.

It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light, like yellow tinfoil, was slanting over the high walls into the jail yard. We were waiting outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds fronted with double bars, like small animal cages. Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was quite bare within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water. In some of them brown silent men were squatting at the inner bars, with their blankets draped round them. These were the condemned men, due to be hanged within the next week or two.

On ia estrae ja un prisonida de sua selula. El es un indu, un trinxa de om, con un testa rasada e oios neblin e acuosa. El porta un mustax spesa e multe tro grande per sua corpo, alga simil a la mustax de un comediste de filmas. Ses gardores indian e alta garda el e prepara el per la pendador. Du de los sta portante fusiles con baionetas fisada, en cuando la otras securi sua polsos, pasa un cadena tra la securipolsos e lia lo a sua sintures, e restrinje streta sua brasos a sua lados con cordas. Los foli multe prosima a el, con sua manos sempre atendente e caresante teninte el, como si tra tota la tempo los palpa el per serti ce el es presente. Lo pare omes palpante un pex cual vive ancora e pote salta a la acua. Ma el sta alga nonresistente, flasida sedente sua brasos a la cordas, como si el persepi apena lo cual aveni.

One prisoner had been brought out of his cell. He was a Hindu, a puny wisp of a man, with a shaven head and vague liquid eyes. He had a thick, sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather like the moustache of a comic man on the films. Six tall Indian warders were guarding him and getting him ready for the gallows. Two of them stood by with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others handcuffed him, passed a chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms tight to his sides. They crowded very close about him, with their hands always on him in a careful, caressing grip, as though all the while feeling him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting, yielding his arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was happening.

La ora oto veni e la sona de un corneta natural, sombre debil en la aira umida, flota de la caserna distante. La supravidor de la prison, ci sta separada de la resta de nos puietante malumorosa la calculos con sua basto, leva sua testa cuando el oia la sona. El es un dotor militar, con un mustax brosin e gris e un vose raspante. “Per la benefica de Dio, freta, Francis,” el dise iritada. “La om ta debe es ja mor. Esce tu ancora no es preparada?”

Eight o’clock struck and a bugle call, desolately thin in the wet air, floated from the distant barracks. The superintendent of the jail, who was standing apart from the rest of us, moodily prodding the gravel with his stick, raised his head at the sound. He was an army doctor, with a grey toothbrush moustache and a gruff voice. “For God’s sake hurry up, Francis,” he said irritably. “The man ought to have been dead by this time. Aren’t you ready yet?”

Francis, la gardor xef, un dravidian pesosa ci porta un veston blanca de coton e un oculo de oro, brandi sua mano. “Si senior, si senior,” el babela. “Tota ess sasiante preparada. La pendor esspeta. Nos va comensa.”

Francis, the head jailer, a fat Dravidian in a white drill suit and gold spectacles, waved his black hand. “Yes sir, yes sir,” he bubbled. “All iss satisfactorily prepared. The hangman iss waiting. We shall proceed.”

“Bon, marxa rapida, alora. La prisonidas no pote reseta la come de matina asta cuando esta taxe fini.”

“Well, quick march, then. The prisoners can’t get their breakfast till this job’s over.”

Nos comensa pasea a la pendador. Du gardores marxa a cada lado de la prisonida, fusiles apoiada contra sua spalas sinistra; du otras marxa contra el, teninte el par la braso e spala, como si simultan los puia e ia apoia el. La resta de nos, judores e tal, segue de pos. Subita, pos pasea tra des iardes, la prosegue para sin comanda o averti. Alga malfortunosa ia aveni. Un can, de ci-sabe-do, ia apare en la patio. Lo veni corente entre nos, abaiante ruidosa e salta sirca nos, ximinte sua corpo intera, multe felis ce el ia trova tan multe umanas asemblada. Un can grande e lanosa, dui Airdale, dui paria. Tra un momento lo dansa sirca nos, e alora, ante cuando cualcun pote para lo, lo sprinta a la prisonida, e par salta a supra, lo atenta leca sua fas. Cadun sta xocada, tro stonada per an atenta saisi la can.

We set out for the gallows. Two warders marched on either side of the prisoner, with their rifles at the slope; two others marched close against him, gripping him by arm and shoulder, as though at once pushing and supporting him. The rest of us, magistrates and the like, followed behind. Suddenly, when we had gone ten yards, the procession stopped short without any order or warning. A dreadful thing had happened—a dog, come goodness knows whence, had appeared in the yard. It came bounding among us with a loud volley of barks, and leapt round us wagging its whole body, wild with glee at finding so many human beings together. It was a large woolly dog, half Airedale, half pariah. For a moment it pranced round us, and then, before anyone could stop it, it had made a dash for the prisoner, and jumping up tried to lick his face. Everyone stood aghast, too taken aback even to grab at the dog.

“Ci entra acel bestia fodeda?” la supravidor dise coler. “Catura lo, algun!”

“Who let that bloody brute in here?” said the superintendent angrily. “Catch it, someone!”

Un gardor, separada de la prisonida, xasa torpe la can, ma lo dansa e brinca a un pico ultra sua estende, interpretente tota como un jua. Un gardor eurasian e joven prende un plenimano de calculos e atenta apetra la can a via, ma lo evita la petras e xasa denova nos. Sua abaietas fa ecos contra la mures de la prison. La prisonida, tenida par la du gardores, regarda noncuriosa a ante, como si esta es un plu formal per la pende. Pos multe minutos, algun susede catura la can. Alora, nos pone mea teleta tra sua colar e comensa pasea denova, la can ancora tirante e crietante.

A warder, detached from the escort, charged clumsily after the dog, but it danced and gambolled just out of his reach, taking everything as part of the game. A young Eurasian jailer picked up a handful of gravel and tried to stone the dog away, but it dodged the stones and came after us again. Its yaps echoed from the jail wails. The prisoner, in the grasp of the two warders, looked on incuriously, as though this was another formality of the hanging. It was several minutes before someone managed to catch the dog. Then we put my handkerchief through its collar and moved off once more, with the dog still straining and whimpering.

On ave sirca cuatrodes iardes asta la pendador. Me regarda la dorso nuda e brun de la prisonida marxante ante me. El pasea torpe con sua brasos restrinjeda, ma alga stable, con la modo de pasea osilante de un indian ci nunca reti sua jenos. Con cada paso, sua musculos lisca ordinada a sua locas conveninte, la mexon sur sua scalpo dansa pendulin, sua pedes impresa la calculos moiada. E a un ves, an con la omes teninte el par cada spala, el fa un paso peti a la lado per evita un stangeta longo la via.

It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of the prisoner marching in front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the Indian who never straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the lock of hair on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of the men who gripped him by each shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.

Lo es strana, ma asta esta momento, me ancora no ia reconose la sinifia de destrui un om sana e consensa. Cuando me vide la prisonida fa un paso a la lado per evita la stangeta, me vide la misterio, la noncoretia nonespresable, de trunca la vive culminante. Esta om no mori, el vive esata como nos vive. Tota la organos de sua corpo funsiona–intestines dijesta comeda, la pel renovi se, ungias crese, texedas forma–tota labora nonesesada. Sua ungias va crese ancora cuando el va sta sur la porte de trapa, cuando el va cade tra la aira con un desi de un secondo de vive restante. Sua oios va vide la calculos jala e la mures gris, e sua serebro va recorda ancora, va predise, va razona–va razona an sur stangetas. El e nos es un grupo de omes paseante, vidente, oiante, sensante, comprendente la mesma mundo; e en du minutos, con un crac subita, un de nos va es no plu–un mente min, un mundo min.

It is curious, but till that moment I had never realized what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as we were alive. All the organs of his body were working—bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself, nails growing, tissues forming—all toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned—reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone—one mind less, one world less.

La pendador trova se en un patio peti separada de la patio xef de la prison, e covreda con malerbas alta e spinosa. Lo es un strutur de brice ce aspeta como tre lados de un cabana, con plances a sur, e supra acel on ave du faxones e un bara traversante con la laso pendente. La pendor, un prisonida capelgris portante la uniforma blanca de la prison, espeta a lado de sua macina. El saluta nos con un acrupi servorin. A la comanda de Francis la du gardores, teninte la prisonida plu prosima ca sempre, gida partal, puia partal el a la pendador e aida torpe el per asende la scala. Alora la pendor asende e pone la laso sirca la colo de la prisonida.

The gallows stood in a small yard, separate from the main grounds of the prison, and overgrown with tall prickly weeds. It was a brick erection like three sides of a shed, with planking on top, and above that two beams and a crossbar with the rope dangling. The hangman, a grey-haired convict in the white uniform of the prison, was waiting beside his machine. He greeted us with a servile crouch as we entered. At a word from Francis the two warders, gripping the prisoner more closely than ever, half led, half pushed him to the gallows and helped him clumsily up the ladder. Then the hangman climbed up and fixed the rope round the prisoner’s neck.

Nos sta e espeta a sinco iardes de ala. La gardores asembla en un dui-sirculo sirca la pendador. E alora, cuando la laso es streta, la prisonida comensa cria a sua dio. Lo es un cria alta e repeteda de “Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!”, no urjente o temosa como un prea o un clama per aida, ma constante, ritmosa, cuasi como la sona de un campana. La can responde a la sona con un crieta. La pendor, ci sta ancora sur la pendador, furni un saco peti de coton, como un saco per farina, e pone lo sur la fas de la prisonida. Ma la sona, amortida par la tela, persiste ancora, sempre denova: “Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!”

We stood waiting, five yards away. The warders had formed in a rough circle round the gallows. And then, when the noose was fixed, the prisoner began crying out on his god. It was a high, reiterated cry of “Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!”, not urgent and fearful like a prayer or a cry for help, but steady, rhythmical, almost like the tolling of a bell. The dog answered the sound with a whine. The hangman, still standing on the gallows, produced a small cotton bag like a flour bag and drew it down over the prisoner’s face. But the sound, muffled by the cloth, still persisted, over and over again: “Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!”

La pendor desende e sta preparada, teninte la lever. Minutos pare pasa. La cria constante e amortida de la prisonida continua sempre denova: “Ram! Ram! Ram!” sin un esita. La supravidor, sua testa sur peto, puieta lenta la solo con sua basto; cisa el conta la crias, permetente a la prisonida un cuantia fisada–sincodes, cisa, o un sento. Cadun ia cambia colores. La indianes ia deveni gris como mal cafe, e un de la du baionetas tremeta. Nos regarda la om restrinjeda e portante un capeta sur la porte de trapa, e escuta sua crias–cada cria un plu secondo de vive; la mesma pensada es en cada de nosa mentes: ai, mata el rapida, fini lo, para la ruido odiable!

The hangman climbed down and stood ready, holding the lever. Minutes seemed to pass. The steady, muffled crying from the prisoner went on and on, “Ram! Ram! Ram!” never faltering for an instant. The superintendent, his head on his chest, was slowly poking the ground with his stick; perhaps he was counting the cries, allowing the prisoner a fixed number—fifty, perhaps, or a hundred. Everyone had changed colour. The Indians had gone grey like bad coffee, and one or two of the bayonets were wavering. We looked at the lashed, hooded man on the drop, and listened to his cries—each cry another second of life; the same thought was in all our minds: oh, kill him quickly, get it over, stop that abominable noise!

Subita la supravidor deside. El leva sua testa e fa un move rapida con sua basto. “Chalo!” el cria cuasi ferose.

Suddenly the superintendent made up his mind. Throwing up his head he made a swift motion with his stick. “Chalo!” he shouted almost fiercely.

On ave un ruido tintina, e alora la silentia completa. La prisonida ia desapare, e la laso torse se. Me libri la can, e lo galopa pronto a pos la pendador; ma cuando lo ariva ala, lo para, abaia, e retira a un angulo de la patio, do lo sta entre la malerbas, regardante nos temosa. Nos vade sirca la pendador per esamina la corpo de la prisonida. El pende con sua ditos de pede direta puntante a su, multe lenta jirante, tan mor como un petra.

There was a clanking noise, and then dead silence. The prisoner had vanished, and the rope was twisting on itself. I let go of the dog, and it galloped immediately to the back of the gallows; but when it got there it stopped short, barked, and then retreated into a corner of the yard, where it stood among the weeds, looking timorously out at us. We went round the gallows to inspect the prisoner’s body. He was dangling with his toes pointed straight downwards, very slowly revolving, as dead as a stone.

La supravidor estende con sua basto e puieta la corpo; lo osila pico. “El es bon,” la supravidor dise. El retira de su la pendador e libri un respira profonda. La aspeta malumorosa ia parti alga subita de sua fas. El regarda sua orolojeta. “Oto minutos pos la oto. Bon, acel es la fini per esta matina, grasias a Dio.”

The superintendent reached out with his stick and poked the bare body; it oscillated, slightly. “He’s all right,” said the superintendent. He backed out from under the gallows, and blew out a deep breath. The moody look had gone out of his face quite suddenly. He glanced at his wrist-watch. “Eight minutes past eight. Well, that’s all for this morning, thank God.”

La gardores desfisa sua baionetas e marxa a via. La can, cuietida e consensa de sua malcondui, segue los. Nos pasea estra la patio de la pendador, pasa la selulas de la condenadas plen de prisonidas espetante, a en la patio sentral de la prison. La prisonidas, su la dirije de gardores armada con bastones, reseta sua come de matina. Los acrupi en series longa, cada om teninte un bol de stanio, en cuando du gardores con baldes marxa a sirca compartinte ris con culierones. Lo pare un sena felis de casa pos la pende. Nos ia lejeri multe con la fini de la taxe. On senti la impulsa per canta, per core, per rie. Simultan cadun comensa parleta felis.

The warders unfixed bayonets and marched away. The dog, sobered and conscious of having misbehaved itself, slipped after them. We walked out of the gallows yard, past the condemned cells with their waiting prisoners, into the big central yard of the prison. The convicts, under the command of warders armed with lathis, were already receiving their breakfast. They squatted in long rows, each man holding a tin pannikin, while two warders with buckets marched round ladling out rice; it seemed quite a homely, jolly scene, after the hanging. An enormous relief had come upon us now that the job was done. One felt an impulse to sing, to break into a run, to snigger. All at once everyone began chattering gaily.

La xico eurasian ci pasea a lado de me anui en dirije a la loca de do nos ia veni con un surie sabente: “Esce tu sabe, senior, ce nosa ami (el refere a la om mor), cuando el ia oia ce on ia refusa sua apela, el ia pisi sur la solo de sua selula. Par causa de teme. Lo ta plase me si tu aseta un de mea sigaretas, senior. Esce tu gusta mea caxa de sigareta de arjento nova, senior? De la vendor vagante, du e un dui rupis. Sofisticada e de la stilo european.”

The Eurasian boy walking beside me nodded towards the way we had come, with a knowing smile: “Do you know, sir, our friend (he meant the dead man), when he heard his appeal had been dismissed, he pissed on the floor of his cell. From fright.—Kindly take one of my cigarettes, sir. Do you not admire my new silver case, sir? From the boxwallah, two rupees eight annas. Classy European style.”

Alga persones rie–a cual, nun pare serta.

Several people laughed—at what, nobody seemed certain.

Francis pasa la supravidor, abundante parlante. “Alora, senior, on ia completi tota con la sassia la plu alta. Lo ia fini pronto–pum. Lo no aveni sempre tal. No! Me conose alga casoss en cual la dotor ia debe vade su la pendador e tira la gamass de la prisonida per serti la mori. Tan desplasente!”

Francis was walking by the superintendent, talking garrulously. “Well, sir, all hass passed off with the utmost satisfactoriness. It wass all finished—flick! like that. It iss not always so—oah, no! I have known cases where the doctor wass obliged to go beneath the gallows and pull the prisoner’s legs to ensure decease. Most disagreeable!”

“Serpente a sirca, no? Acel es mal,” la supravidor dise.

“Wriggling about, eh? That’s bad,” said the superintendent.

“O, senior, lo ess plu mal cuando los deveni combatosa! Un om, me recorda, ia teni la barass de sua caje cuando nos ia veni per estrae el. Lo es cuasi noncredable ce on ia nesesa ses gardores per desfisa el, tre tirante cada gama. Nos ia razona con el. ‘Bon xico,’ nos ia dise, ‘pensa sur la dole e turbosa cual tu causa per nos!’ Ma no, el ia refusa escuta! Ai, el ia ess multe turbosa.”

“Ach, sir, it iss worse when they become refractory! One man, I recall, clung to the bars of hiss cage when we went to take him out. You will scarcely credit, sir, that it took six warders to dislodge him, three pulling at each leg. We reasoned with him. ‘My dear fellow,’ we said, ‘think of all the pain and trouble you are causing to us!’ But no, he would not listen! Ach, he wass very troublesome!”

Me trova ce me rie alga forte. Cadun rie. An la supravidor surie tolerante. “Vos debe veni a estra per un bevida,” el ia dise amin. “Me ave un botela de uisce en la auto. Lo ta aida nos.”

I found that I was laughing quite loudly. Everyone was laughing. Even the superintendent grinned in a tolerant way. “You’d better all come out and have a drink,” he said quite genially. “I’ve got a bottle of whisky in the car. We could do with it.”

Nos pasa tra la du portones grande de la prison, a sur la strada. “Tira sua gamas!” un judor burman esclama subita e comensa cacareta forte. Tota nos comensa rie denova. A esta momento, la raconta de Francis pare multe comica. Tota nos, ambos la nativas e la europeanes, bevi en junta alga amin. La om mor es a sento iardes de nos.

We went through the big double gates of the prison, into the road. “Pulling at his legs!” exclaimed a Burmese magistrate suddenly, and burst into a loud chuckling. We all began laughing again. At that moment Francis’s anecdote seemed extraordinarily funny. We all had a drink together, native and European alike, quite amicably. The dead man was a hundred yards away.