Waltey
Pollyjin ljubimec
042 Polly's Lover
Myths and Legends of Our Own Land · Charles M. SkinnerO besedilu
Pollyjin ljubimec
- Vir
- Myths and Legends of Our Own Land
- Avtor
- Charles M. Skinner
- Jezik branja
- Slovenščina
- Jezik izvirnika
- English
- Čas branja
- 3 min branja
- Obseg
- 2 strani
- Naslov izvirnika
- 042 Polly's Lover
O izvirniku
Myths and Legends of Our Own Land
Obsežna zgodovinska zbirka ameriških legend, ki jih je Skinner zbral in avtorsko rekonstruiral. Bralni jezik je Slovenščina, izvirnik pa prihaja iz vira Myths and Legends of Our Own Land v jeziku English.
Besedilo
Pollyjin ljubimec
Nekako sredi tega stoletja so iz danes zapuščene hiše v White Plainsu v zvezni državi New York odnesli k pogrebu usahlo devetdesetletno žensko. Ime ji je bilo Polly Carter, a sosedje so ji pravili »Nora Polly«, saj je bila čudaška in ni marala družbe. Med predmeti v njeni hiši je bila tudi visoka stoječa ura, kakršne cenijo zbiralci starin, ki je na stopniščnem podestu slovesno tiktakala.
Med ameriško revolucijo je bila hiša nekaj časa za britanskimi bojnimi črtami, in ker je bil njen oče polkovnik v Washingtonovi vojski, je Polly v njej ostala skoraj sama. Britanski častniki so jo kot žensko sicer spoštovali, vendar so imeli neprijetno navado, da so nenapovedano prihajali v hišo in v kraljevem imenu zahtevali pogostitev, ki jim je ni upala odreči. Nekega deževnega popoldneva so se vrata sunkovito odprla, nato pa jih je nekdo od znotraj zaklenil, in že se je znašla v objemu krepkega, čednega poročnika v modri uniformi. Bil je njen bratranec in zaročenec. Njun veseli pogovor ni trajal dolgo, ko je na vratih zagrmelo trkanje. Trije angleški častniki so čakali, da jih spusti noter.
Morda so videli Lawrencea Carterja vstopiti v hišo, in če bi ga ujeli, bi ga usmrtili kot vohuna. Morala ga je skriti, toda nekam, kjer ga ne bi pomislili iskati. Ura! Tam je bilo pravo mesto. Mladenič se je s smehom in poljubom pustil zapreti v tesno skrivališče, dekle pa je njegov suknjič in klobuk vrglo za pohištvo ter spustilo noter častnike, ki so bili premočeni in čemerni ter so zahtevali kosilo. V blatnih škornjih so lomastili po najboljši sobi in glasno govorili, da bi pregnali mraz, pa so si obilno podajali steklenico žganja. Polly jim je kar najhitreje postregla s kosilom, saj jih je hotela spraviti iz hiše, toda njim se ni prav nič mudilo oditi. Steklenica je tako pogosto krožila med njimi, da so bili še pred koncem kosila glasni in opiti, njihovo govorjenje pa je postalo tako prostaško, da je Polly pregnalo iz sobe.
Nazadnje je na svoje olajšanje zaslišala, da se pripravljajo na odhod, toda tik preden so odšli, je najvišji po činu pogledal proti podestu, ki se je v pojemajoči svetlobi že pogrezal v mrak, in rekel enemu od drugih: »Poglej, koliko je ura.« Nagovorjeni častnik, ki je bil po naključju najbolj pijan od vseh, se je opotekel po stopnicah in vzkliknil: »Pr---a reč se je ustavila.« Nato je, kakor da se mu zdi to dobra šala, dodal: »Nikoli več ne bo tekla.« Izvlekel je sabljo, malomarno zamahnil po uri in z rezilom prebodel polnilo vratc; nato so vsi trije odšli. Ko so njihovi glasovi zamrli v oddaljenem razgrajanju, je Polly stekla osvobodit svojega ljubega. Izpod omarice ure se je počasi cedilo nekaj gostega in temnega. S tresočimi se prsti je odprla vratca in Lawrence, njen ljubi, ji je težko omahnil v naročje, mrtev. Častnik je imel prav: ura ni nikoli več tekla.
Izvirnik
042 Polly's Lover
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
In about the middle of this century a withered woman of ninety was buried from a now deserted house in White Plains, New York, Polly Carter the name of her, but “Crazy Polly” was what the neighbors called her, for she was eccentric and not fond of company. Among the belongings of her house was a tall clock, such as relic hunters prize, that ticked solemnly in a landing on the stairs.
For a time, during the Revolution, the house stood within the British lines, and as her father was a colonel in Washington's army she was left almost alone in it. The British officers respected her sex, but they had an unpleasant way of running in unannounced and demanding entertainment, in the king's name, which she felt forced to grant. One rainy afternoon the door was flung open, then locked on the inside, and she found herself in the arms of a stalwart, handsome lieutenant, who wore the blue. It was her cousin and fiance. Their glad talk had not been going long when there came a rousing summons at the door. Three English officers were awaiting admittance.
Perhaps they had seen Lawrence Carter go into the house, and if caught he would be killed as a spy. He must be hidden, but in some place where they would not think of looking. The clock! That was the place. With a laugh and a kiss the young man submitted to be shut in this narrow quarter, and throwing his coat and hat behind some furniture the girl admitted the officers, who were wet and surly and demanded dinner. They tramped about the best room in their muddy boots, talking loudly, and in order to break the effect of the chill weather they passed the brandy bottle freely. Polly served them with a dinner as quickly as possible, for she wanted to get them out of the house, but they were in no mood to go, and the bottle passed so often that before the dinner was over they were noisy and tipsy and were using language that drove Polly from the room.
At last, to her relief, she heard them preparing to leave the house, but as they were about to go the senior officer, looking up at the landing, now dim in the paling light, said to one of the others, “See what time it is.” The officer addressed, who happened to be the drunkest of the party, staggered up the stair and exclaimed, “The d---d thing's stopped.” Then, as if he thought it a good joke, he added, “It'll never go again.” Drawing his sabre he gave the clock a careless cut and ran the blade through the panel of the door; after this the three passed out. When their voices had died in distant brawling, Polly ran to release her lover. Something thick and dark was creeping from beneath the clock-case. With trembling fingers she pulled open the door, and Lawrence, her lover, fell heavily forward into her arms, dead. The officer was right: the clock never went again.
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