While walking through a parking lot, a man tripped and fell flat on his face. As he was lying there, a woman stopped her car and called out, „Are you hurt?”
„No, I’m fine,” he said, touched by her concern.
„Oh, good,” she continued. „So will you be vacating your parking space now?”
| I had grown weary of him; of his breath And hands and features I was sick to death. Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread; I did not hate him: but I wished him dead. And he must with his blank face fill my life – Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife. |
Mă plictisea, de-aproape, de departe; Mâini, chip, răsuflu mă scârbeau de moarte. Un glas, un pas, din zori și până-n seară… Și nu-l uram; dar aș fi vrut să moară. Cum, să nu scap de-acest neisprăvit O viață? Și-am pus mâna pe cuțit. |
| But ere I struck, my soul’s grey deserts through A voice cried, ‘Know at least what thing you do.’ ‘This is a common man: knowest thou, O soul, What this thing is? somewhere where seasons roll There is some living thing for whom this man Is as seven heavens girt into a span, For some one soul you take the world away – Now know you well your deed and purpose. Slay!’ |
Când să lovesc, din tainiți sufletești, Un glas: “Măcar să știi ce săvârșești! E-un om de rând; știi, Suflete, cumva, Ce este? Unde-i zarea, undeva, E vreo ființă pentru care el E zeci de ceruri prinse-ntr-un inel. Ei îi răpești întreaga lume sfântă. Acum că rostul îl cunoști, împlântă!” |
| Then I cast down the knife upon the ground And saw that mean man for one moment crowned. I turned and laughed: for there was no one by – The man that I had sought to slay was I. |
Svârlind cuțitul, am văzut, mirat, Că omul e de-un nimb încununat. Și-am râs – nu era nime-n jurul meu Iar osândita jertfă eram eu. |
G.K. Chesterton | traducere de Leon Levițchi |
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