TRANSLATIONS 0. BASE TEXT Je savais que c’était stupide, que je ne me débarrasserais pas du soleil en me déplaçant d’un pas. Mais j’ai fait un pas, un seul pas en avant. Et cette fois, sans se soulever, l’Arabe a tiré son couteau qu’il m’a présenté dans le soleil. La lumière a giclé sur l’acier et c’était comme une longue lame étincelante qui m’atteignait au front. Au même instant, la sueur amassée dans mes sourcils a coulé d’un coup sur les paupières et les a recouvertes d’un voile tiède et épais. Mes yeux étaient aveuglés derrière ce rideau de larmes et de sel. Je ne sentais plus que les cymbales du soleil sur mon front et, indistinctement, le glaive éclatant jailli du couteau toujours en face de moi. Cette épée brûlante rongeait mes cils et fouillait mes yeux douloureux. C’est alors que tout a vacillé. La mer a charrié un souffle épais et ardent. Il m’a semblé que le ciel s’ouvrait sur toute son étendue pour laisser pleuvoir du feu. Tout mon être s’est tendu et j’ai crispé ma main sur le revolver. La gâchette a cédé, j’ai touché le ventre poli de la crosse et c’est là, dans le bruit à la fois sec et assourdissant, que tout a commencé. 1. DIALECTAL TRANSLATION I knew it was fuckin stupid, right? I knew I wasn’t gettin out’ve that poxy fuckin sun by movin a step. I fuckin knew that. But sure I moved a fuckin step anyways, didn’t I? Aye. One fuckin step forward I moved. One fuckin step, like. And lo and behold this foreign cunt pulls a fuckin knife on us. Didn’t even get up off his fuckin hole when he did it. Smug little bastard. And then the sun. Jesus fuckin Christ, man, the sun. The fuckin thing was reflectin up off the metal and I swear t’fuckin God it was like this long shiny blade nailin me smack bang between the fuckin eyes. Meanwhile pints’ve fuckin sweat come pourin down from me brows ont’me fuckin eyelids and all’ve a sudden they’re fuckin covered in this warm sticky wetness. Couldn’t see a fuckin thing with all the water and salt in the way. Not a fuckin thing, boy. All I could feel was the sun’s drums poundin me fuckin skull and then, out in front’ve us somewhere, the blade’ve light still shootin up off that fuckin knife and int’me head cause the foreign cunt’s still pointin the fuckin thing at us. Burnin the fuckin eyelashes off me, so it was. Gougin me fuckin eyeballs out, man. And that’s when everythin went t’fuck. This scorchin fuckin wind starts blastin in off the sea, right? Aye. Next thing ye know the fuckin sky opens up, a big aul fuckin rip right down the middle’ve the fuckin thing, and it starts rainin fuckin fire. Fuckin fire, like. So me whole fuckin body’s tensin up and me hand’s reachin for the fuckin revolver. As ye fuckin would, like. But sure before ye know it the fuckin trigger’s bein pressed and the polished fuckin butt’ve the thing’s hoppin about inside me fuckin fist. And that, that deafenin fuckin clatter, that was the start’ve it all. Load’ve fuckin bollix. 2. THALERIAN TRANSLATION Very much aware, me, of the stupidity of it. Not enough, a step, for an escape from the sun. Nevertheless, a step, a single step forward. And this time, the Arab, without any attempt at an upright position, with his knife out and there in front of me in the sun. A flash of light across the steel and, like a long shiny blade, right through my forehead. At the same time, the mass of sweat in my eyebrows suddenly in floods down onto my eyelids, and these soon under the cover of a warm sticky veil. Blind, my eyes, behind this curtain of tears and salt. Conscious only of the sun’s cymbals on my forehead and, indistinctly, the gleamy blade of the knife still there in front of me. A ravenous rodent on my eyelashes, that knife, a scourge on my eyeballs. And then everything in lurches and reels. A fiery blast of air from the sea. The impression, on my part, of a rip in the sky, from one end to the other, and a deluge of flames through the rift. A tension throughout my soul and my hand with a grip on the revolver. The trigger in retreat, the touch of the butt’s smooth underbelly and there, in that sudden, thunderous noise, the start of it all. 3. ANTONYMIC TRANSLATION You’ll be unsure whether it would be wise, whether you would’ve remained in the moonlight by staying still. And you’ll stay still, stay still several times backwards. But next time, while getting to her feet, an American will sheath her spoon, hiding it from you in the moonlight. A darkness will trickle off tin but it will in fact be the short dull blunt edge missing the back of your head. At another moment, goosebumps scattered amid your whiskers will gradually creep under your lips, removing their cover of cool thin glass. Your mouth will see clearly through a window made of laughter but not sugar. You’ll be blind to more than the bass drums of a moon on the back of your head but, distinctly, to the dull shadow of a spoon’s blunt edge no longer behind you. A freezing pen will lengthen your teeth but fill your blissful mouth full of dirt. It will be then that nothing will stay still. A desert will suck in the light icy stillness of the air. The ground will close up, in the very middle, to prevent an evaporation of water. None of your nothingness will relax but your foot will loosen its grip on a rifle. A safety catch will not give, you’ll taste a barrel’s dull spine, but it will be somewhere else, with a soft, barely audible silence, that nothing will end. 4. HOMOPHONIC TRANSLATION “Jess have aches.” “A taste… who peed?” “Cajun mud embarrass a rape.” “Had juice, ol’ eye.” “On mud, eh? Pleasant on palm!” “Age, if ate up a Hanse--” “Help us!” “On! Off! On!” “Ace set, if was on cess, who’ll avail?” “Argh! ABBA at ear, Ray’s son coo to kill.” “Map? Ray’s on day: dawnless, sole aisle…” “A loo, me, her, a G… Clay’s her lassie, eh?” “Is it a calm moon-lung?” “Lamb ate and so long the key, Matt. Then ye’re off or on home.” “Emma’s thong-lassoer, a mass aid on maize or seas, a Kool-Aid on the uncouth sewer.” “Lay pope hears a laser-echo of hurt.” “Dawn of wall? Tsss! He had eight ape, eh?” “Maze, you hate a havoc laid airier.” “Sorry, the ode alarm aid the sell!” “Jenna’s aunt-ape loose…” “Clay’s samba led you, soul eyes, sewer mom of wronged, eh?” “And these stank, them.” “On leg, live ache, clad thong. Jay, he, duke who tote huge oars, on fast, the mwah.” “Set a pay: brew’ll untear raunch – a messy!” “If we amaze you, do lure us, eh?” “Tell her, cut-tooth, have a sea lay lamb.” “Air… Ash…” “Harry, eh? ‘A soufflé’, pays, ate hard-on eel!” “Mass on bell, acheless, see? Else: hoof-race.” “Sewer-tooth-son ate on the who?!” “Poor lace-ape: love, war, to foot…” “Uthman, headdress, say it: undo age-ache!” “Reese, pay mamma’s hurler – if Oliver.” “Lag... Ash... ETA said a jet.” “Ooh, Shay, love on Tripoli!” “The lacrosse essay’ll add on lab Brie.” “A laugh was a gate.” “A sore, this song.” “Cut-tooth? Ah, come on, say!” 5. READER-ORIENTED TRANSLATION Meursault and Mummy were at the beach. The sun was shining and it was a very hot day. ‘Mummy, can I go and play with my friends in the sea?’ asked Meursault. ‘Ok,’ said Mummy. ‘But first you must put on your sunglasses, sunhat and sun cream, and bring your water bottle with you.’ But Meursault was so excited to play with his friends that he did not listen to her. He was running off toward the sea before Mummy had even finished her sentence. ‘Meursault, wait!’ cried Mummy. ‘You are not protected against the sun!’ But Meursault kept running. He did not care about the sun. When Meursault reached the sea his friends were already there. They were all wearing sunglasses, sunhats and sun cream, and had water bottles with them. Meursault felt very hot and his mouth was very dry. The sun was so bright that he had to squint, and all this squinting was giving him a headache. ‘Hey, Meursault,’ called his friend, Karim. ‘Check this out.’ Karim held out his new toy. It was a shiny silver water gun. Meursault turned to look at the water gun, but just then a ray of sunlight flashed off the shiny silver into his eyes. ‘Ahh!’ cried Meursault. Meursault covered his eyes with his hands. But that only made things worse, because all the sweat from his hands and face got into his eyes, and then his eyes stung even more. ‘Ahhh!’ cried Meursault. Meursault could not see anything with all the water and salt in his eyes. He started stumbling further and further out to sea. ‘Hey, look out!’ shouted his friends. But Meursault could not hear them. All he could hear was the sun beating down on him like a drum. Meursault was exhausted. His legs felt like jelly, his skin was burning and his head hurt. Even the breeze coming from the sea felt hot and heavy. Meursault was so hot that he thought the sky had opened up and started raining fire. The air felt so dry that he could barely breathe. ‘What is happening to me?’ Meursault wondered. The sand and the sea and the sun began to spin in dizzy circles. And then everything went black. When Meursault woke up, his friends, the lifeguard and Mummy were all in a circle around him. Mummy hugged him tightly and cried. ‘You are a very lucky young man,’ said the lifeguard. ‘What happened, Mummy?’ asked Meursault. ‘You got sunstroke, dear,’ answered Mummy. ‘You fainted in the sea and would have drowned, but the lifeguard saved your life.’ Meursault realised then that Mummy had been right all along. ‘You should listen to your mummy from now on, young man,’ said the lifeguard. ‘The sun is fun to play in, but it is also very dangerous.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Meursault to the lifeguard. Then he turned to Mummy. ‘I promise, Mummy,’ said Meursault, ‘I will never go out in the sun without my sunglasses, sunhat, sun cream and water bottle ever again.’ SIMUL-TEXT AUDIOVISUAL-TEXT
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