Черная Чернушка (mckuroske) wrote,
Черная Чернушка
mckuroske

Конкурс - проза

Что-то немного желающих набралось переводить песенку. Тогда вот вам отрывок в прозе. Искала-искала, ничего лучше Рэя нашего Брэдбери не нашла.

Now and again the boy heard a vast wind come up, that gently stirred the air. But he knew what it was, the army here, the army there, whispering to itself in the dark. Some men talking to others, others murmuring to themselves, and all so quiet it was like a natural element arisen from south or north with the motion of the earth toward dawn.
What the men whispered the boy could only guess, and he guessed that it was: Me, I'm the one, I'm the one of all the rest won't die. I'll live through it. I'll go home. The band will play. And I'll be there to hear it.
Yes, thought the boy, that's all very well for them, they can give as good as they get!
For with the careless bones of the young men harvested by night and bundled around campfires were the similarly strewn steel bones of their rifles, with bayonets fixed like eternal lightning lost in the orchard grass.
Me, thought the boy, I got only a drum, two sticks to beat it, and no shield.

There wasn't a man-boy on this ground tonight did not have a shield he cast, riveted or carved himself on his way to his first attack, compounded of remote but nonetheless firm and fiery family devotion, flag-blown patriotism and cocksure immortality strenthened by the touchstone of very real gunpowder, ramrod, minnieball and flint. But without these last the boy felt his family move yet farther off away in the dark, as if one of those great prairie-burning trains had chanted them away never to return, leaving him with this drum which was worse than a toy in the game to be played tomorrow or some day much too soon.
The boy turned on his side. A moth brushed his face, but it was peach blossom. A peach blossom flicked him, but it was a moth. Nothing stayed put. Nothing had a name. Nothing was as it once was.
If he lay very still, when the dawn came up and the soldiers put on their bravery with their caps, perhaps they might go away, the war with them, and not notice him lying small here, no more than a toy himself.

Как полагаете, не очень много? Или взять только вторую часть?

В общем, жду ваших переводов, скажем, до 28.12 на адрес юзернейм на яндекс.ру. Прозаическая часть для участия обязательна, поэтическая пусть будет необязательным бонусом.
Tags: конкурс, переводы
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  • 13 comments

  • Хочу красивое!

    "Наши бусики" разыгрывают восхитительные украшения. Хочу!

  • Мосигра

    Ай, прелесть какая! Заказала в "Мосигре" подарки. Получаю письмо: Привет! Пишет вам специально обученный робот Мосигры, который следит за новыми…

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    Кажется, я это хочу! Ну, чем я хуже?!