en-de  The Island of Doctor Moreau-Ch.2 Medium
Kapitel 2: Der Mann der ins Nirgendwo ging - Die Kabine, in der ich mich wiederfand, war klein und ziemlich unordentlich.
Ein jugendlicher Mann mit flachsblondem Haar, einem stoppeligen, strohfarbenen Oberlippenbart und einer herunterfallenden Lippe saß und hielt mein Handgelenk.
Wir starrten einander eine Minute an, ohne zu sprechen.
Er hatte wässrige, graue Augen, merkwürdig ausdruckslos.
Dann kam genau darüber ein Geräusch, wie von einem umgestoßenen eisernen Bettgestell, und das tiefe wütende Knurren eines großen Tieres.
Zur gleichen Zeit sprach der Mann. Er wiederholte seine Frage: "Wie fühlst du dich jetzt?"
Ich glaube, ich habe gesagt, dass ich mich gut fühlte.
Ich konnte mich nicht erinnern, wie ich dorthin gekommen war.
Er musste die Frage in einem Gesicht gesehen haben, denn meine Stimme war mir nicht verfügbar.
"Du bist in einem Boot aufgelesen worden, ausgehungert.
Der Beiboot gehörte zur 'Lady Vain' und auf dem Dollbord waren Blutspritzer."
Zur gleichen Zeit fiel mir meine Hand ins Auge, so dünn, dass sie aussah, wie eine schmutzige Hauttasche voll loser Knochen, und die ganze Sache auf dem Boot fiel mir wieder ein.
"Trink das", sagte er und gab mir eine kleine Portion von einem scharlachroten, eisgekühlten Zeug.
Es schmeckte wie Blut und gab mir das Gefühl, mich stärker zu fühlen.
"Du hattest Glück", sagte er, "von einem Schiff mit einem Mediziner an Bord aufgenommen zu werden."
Er sprach mit sabbernder Artikulation, mit dem Hauch eines Lispelns.
"Was ist das für ein Schiff?" Ich sprach langsam, heiser von meinem langen Schweigen.
" Es ist ein kleines Handelsschiff von Arica und Callao. Am Anfang habe ich nie nachgefragt, woher es kam- aus dem Land der geborenen Narren, vermute ich.
Ich bin selbst Passagier, von Arica.
Der Quatschkopf, der es besitzt - er ist auch der Kapitän namens Davies - hat sein Zertifikat verloren oder irgendetwas.
Sie kennen diese Art von Mann, nennt das Ding die 'Ipecacuanha', von allen dummen, höllischen Namen; obwohl sie, wenn da viel See ohne Wind ist, sicherlich angemessen agiert.
(Dann begann der Lärm oben drüber wieder, ein böses Knurren und die Stimme eines menschlichen Wesens zusammen.
Dann eine andere Stimme, die irgendeinem "von Himmel verlassenen Idioten" aufforderte aufzuhören.)
"Sie waren fast tot", sagte mein Gesprächspartner. „Es war in der Tat eine sehr knappe Angelegenheit.
Aber ich habe Ihnen jetzt ordentlich was gegeben.
Haben Sie bemerkt, dass an Ihrem Arm eine Wunde ist? Injektionen.
Sie sind fast dreißig Stunden bewusstlos gewesen."
Ich dachte langsam nach. (Ich war jetzt von dem Jaulen von ein paar Hunden abgelenkt.)
"Kann ich feste Nahrung zu mir nehmen?" fragte ich.
"Dank mir", sagte er.
"Jetzt kocht gerade sogar der Hammel."
"Ja", bestätigte ich, " ich könnte etwas Hammelfleisch essen."
"Aber", sagte er nach einem Moment des Zögerns, " Sie wissen, ich bin gespannt darauf, zu hören, wie Sie allein in dieses Boot gekommen sind.
Verflucht dieses Geheul!" Ich dachte, ich hätte einen gewissen Verdacht in seinen Augen entdeckt.
Plötzlich verließ er die Kabine und ich hörte ihn in einem heftigen Streit mit jemanden, der mir als Reaktion auf ihn Kauderwelsch zu reden schien.
Die Sache klang, als ob es in Hieben endete, aber da, dachte ich, hätten sich meine Ohren geirrt.
Dann brüllte er die Hunde an und kam zur Kabine zurück.
"Nun?" fragte er am Eingang.
"Sie haben gerade erst angefangen, mir zu erzählen."
Ich verriet ihm meinen Namen, Edward Prendick, und wie ich zur Naturgeschichte gekommen war, als Befreiung von der Trägheit meiner bequemen Selbstständigkeit.
Er schien sich dafür zu interessieren.
"Ich habe selbst ein wenig Wissenschaft betrieben.
Ich habe mein Biologie-Studium am University College gemacht, den Eierstock des Regenwurms und die Raspelzunge der Schnecke herausgefunden und all das.
Gott! Es ist zehn Jahre her. Aber fahren Sie fort! Reden Sie weiter! "Erzählen Sie mir was über das Boot."
Er war offensichtlich zufriedengestellt von der Offenheit meiner Geschichte, die ich in knappen Sätzen hinreichend erzählt habe, denn ich fühlte mich schrecklich schwach; und als sie beendet war, kehrte er sofort zum Thema Naturgeschichte und seinen eigenen biologischen Studien zurück.
Er fing an, mich über die Tottenham Court Road und die Gower Street genau zu befragen.
Blüht Caplatzi noch immer?
Was für ein Geschäft das war!“
Offensichtlich war er ein ganz gewöhnlicher Medizinstudent gewesen, und er schweifte unwillkürlich ab zum Thema der Musikhallen.
Er erzählte mir einige Anekdoten.
"Hab alles hinter mir gelassen", sagte er, "vor zehn Jahren.
Wie lustig es früher alles einmal war!
Aber ich habe einen jungen Arsch aus mir gemacht, ich habe ausgespielt, bevor ich einundzwanzig war.
Ich wage zu sagen, dass jetzt alles anders ist.
Aber ich muss den Arsch von Koch kontrollieren und sehen, was er mit Ihrem Hammel gemacht hat."
Das Knurren oben drüber ging wieder los, so plötzlich und mit so viel wilder Wut, dass es mich erschreckte.
"Was ist das?" Ich rief ihm nach, aber die Tür hatte sich geschlossen.
Er kam wieder zurück mit dem gekochten Hammel, und ich war so aufgeregt von seinem appetitlichen Geruch, dass ich den Lärm der Bestie vergaß, der mich beunruhigt hatte.
Nach einem Tag, an dem ich abwechselnd schlief und aß, war ich soweit wiederhergestellt, dass ich von meiner Koje zum Bullauge gehen und die grünen Wogen sehen konnte, die versuchten, mit uns Schritt zu halten.
Ich schätzte, der Schoner segelte vor dem Wind.
Montgomery - das war der Name des flachsblonden Mannes - kam wieder rein, als ich dort stand und ich bat ihn um Kleidung.
Er lieh mir ein paar Sackleinensachen von sich, weil das, was ich auf dem Boot getragen hatte, über Bord geschmissen worden war.
Sie waren mir sehr weit, weil er groß war mit langen Gliedmaßen.
Er erzählte mir beiläufig, dass der Kapitän randvoll besoffen in seiner eigenen Kabine wäre.
Als ich de Kleidung genommen hatte, begann ich ihm einige Fragen über das Fahrtziel des Schiffes zu stellen.
Er sagte, das Schiff sei unterwegs nach Hawaii, aber dass es ihn zuerst absetzen müsse.
"Wo?" sagte ich.
"Ich lebe auf einer Insel.
So weit ich weiß, hat sie keinen Namen bekommen."
Er starrte mich mit seiner hängenden Unterlippe an und sah plötzlich absichtlich so dämlich aus, dass mir der Gedanke kam, dass er meinen Fragen ausweichen wollte.
Ich hatte den Takt, nicht weiter zu fragen.
unit 3
For a minute we stared at each other without speaking.
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He had watery grey eyes, oddly void of expression.
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At the same time the man spoke.
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He repeated his question, —"How do you feel now?"
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I think I said I felt all right.
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I could not recollect how I had got there.
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He must have seen the question in my face, for my voice was inaccessible to me.
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"You were picked up in a boat, starving.
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The name on the boat was the 'Lady Vain,' and there were spots of blood on the gunwale."
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"Have some of this," said he, and gave me a dose of some scarlet stuff, iced.
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It tasted like blood, and made me feel stronger.
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"You were in luck," said he, "to get picked up by a ship with a medical man aboard."
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He spoke with a slobbering articulation, with the ghost of a lisp.
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"What ship is this?"
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I said slowly, hoarse from my long silence.
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"It's a little trader from Arica and Callao.
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I'm a passenger myself, from Arica.
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Then another voice, telling some "Heaven-forsaken idiot" to desist.)
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"You were nearly dead," said my interlocutor.
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"It was a very near thing, indeed.
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But I've put some stuff into you now.
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Notice your arm's sore?
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Injections.
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You've been insensible for nearly thirty hours."
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I thought slowly.
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(I was distracted now by the yelping of a number of dogs.)
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"Am I eligible for solid food?"
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I asked.
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"Thanks to me," he said.
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"Even now the mutton is boiling."
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"Yes," I said with assurance; "I could eat some mutton."
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Damn that howling!"
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I thought I detected a certain suspicion in his eyes.
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Then he shouted at the dogs, and returned to the cabin.
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"Well?"
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said he in the doorway.
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"You were just beginning to tell me."
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He seemed interested in this.
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"I've done some science myself.
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Lord!
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It's ten years ago.
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But go on!
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go on!
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tell me about the boat."
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He began to question me closely about Tottenham Court Road and Gower Street.
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"Is Caplatzi still flourishing?
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What a shop that was!"
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He told me some anecdotes.
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"Left it all," he said, "ten years ago.
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How jolly it all used to be!
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But I made a young ass of myself,—played myself out before I was twenty-one.
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I daresay it's all different now.
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But I must look up that ass of a cook, and see what he's done to your mutton."
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"What's that?"
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I called after him, but the door had closed.
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I judged the schooner was running before the wind.
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They were rather loose for me, for he was large and long in his limbs.
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He told me casually that the captain was three-parts drunk in his own cabin.
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He said the ship was bound to Hawaii, but that it had to land him first.
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"Where?"
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said I.
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"It's an island, where I live.
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So far as I know, it hasn't got a name."
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I had the discretion to ask no more.
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lollo1a • 9503  commented on  unit 73  5 months, 4 weeks ago

Chapter 2: The Man Who Was Going Nowhere
THE cabin in which I found myself was small and rather untidy.
A youngish man with flaxen hair, a bristly straw-coloured moustache, and a dropping nether lip, was sitting and holding my wrist.
For a minute we stared at each other without speaking.
He had watery grey eyes, oddly void of expression.
Then just overhead came a sound like an iron bedstead being knocked about,
and the low angry growling of some large animal.
At the same time the man spoke. He repeated his question,
—"How do you feel now?"
I think I said I felt all right.
I could not recollect how I had got there.
He must have seen the question in my face, for my voice was inaccessible to me.
"You were picked up in a boat, starving.
The name on the boat was the 'Lady Vain,' and there were spots of blood on the gunwale."
At the same time my eye caught my hand, so thin that it looked like a dirty skin-purse full of loose bones, and all the business of the boat came back to me.
"Have some of this," said he, and gave me a dose of some scarlet stuff, iced.
It tasted like blood, and made me feel stronger.
"You were in luck," said he, "to get picked up by a ship with a medical man aboard."
He spoke with a slobbering articulation, with the ghost of a lisp.
"What ship is this?" I said slowly, hoarse from my long silence.
"It's a little trader from Arica and Callao. I never asked where she came from in the beginning,—out of the land of born fools, I guess.
I'm a passenger myself, from Arica.
The silly ass who owns her,—he's captain too, named Davies,—he's lost his certificate, or something.
You know the kind of man,—calls the thing the 'Ipecacuanha,' of all silly, infernal names; though when there's much of a sea without any wind, she certainly acts according."
(Then the noise overhead began again, a snarling growl and the voice of a human being together.
Then another voice, telling some "Heaven-forsaken idiot" to desist.)
"You were nearly dead," said my interlocutor. "It was a very near thing, indeed.
But I've put some stuff into you now.
Notice your arm's sore? Injections.
You've been insensible for nearly thirty hours."
I thought slowly. (I was distracted now by the yelping of a number of dogs.)
"Am I eligible for solid food?" I asked.
"Thanks to me," he said.
"Even now the mutton is boiling."
"Yes," I said with assurance; "I could eat some mutton."
"But," said he with a momentary hesitation, "you know I'm dying to hear of how you came to be alone in that boat.
Damn that howling!" I thought I detected a certain suspicion in his eyes.
He suddenly left the cabin, and I heard him in violent controversy with some one, who seemed to me to talk gibberish in response to him.
The matter sounded as though it ended in blows, but in that I thought my ears were mistaken.
Then he shouted at the dogs, and returned to the cabin.
"Well?" said he in the doorway.
"You were just beginning to tell me."
I told him my name, Edward Prendick, and how I had taken to Natural History as a relief from the dullness of my comfortable independence.
He seemed interested in this.
"I've done some science myself.
I did my Biology at University College,—getting out the ovary of the earthworm and the radula of the snail, and all that.
Lord! It's ten years ago. But go on! go on! tell me about the boat."
He was evidently satisfied with the frankness of my story, which I told in concise sentences enough, for I felt horribly weak;
and when it was finished he reverted at once to the topic of Natural History and his own biological studies.
He began to question me closely about Tottenham Court Road and Gower Street.
"Is Caplatzi still flourishing?
What a shop that was!"
He had evidently been a very ordinary medical student, and drifted incontinently to the topic of the music halls.
He told me some anecdotes.
"Left it all," he said, "ten years ago.
How jolly it all used to be!
But I made a young ass of myself,—played myself out before I was twenty-one.
I daresay it's all different now.
But I must look up that ass of a cook, and see what he's done to your mutton."
The growling overhead was renewed, so suddenly and with so much savage anger that it startled me.
"What's that?" I called after him, but the door had closed.
He came back again with the boiled mutton, and I was so excited by the appetising smell of it that I forgot the noise of the beast that had troubled me.
After a day of alternate sleep and feeding I was so far recovered as to be able to get from my bunk to the scuttle, and see the green seas trying to keep pace with us.
I judged the schooner was running before the wind.
Montgomery—that was the name of the flaxen-haired man—came in again as I stood there, and I asked him for some clothes.
He lent me some duck things of his own, for those I had worn in the boat had been thrown overboard.
They were rather loose for me, for he was large and long in his limbs.
He told me casually that the captain was three-parts drunk in his own cabin.
As I assumed the clothes, I began asking him some questions about the destination of the ship.
He said the ship was bound to Hawaii, but that it had to land him first.
"Where?" said I.
"It's an island, where I live.
So far as I know, it hasn't got a name."
He stared at me with his nether lip dropping, and looked so wilfully stupid of a sudden that it came into my head that he desired to avoid my questions.
I had the discretion to ask no more.