en-es  The Island of Doctor Moreau-Ch.2
Capítulo 2: El hombre que no iba a ninguna parte. El camarote en el que me encontré era pequeño y estaba bastante desarreglado.
Un hombre más bien joven con cabello dorado, un mostacho erizado de color de paja y un labio inferior colgante, estaba sentado y sosteniendo mi muñeca.
Por un minuto, nos miramos sin hablar.
Tenía ojos gris llorosos, curiosamente vacíos de expresión.
Luego por encima vino un sonido como si se sacudiera el armazón de hierro de una cama, y el bajo gruñido enojado de algún animal grande.
En ese mismo momento el hombre habló. Repitió su pregunta,—¿Cómo te sientes ahora?
Creo que dije que me sentía bien.
No pude recordar como había llegado ahí.
Debió haber visto la pregunta en mi cara, ya que yo no tenía voz.
—Se te recogió, hambriento, en un bote.
El nombre en el barco era 'Lady Vain', y había gotas de sangre en la regala.''
Al mismo tiempo mis ojos vieron mi mano, tan delgada que parecía un monedero de piel sucia lleno de huesos flojos, y todo el asunto del barco volvió a mí.
" Toma un poco de esto", dijo él, y me dio una dosis de alguna sustancia escarlata, helada.
Tenía gusto como a sangre, y me hizo sentir más fuerte.
"Estabas de suerte," dijo, "ser recogido por un barco con un médico a bordo".
Habló con una expresión babeante, con el fantasma de un ceceo.
"¿Qué barco es este?", dije lentamente, ronco por mi largo silencio.
"Es un pequeño mercante de Arica y Callao. Nunca pregunté de dónde vino al principio... de la tierra de los tontos natos, supongo.
Yo mismo soy un pasajero, de Arica.
El asno tonto que es su dueño -es el capitán también, se llama Davies-, perdió su certificado, o algo.
Conoces la clase de hombre -llama a la cosa 'Ipecacuanha', de todos los infernales nombres tontos; aunque cuando haya un verdadero mar sin viento alguno, seguramente actuará acorde a eso".
(Entonces en lo alto comenzó otra vez el ruido, un gruñido rugiente y la voz de un ser humano, juntos.
Luego otra voz, ordenando a algún "Idiota dejado por el cielo" que desista).
"Estabas casi muerto", dijo mi interlocutor. "La cosa estuvo muy cerca, de verdad.
Pero te he puesto alguna sustancia, ahora.
¿Está dolorido tu brazo? Inyecciones.
Has estado sin conocimiento durante casi treinta horas".
Pensé lentamente. (Ahora fui distraído por los ladridos de una cantidad de perros).
"¿Estoy en condiciones para comida sólida?", pregunté.
"Gracias a mí", dijó.
''Incluso ahora, el cordero está hirviendo''.
''Sí'', dije con certeza; ''podría comer un poco de cordero''.
''Pero, ''dijo con una pequeña hesitación, '' sabe que deseo mucho escuchar cómo llegó a estar solo en ese bote
¡Maldito sea ese aullido!'' Creí haber detectado alguna sospecha en sus ojos.
De golpe, salió de la cabina y lo oí en una violenta controversia con alguien que me pareció que decía incoherencias.
El asunto parecía acabar con golpes pero pensé que mis oídos estaban equivocandos.
Entonces gritó a los perros y regresó a la cabina.
''¿Bueno?'' dijo en el umbral.
"Ya estabas comenzando a contarme".
Le dije mi nombre, Edward Prendick, y cómo me había aficionado a la Historia Natural como un alivio de la monotonía de mi cómoda independencia.
Pareció interesado en esto.
Yo mismo he estudiado algo de ciencia.
Estudié Biología en el University College... la extracción del ovario del gusano y la rádula del caracol, y todo eso.
¡Señor! Hace diez años. ¡Pero sigue! ¡sigue! cuéntame acerca del bote".
Él estaba evidentemente satisfecho con la sinceridad de mi historia, que conté en frases bastante concisas, porque me sentía terriblemente débil; y cuando se terminó, volvió enseguida al tema de la Historia Natural y sus propios estudios biológicos.
Empezó a preguntarme detenidamente acerca de Tottenham Court Road y Gower Street.
"¿Todavía prospera Caplatzi?
¡Qué comercio era ese!
Evidentemente, él había sido un estudiante de medicina muy normal, y no pudo dejar de hablar del tema de los cabarets.
Me contó algunas anécdotas.
"Dejé todo", dijo, "diez años atrás.
¡Qué divertido era todo!
Pero hice una tontería... me fui antes de cumplir los veintiún años.
Seguro de que ahora todo es diferente.
Pero debo averiguar lo que hace ese tonto del cocinero, y ver lo que le ha hecho a tu cordero".
Los gruñidos de arriba se reanudaron, tan de repente y con tanta furia que me asustaron.
"¿Qué es eso?", lo llamé, pero la puerta se había cerrado.
Regresó con el cordero hervido, y como estaba tan excitado por su olor apetitoso que me olvidé del ruido de la bestia que me había perturbado.
Después de un día alternando dormir y comer, me había recuperado tanto que podía levantarme para ir de mi litera a la escotilla y ver las aguas verdes tratando de seguirnos.
Estimé que la goleta estaba navegando con viento de popa.
Montgomery—ese fue el nombre del hombre con pelo de color de paja—entró otra vez mientras yo estaba parado ahí, y le pedí algo de ropa.
Me prestó algunas cosas suyas de dril, porque las que llevaba en el bote las habían arrojado por la borda.
Eran bastante grandes para mí, porque él era grande y de piernas largas.
Me dijo con indiferencia que el capitán estaba casi completamente borracho en su propia cabina.
Mientras me ponía la ropa, empecé a preguntarle sobre el destino del barco.
Dijo que el barco iba a Hawaii, pero que él tenía que desembarcar antes.
"¿Dónde?" dije yo.
"Es una isla, donde vivo.
Que sepa yo, no tiene nombre".
Él me miró con su labio inferior caído, y parecía tan deliberadamente estúpido de repente que me vino a la cabeza que deseaba evitar mis preguntas.
Tuve la discreción de no preguntar nada más.
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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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"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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Boot2 • 5512  commented on  unit 3  5 months, 1 week ago
soybeba • 2077  translated  unit 36  5 months, 1 week ago
soybeba • 2077  commented on  unit 5  5 months, 1 week ago
contratiempo • 1069  commented on  unit 2  5 months, 1 week ago
soybeba • 2077  commented  5 months, 1 week ago

The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells.

by soybeba 5 months, 1 week 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.