en-es  The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells-Chapter VII
Capítulo 7: La puerta cerrada
Quizás el lector entenderá que al principio, todo a mi alrededor era tan extraño, y mi posición era el resultado de aventuras tan inesperadas que no podía percibir la rareza relativa de las cosas. Seguí a la llama hasta la playa y Montgomery me sobrepasó, y me pidió que no entrara en el recinto de piedras. Entonces ví que el puma en su jaula y la pila de paquetes habían sido puestos fuera de la entrada de este cuadrángulo.
Me volví y vi que la lancha ya había sido descargada, se había desviado otra vez y estaba encallada, y el hombre de pelo blanco estaba caminando hacia nosotros. Se dirigió a Montgomery.
"Y ahora viene el problema de este huésped no invitado. ¿Qué vamos a hacer con él?".
"Él sabe algo de ciencia", dijo Montgomery.
"Estoy ansioso por volver a trabajar... con estas cosas nuevas", dijo el hombre de pelo blanco, señalando con la cabeza hacia el recinto. Sus ojos se volvieron más brillantes.
"Seguro que lo está", dijo Montgomery, en cualquier cosa menos un tono cordial.
"No podemos enviarlo allí, y no podemos perder el tiempo construyéndole una nueva choza, y ciertamente todavía no podemos tenerle confianza".
"Estoy en sus manos", dije. No tenía idea de a qué se refería con "allí".
"He estado pensando en lo mismo", respondió Montgomery 'Allí está mi cuarto con la puerta exterior...".''Eso es", dijo el anciano, pronto, mirando a Motgomery; y los tres fuimos hacia el recinto. 'Perdón por hacer un misterio, Sr. Prendick; pero recordará que no está invitado. Nuestro pequeño establecimiento aquí contiene unos secretos, de hecho es un tipo de sala de Barbazul. Nada muy mal, realmente, para un hombre sano; pero justo ahora, como no le conocemos...'' ''Sin duda'', dije,'' debería ser un tonto para ofenderme por cualquier falta de confianza''.
Torció su boca gruesa en una sonrisa débil - era una de esas personas saturninas que sonrien con las comisuras de la boca caídas, - y se inclinó ante mi sumisión. Pasamos la entrada principal del recinto; era una pesada puerta de madera, enmarcada en hierro y cerrada, con el cargamento de la lancha apilado en el exterior y en la esquina llegamos a una pequeña entrada que yo no había visto anteriormente. El hombre de pelo blanco sacó un manojo de llaves del bolsillo de su grasienta chaqueta azul, abrió la puerta y entró. Sus llaves y el complicado cierre del lugar, incluso cuando estaba todavía bajo su mirada, me parecieron peculiares. Lo seguí, y me encontré en un pequeño apartamento, sencillo pero no incómodamente amueblado, con su puerta interior, que estaba ligeramente entreabierta, que se abría a un patio pavimentado. Montgomery cerró de inmediato esta puerta interior. Una hamaca colgaba del rincón más oscuro de la habitación, y una pequeña ventana sin vidrios, defendida por una barra de hierro, daba al mar.
Este, me dijo el hombre canoso, sería mi departamento; y la puerta interior, que dijo "por temor a los accidentes", se cerraría en el otro lado, era mi límite interior. Llamó mi atención hacia una conveniente tumbona frente a la ventana, y a una serie de libros antiguos, principalmente; encontré obras quirúrgicas y ediciones de los clásicos latinos y griegos (idiomas que no puedo leer con comodidad), en un estante cerca de la hamaca Salió de la habitación por la puerta exterior, como para evitar abrir la interna otra vez.
"Usualmente comemos aquí", dijo Montgomery, y luego, como si dudara, salió tras el otro. "¡Moreau!", lo escuché llamar, y creo que no le presté atención por el momento. Después, mientras estaba ojeando los libros en el estante, me acordé:¿ Dónde había oído el nombre Moreau antes? Me senté frente a la ventana, tomé las galletas que me quedaron, y las comí con gusto. ¡Moreau!
A través de la ventana, ví uno de esos inexplicables hombres en blanco, arrastrando una maleta por la playa. Inmediatamente, el marco de la ventana lo escondió de mi vista. Después, escuché introducir y girar una llave en la cerradura tras de mí. Después de un rato, escuché a través de la puerta cerrada, el ruido de los perros, que ahora habían vuelto de la playa. No estaban ladrando, sino oliendo y gruñendo de manera extraña. Podía oír los pasos rápidos de sus patas, y la voz de Montgomery calmándoles.
Me quedé muy impresionado por la gran reserva de estos dos hombres con respecto al contenido del lugar, y durante un tiempo estuve pensando en eso y en la inexplicable familiaridad del nombre Moreau; pero tan extraña es la memoria humana que no pude vincular correctamente ese nombre bien conocido. Luego, mis pensamientos fueron hacia la indefinible rareza del hombre deforme en la playa. Nunca vi semejante modo de andar, movimientos tan extraños mientras tiraba la caja. Recordé que ninguno de estos hombres me había hablado, aunque a la mayoría de ellos los había encontrado mirándome una u otra vez de una manera peculiarmente furtiva, bastante diferente a la mirada franca del salvaje ordinario de poca sofisticación. Por cierto, todos parecían notablemente taciturnos y dotados de voces muy extrañas cuando hablaban. ¿Qué estaba mal con ellos? Entonces recordé los ojos del desgarbado asistente de Montgomery.
Justo cuando estaba pensando en él, entró. Ahora estaba vestido de blanco, y llevaba una pequeña bandeja con un poco de café y verduras hervidas. Apenas pude reprimir un tembloroso retroceso mientras llegaba, inclinándose amablemente, colocando la bandeja ante mí sobre la mesa. Entonces el asombro me paralizó. Bajo sus enredados mechones negros, vi su oreja cerca de mi cara, que me sobresaltó de repente. ¡El hombre tenía orejas puntiagudas, cubiertas con un fino vello marrón!
"Su desayuno, señor", dijo.
Le miré la cara sin intentar contestarle. Giró y fue hacia la puerta, mirándome extrañamente por encima del hombro. Le seguí con los ojos; al hacerlo, por un efecto raro de actividad mental, me vinó en la cabeza la frase: ''The Moreau Hollows''--¿correcto? 'El Moreau -" ¡Ah! Mi memoria de hace diez años. ''¡Los Horrores de Moreau!''. La frase se perdió en mi mente por un momento, y luego la vi en letras rojas en un pequeño panfleto de color crema, que al leerlo hacía que uno se estremeciera y sintiera escalofríos. Entonces recordé claramente todo al respecto. Ese panfleto largamente olvidado regresó con sorprendente intensidad a mi mente. Yo era un simple muchacho entonces, y Moreau tenía, supongo, unos cincuenta años... era un prominente y magistral fisiólogo, muy conocido en los círculos científicos por su extraordinaria imaginación y su brutal franqueza al discutir.
¿Era este el mismo Moreau? Había publicado algunos hechos asombrosos en relación con las transfusiones de sangre, y además se sabía que estaba haciendo un trabajo valioso sobre los crecimientos mórbidos. Luego, repentinamente, su carrera terminó. Tuvo que dejar Inglaterra. Un periodista consiguió acceder a su laboratorio en calidad de asistente de laboratorio, con la intención deliberada de hacer revelaciones sensacionales; y con la ayuda de un accidente impactante (si fue un accidente), su horripilante panfleto se hizo tristemente célebre. El día de su publicación un infeliz perro, desollado y mutilado, escapó de la casa de Moreau. Fue en la temporada de noticias sensacionalistas, y un editor prominente, un primo del asistente temporal de laboratorio, apeló a la conciencia de la nación. No era la primera vez que la conciencia se volvía en contra de los métodos de investigación. El doctor simplemente fue expulsado del país. Puede ser que se mereciera serlo; pero todavía creo que el tibio apoyo de sus colegas investigadores y su abandono por parte del gran cuerpo de trabajadores científicos fue algo vergonzoso. Sin embargo, algunos de sus experimentos, según el relato del periodista, fueron absurdamente crueles. Tal vez podría haber comprado su paz social abandonando las investigaciones; pero aparentemente prefirió lo último, como la mayoría de los hombres que alguna vez cayeron bajo el hechizo de la investigación. No estaba casado, y no tenía que considerar nada más que su propio interés.
Estaba convencido de que este debía ser el mismo hombre. Todo lo señalaba. Caí en la cuenta de cuál era el propósito al que estaban destinados el puma y los otros animales que ya habían sido traidos con el otro equipaje al recinto detrás de la casa; y un olor débil extraño , el hálito de algo familiar, un olor que había estado en el fondo de mi consciencia hasta ahora, se presentó en mis pensamientos. Era el olor del antiséptico de la sala de disección. Oí al puma gruñendo tras la pared, y uno de los perros aulló como si hubiera sido golpeado.
Sin embargo, y especialmente para otro científico, no había nada tan horrible en la vivisección como para explicar esta discreción; y por algún extraño salto de mis pensamientos, las orejas puntiagudas y los ojos luminosos del asistente de Montgomery me volvieron con la más alta definición. Miré en frente el verde mar espumoso bajo la brisa fresca, y dejé estos y otros raros recuerdos de los últimos días revolotearan por mi mente.
¿Qué podría significar todo eso? ¿Un recinto cerrado en una isla aislada, un vivisector de mala fama, y estos hombres tullidos y deformados?
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Chapter 7: The Locked Door.
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He addressed Montgomery.
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"And now comes the problem of this uninvited guest.
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What are we to do with him?"
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"He knows something of science," said Montgomery.
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His eyes grew brighter.
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"I daresay you are," said Montgomery, in anything but a cordial tone.
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"I'm in your hands," said I. I had no idea of what he meant by "over there."
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"I've been thinking of the same things," Montgomery answered.
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"I'm sorry to make a mystery, Mr. Prendick; but you'll remember you're uninvited.
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Our little establishment here contains a secret or so, is a kind of Blue-Beard's chamber, in fact.
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This inner door Montgomery at once closed.
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He left the room by the outer door, as if to avoid opening the inner one again.
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"Moreau!"
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I heard him call, and for the moment I do not think I noticed.
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Moreau!
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Presently the window-frame hid him.
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Then I heard a key inserted and turned in the lock behind me.
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They were not barking, but sniffing and growling in a curious fashion.
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I could hear the rapid patter of their feet, and Montgomery's voice soothing them.
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From that my thoughts went to the indefinable queerness of the deformed man on the beach.
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I never saw such a gait, such odd motions as he pulled at the box.
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What was wrong with them?
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Then I recalled the eyes of Montgomery's ungainly attendant.
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Just as I was thinking of him he came in.
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Then astonishment paralysed me.
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Under his stringy black locks I saw his ear; it jumped upon me suddenly close to my face.
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The man had pointed ears, covered with a fine brown fur!
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"Your breakfast, sair," he said.
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I stared at his face without attempting to answer him.
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He turned and went towards the door, regarding me oddly over his shoulder.
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"The Moreau—" Ah!
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It sent my memory back ten years.
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"The Moreau Horrors!"
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Then I remembered distinctly all about it.
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That long-forgotten pamphlet came back with startling vividness to my mind.
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Was this the same Moreau?
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Then suddenly his career was closed.
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He had to leave England.
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It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research.
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The doctor was simply howled out of the country.
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Yet some of his experiments, by the journalist's account, were wantonly cruel.
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He was unmarried, and had indeed nothing but his own interest to consider.
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I felt convinced that this must be the same man.
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Everything pointed to it.
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It was the antiseptic odour of the dissecting-room.
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What could it all mean?
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Boot2 • 5523  translated  unit 35  4 months, 2 weeks ago
soybeba • 2079  translated  unit 31  4 months, 2 weeks ago

Chapter 7: The Locked Door.
THE reader will perhaps understand that at first everything was so strange about me, and my position was the outcome of such unexpected adventures, that I had no discernment of the relative strangeness of this or that thing. I followed the llama up the beach, and was overtaken by Montgomery, who asked me not to enter the stone enclosure. I noticed then that the puma in its cage and the pile of packages had been placed outside the entrance to this quadrangle.
I turned and saw that the launch had now been unloaded, run out again, and was being beached, and the white-haired man was walking towards us. He addressed Montgomery.
"And now comes the problem of this uninvited guest. What are we to do with him?"
"He knows something of science," said Montgomery.
"I'm itching to get to work again—with this new stuff," said the white-haired man, nodding towards the enclosure. His eyes grew brighter.
"I daresay you are," said Montgomery, in anything but a cordial tone.
"We can't send him over there, and we can't spare the time to build him a new shanty; and we certainly can't take him into our confidence just yet."
"I'm in your hands," said I. I had no idea of what he meant by "over there."
"I've been thinking of the same things," Montgomery answered. "There's my room with the outer door—"
"That's it," said the elder man, promptly, looking at Montgomery; and all three of us went towards the enclosure. "I'm sorry to make a mystery, Mr. Prendick; but you'll remember you're uninvited. Our little establishment here contains a secret or so, is a kind of Blue-Beard's chamber, in fact. Nothing very dreadful, really, to a sane man; but just now, as we don't know you—"
"Decidedly," said I, "I should be a fool to take offence at any want of confidence."
He twisted his heavy mouth into a faint smile—he was one of those saturnine people who smile with the corners of the mouth down,—and bowed his acknowledgment of my complaisance. The main entrance to the enclosure was passed; it was a heavy wooden gate, framed in iron and locked, with the cargo of the launch piled outside it, and at the corner we came to a small doorway I had not previously observed. The white-haired man produced a bundle of keys from the pocket of his greasy blue jacket, opened this door, and entered. His keys, and the elaborate locking-up of the place even while it was still under his eye, struck me as peculiar. I followed him, and found myself in a small apartment, plainly but not uncomfortably furnished and with its inner door, which was slightly ajar, opening into a paved courtyard. This inner door Montgomery at once closed. A hammock was slung across the darker corner of the room, and a small unglazed window defended by an iron bar looked out towards the sea.
This the white-haired man told me was to be my apartment; and the inner door, which "for fear of accidents," he said, he would lock on the other side, was my limit inward. He called my attention to a convenient deck-chair before the window, and to an array of old books, chiefly, I found, surgical works and editions of the Latin and Greek classics (languages I cannot read with any comfort), on a shelf near the hammock. He left the room by the outer door, as if to avoid opening the inner one again.
"We usually have our meals in here," said Montgomery, and then, as if in doubt, went out after the other. "Moreau!" I heard him call, and for the moment I do not think I noticed. Then as I handled the books on the shelf it came up in consciousness: Where had I heard the name of Moreau before? I sat down before the window, took out the biscuits that still remained to me, and ate them with an excellent appetite. Moreau!
Through the window I saw one of those unaccountable men in white, lugging a packing-case along the beach. Presently the window-frame hid him. Then I heard a key inserted and turned in the lock behind me. After a little while I heard through the locked door the noise of the staghounds, that had now been brought up from the beach. They were not barking, but sniffing and growling in a curious fashion. I could hear the rapid patter of their feet, and Montgomery's voice soothing them.
I was very much impressed by the elaborate secrecy of these two men regarding the contents of the place, and for some time I was thinking of that and of the unaccountable familiarity of the name of Moreau;. but so odd is the human memory that I could not then recall that well-known name in its proper connection. From that my thoughts went to the indefinable queerness of the deformed man on the beach. I never saw such a gait, such odd motions as he pulled at the box. I recalled that none of these men had spoken to me, though most of them I had found looking at me at one time or another in a peculiarly furtive manner, quite unlike the frank stare of your unsophisticated savage. Indeed, they had all seemed remarkably taciturn, and when they did speak, endowed with very uncanny voices. What was wrong with them? Then I recalled the eyes of Montgomery's ungainly attendant.
Just as I was thinking of him he came in. He was now dressed in white, and carried a little tray with some coffee and boiled vegetables thereon. I could hardly repress a shuddering recoil as he came, bending amiably, and placed the tray before me on the table. Then astonishment paralysed me. Under his stringy black locks I saw his ear; it jumped upon me suddenly close to my face. The man had pointed ears, covered with a fine brown fur!
"Your breakfast, sair," he said.
I stared at his face without attempting to answer him. He turned and went towards the door, regarding me oddly over his shoulder. I followed him out with my eyes; and as I did so, by some odd trick of unconscious cerebration, there came surging into my head the phrase, "The Moreau Hollows"—was it? "The Moreau—" Ah! It sent my memory back ten years. "The Moreau Horrors!" The phrase drifted loose in my mind for a moment, and then I saw it in red lettering on a little buff-coloured pamphlet, to read which made one shiver and creep. Then I remembered distinctly all about it. That long-forgotten pamphlet came back with startling vividness to my mind. I had been a mere lad then, and Moreau was, I suppose, about fifty,—a prominent and masterful physiologist, well-known in scientific circles for his extraordinary imagination and his brutal directness in discussion.
Was this the same Moreau? He had published some very astonishing facts in connection with the transfusion of blood, and in addition was known to be doing valuable work on morbid growths. Then suddenly his career was closed. He had to leave England. A journalist obtained access to his laboratory in the capacity of laboratory-assistant, with the deliberate intention of making sensational exposures;. and by the help of a shocking accident (if it was an accident), his gruesome pamphlet became notorious. On the day of its publication a wretched dog, flayed and otherwise mutilated, escaped from Moreau's house. It was in the silly season, and a prominent editor, a cousin of the temporary laboratory-assistant, appealed to the conscience of the nation. It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research. The doctor was simply howled out of the country. It may be that he deserved to be; but I still think that the tepid support of his fellow-investigators and his desertion by the great body of scientific workers was a shameful thing. Yet some of his experiments, by the journalist's account, were wantonly cruel. He might perhaps have purchased his social peace by abandoning his investigations; but he apparently preferred the latter, as most men would who have once fallen under the overmastering spell of research. He was unmarried, and had indeed nothing but his own interest to consider.
I felt convinced that this must be the same man. Everything pointed to it. It dawned upon me to what end the puma and the other animals—which had now been brought with other luggage into the enclosure behind the house—were destined;. and a curious faint odour, the halitus of something familiar, an odour that had been in the background of my consciousness hitherto, suddenly came forward into the forefront of my thoughts. It was the antiseptic odour of the dissecting-room. I heard the puma growling through the wall, and one of the dogs yelped as though it had been struck.
Yet surely, and especially to another scientific man, there was nothing so horrible in vivisection as to account for this secrecy;. and by some odd leap in my thoughts the pointed ears and luminous eyes of Montgomery's attendant came back again before me with the sharpest definition. I stared before me out at the green sea, frothing under a freshening breeze, and let these and other strange memories of the last few days chase one another through my mind.
What could it all mean? A locked enclosure on a lonely island, a notorious vivisector, and these crippled and distorted men?