Читать книгу Revenge of the Translator - Brice Matthieussent - Страница 40

*

* Abel Prote wants to take advantage of his literary paternity to pressure David into replacements in the form of a transatlantic displacement: although (N.d.T.) is set in Paris, Prote would like for Grey to transpose the novel to New York! What nerve! What boorishness! No one should be expected to do the impossible, especially since the translation contract signed by Grey with the American publisher for (N.d.T.) does not account for this sudden whim. Furious and probably also crazed with jealousy because of what he has just learned inadvertently about Doris, Grey wants to avenge himself and is already imagining physically deleting Prote. As for the too-brief list of weapons formerly mentioned by my author, who is decidedly a coward, to the whiteness specked with a minuscule stain I add the English monkey wrench, the American brass knuckles, the Bulgarian umbrella, the Japanese forearm strike, the Malaysian kris, French boxing, Chinese torture; the progressive strangulation or cardiac arrest provoked by sudden terror; the more classic arsenic or cyanide, kitchen knife, chandelier, heavy ashtray, drop hammer, and other crushing machines; the yataghan, piano wire (handled skillfully it promises instantaneous decapitation), defenestration, bewitchment, black magic, polonium-210 discreetly poured into your future victim’s cup of tea, if possible in London; the deadly sting or bite (scorpion, black widow, green mamba), the poison dart shot forth from a thin titanium blowgun, gold paint covering the entire body to asphyxiate the victim; the dagger, the sword, the supple épée with a decorated handle; the car, the package, or the booby-trapped telephone, all types of time bombs, backfiring Uzis, AK-47s, M16s, Stens, the light SLR machine guns of the British army, not to mention the heavy machinery kindly made available to the public by international arms dealers.

Thanks to me, henceforth Grey is spoiled for choice and we will see what weaponry his temperament pushes him toward. In his place, and given the admiration he has for the masked avenger, I would choose the supple épée with the decorated handle to assuage my anger against an author with exorbitant demands: how can one swap the gray hues of Parisian facades for the glimmering faces of New York City skyscrapers?

Here we have—finally?—a translator tempted to kill his author: a Hide-behind ready to do the deed. As for my own vengeance, I do not require a handgun, or any weapon for cutting or thrusting, but instead a regular, obstinate growth, singularly shielded from any judiciary pursuit, a slow climb—not of water, nor of adrenaline, nor of desire, but of lines—a discreet invasion that will necessarily provoke the fury of the wronged writer, expelled from his living space. (Killer’s Darkness)

The wheels are in motion. The virus works its way through the machine, like a rat.

Z