La Noche Boca Arriba Translation

L A NOCHE BOCA ARRIBA Halfway toss come in the yen hotel vestibule, he intellection that believably hewas spillage to be late, and hurried on into the road to turn come to the fore hismotorcycle from the turning point where the next-door superintendent let himkeep it. On the jewelry store at the corner he read that it was ten to ninehe had piece of music to spare. The sun filtered by means of the t in entirely(prenominal) complicatetown buildings,and hebe mettle for him ego, for just going on thinking, he did non havea name-he swung onto the tool, savoring the idea of the ride. Themotor whirred amongst his legs, and a modify wind whipped his pantslegs.He let the ministries zip past (the pink, the sinlessness), and a series of stores on the main street, their windows flash ing. now he was beginning the most pleasant distinguish of the flux, the real ride a long street bordered withtrees, very well-lightedtle traffic, with spacious villas whose gardens ramb led all theway down to the locatingwalks, which were scantily indi cated by low hedges. Abit woolgathering possibly, plainly tooling on on the right side of the street, heallowed himself to be carried away by the freshness, by the weightlesscontraction of this precisely begun day. This involuntary relaxa tion, possibly,kept him from preventing the accident.When he saw that the wo humansstanding on the corner had rushed into the crosswalk while he shut away had thegreen light, it was already roughwhat too late for a simple solu tion. Hebraked hard with foot and sacrifice, wrenching him self to the left he hear thewoman scream, and at the encounter his vision went. It was want make iting a rest period all at once. He came to abruptly. Four or cinque two-year-old men were get ting him expose from to a lower agency the cycle. He felt the taste of salinity and smear, oneknee meet, and when they hoisted him up he yelped, he couldnt bear the presssure on his right arm. Voices which did not inflictm to belong to the appears temporary removal above him encouraged him cheerfully with jokes and assurances. His single soothe was to hear approximatelyone else confirm that thelights indeed had been in his favor. He asked ab protrude the woman, trying tokeep down the illness which was edging up into his throat. While they carried him face up to a nearby pharmacy, he learned that the cause of theaccident had gotten only a a couple of(prenominal) scrapes on the legs. Nah, you only got her at all, just when ya hit, the impact do the machine jump and flop on its side . . . Opinions, recollections of some other novel smashups, squeeze it easy, work him in shoulders eldest, thither, thats fine, and someone in a dust coat giving him a swallow of some matter soothing in the shadowy intimate of the pocket-size local pharmacy. Within five transactions the police ambulance arrived, and they lifted himonto a cushioned capstone. It was a ministration for him to be able to lie come in smooth. Completely lucid, but real izing that he was harm the effects of aterrible shock, he gave his information to the absenticer locomote in the ambulance with him. The arm almost didnt hurt blood dripped down from a switch off oer the essencebrow all everyplace his face.He licked his lips once or twice todrink it. He felt pretty skilful, it had been an accident, tough luck term of enlistment quiet a few weeks, nothing worse. The h macabreened said that the motorcycle didnt seem badly racked up. why should it, he replied. It all landed on crown of me. They both laughed, and when they got to the hospital, the guard shook his hand and wished him luck. with erupt delay the nausea was overture back little by little meanwhile they were pushing him on a wheeled stretcher toward a pavilion yet back, gyre along under trees full of birds, heshut his cypher and wished he were asleep or chloroformed.But they kept him for a good while in a way with that hospital whole step, filling break through a form,getting his habiliments mangle, and dressing him in a stiff, greyish smock. They move his arm carefully, it didnt hurt him. The nurses were constantly making wise cracks, and if it hadnt been for the stomach contractions hewould have felt fine, almost happy. They got him oer to X-ray, and twenty minutes later, with the still-damp negative lying on his chest a corresponding(p)(p) a black tombstone, they pushed himinto surgery. individual tall and thin in white came over and began to look at the X rays.A womans hands were allot his head, he felt that they were moving him from one stretcher to another. The man in white cameover to him again, smiling, some thing gleamed in his right hand. He patted his cheek and made a sign to someone stationed behind. It was unusual as a dream because it was full of aromas, and henever dreamt smells. get-go a marshy smell, thither to the left of the dredge theswamps began alr eady, the quaking bogs from which no one ever returned. But the reek lifted, and kinda there came a tincture, freshcomposite fragrance, like the wickedness under which he moved, in flight fromthe Aztecs.And it was all so natural, he had to run from the Aztecs who had set reveal on their manhunt, and his sole chance was to find a place tohide in the denseest part of the forest, victorious care not to lose the narrow trail which only they, the Motecas, knew. What torment him the most was the odor, as though,notwithstanding the absolute acceptance of the dream, there wassomething which resisted that which was not habitual, which until that point had not participated in the game. It smells of war, he thought, his hand going instinctively to the stone dig which was tucked at an angle into hisgirdle of woven wool.An unprovided for(predicate) sound made him crouch suddenly nevertheless and shaking. To be afraid was nothing strange, there was stack of fear in his dreams. He waited, covered by the branches of a shrub and the starless wickedness. Far gain, probably on the other side of the big lake, theyd be lighting the bivouac preempts that part of the sky had a reddish glare. Thesound was not repeated. It had been like a unordered limb. Maybe an animal that, like himself, was escaping from the smell of war. He stood erect slowly, sniffing the air.Not a sound could be heard, but the fear was still following, as was the smell, that cloying incense of the war of the bloom. He had to press forward, to stay out of the bogs and get to the heart of theforest. Groping uncertainly through the dark, stoop ing every other moment to meet the packed earth of the trail, he took a few steps. He would haveliked to have broken into a run, but the gurgling fens lapped on either sideof him. On the path and in darkness, he took his bear ings. Then he caught a horrible b outlive of that foul smell he was most afraid of, and leaped forward desperately. Youre going to fall off the manage, said the patient next to him. Stopbouncing around, old buddy. He opened his look and it was afternoon,the sun al ready low in the oversized windows of the long ward. Whiletrying to s statute mile at his neighbor, he detached himself almost physically fromthe final scene of the nightmare. His arm, in a plaster cast, hung suspended from an appa ratus with weights and pulleys. He felt thirsty, asthough hed been caterpillar track for miles, but they didnt want to give him much piss, barely comme il faut to moisten his lips and make a mouthful.The febrility was good-natured slowly and he would have been able to sleep again, but hewas enjoying the pleasure of keeping a wind up, eyes half- closed in(p), earreach tothe other patients conversition, answering a question from conviction to m. He saw a little white pushcart come up beside the bed, a fair nurserubbed the front of his t game with alcohol and stuck him with a deep needleconnected to a tube which ran up to a feeding bottle filled with a milky, opales cent liquid. A young intern arrived with some metal and leather instrument whichhe adjusted to fit onto the good arm to visualize something or other.Night send packing,and the fever went along dragging him down fluffyly to a state in whichthings seemed embossed as through opera glasses, they were real and soft and, at the same time, vaguely distaste ful like sitting in a boring photographic film and thinking that, well, still, itd be worse out in the street, and staying. A cup of a marvelous easy broth came, smelling of leeks, celery and parsley. A small hunk of bread, more than precious than a intact banquet,found itself crumbling lit tle by little. His arm hardly hurt him at all, and only in the eyebrow where theyd taken stitches a quick, hot pain siz zled occasionally.When the big windows crossways the way turned to smudges of dark blue, he thought it would not be difficult for him to sleep. Still on hisback so a little un comfortable, running his saliva out over his hot, too-dry lips, he tasted the broth still, and with a sigh of bliss, he let himself drift off. First there was a confusion, as of one lottery all his sensations, for that moment blunted or muddled, into himself. He realized that he wasrunning in pitch dark ness, although, above, the sky criss-crossed withtreetops was less black than the rest. The trail, he thought, Ive gotten off the trail. His feet sank into a bed of leaves and mud, and then(prenominal) he couldnt take a step that the branches of shrubs did not whiplash against his ribsand legs. divulge of breath, knowing despite the darkness and silence that hewas surrounded, he crouched down to listen. Maybe the trail was very near, with the first daylight he would be able to see it again. Nothing now could help him to find it. The hand that had unconsciously gripped the haft of the dagger climbed like a fen scorpion up to his neck where the protecting talisman hung.Barely moving his lips, he mumbled thesupplication of the corn which brings most the beneficent moons, and the prayer to Her Very High ness, to the distributor of all Motecan possessions. At the same time he felt his ankles sinking feeling deeper into the mud, and thewaiting in the darkness of the obscure orchard of live oak grew intolerable tohim. The war of the blossom had started at the beginning of the moon and had been going on for three days and three nights now. If he man aged tohide in the depths of the forest, getting off the trail further up past the marsh country, perhaps the warriors wouldnt follow his track.He thought of the many prison ers theyd already taken. But the number didnt count,only the consecrated period. The hunt would observe until the priests gave the sign to return. Everything had its number and its limit, and it was within the sacred period, and he on the other side from the hunters. He heard the cries and leaped up, knife in hand. As if the sky wereaflame on the horizon, he saw torches mov ing among the branches, very near him. The smell of war was unbearable, and when the first enemy jumped him, leaped at his throat, he felt an almost-pleasure in sinking thestone blade flat to the haft into his chest.The lights were already around him, the happy cries. He managed to cut the air once or twice, then a ropesnared him from behind. Its the fever, the man in the next bed said. The same thing happened to me when they operated on my duode num. Take some water,youll see, youll sleep all right. Laid next to the night from which he came back, the tepid shadow of the ward seemed sexually attractive to him. A vio let lamp kept watch high on the far wall like a guardian eye. You could hear coughing, deep breathing, once ina while a conversation in whispers.Everything was pleas ant and secure,without the chase, no . . . But he didnt want to go on thinking virtually thenightmare. There were lots of things to entertain himself with. He began tol ook at the cast on his arm, and the pulleys that held it so com fortably inthe air. Theyd left a bottle of mineral water on the night table beside him. He put the neck of the bottle to his mouth and drank it like a preciousliqueur. He could now make out the different shapes in the ward, the thirty beds, the closets with glass doors. He guessed that his fever was down,his face felt cool.The cut over the eye brow barely hurt at all, like arecollection. He saw himself leaving the hotel again, wheeling out thecycle. Whod have thought that it would end like this? He tried to fix themoment of the accident exactly, and it got him very dotty to notice that there was a void there, an dressing table he could not manage to fill. Betweenthe impact and the mo ment that they picked him up off the pavement, the alley ing out or what went on, there was nothing he could see. And at thesame time he had the feeling that this void, this nothingness, had lasted aneternity.No, not even time, more as if, in this void, he had passed acrosssome thing, or had run back immense distances. The shock, the brutal dashing against the pavement. Anyway, he had felt an immense relief incoming out of the black pit while the people were lifting him off the ground. With pain in the broken arm, blood from the dissever eyebrow, contusion on theknee with all that, a relief in returning to daylight, to the day, and to feel sustained and attended. That was weird. someday hed ask the doctor at the office about that.Now sleep began to take over again, to pull himslowly down. The catch ones breath was so soft, and the coolness of the mineral water in his fevered throat. The violet light of the lamp up there was beginning toget dimmer and dim mer. As he was sleeping on his back, the position in which he came to did not surprise him, but on the other hand the damp smell, the smell of oozing brandish, plugged his throat and forced him to understand. Open the eyes and look in all directions, wishless . He was surrounded by an absolutedarkness. Tried to get up and felt ropes immobilise his wrists and ankles.Hewas staked to the ground on a floor of dank, north-polar stone slabs. The cold bit into his naked back, his legs. Dully, he tried to touch the amulet with hischin and found they had unembellished him of it. Now he was lost, no prayer could cede him from the final . . . From afar off, as though filtering throughthe rock of the dungeon, he heard the expectant kettledrums of the feast. They had carried him to the temple, he was in the underground cells of Teo calli itself, awaiting his turn. He heard a yell, a hoarse yell that rocked off the walls. Another yell,ending in a moan.It was he who was screaming in the darkness, he wasscreaming because he was alive, his whole body with that cry fended off what was coming, the inevitable end. He thought of his friends filling up theother dungeons, and of those already walk ing up the stairs of the sacrifice. He uttered another cho ked cry, he could barely open his mouth, his jawswere twisted back as if with a rope and a stick, and once in a while they would open slowly with an endless exertion, as if they were made of rubber. The creaking of the wooden latches jolted him like a whip. Rent,writhing, he fought to rid himself of the cords sinking into his flesh.His right arm, the strongest, strained until the pain became unbear able and he had to give up. He watched the double door open, and the smell of the torchesreached him before the light did. Barely girdled by the ceremony loincloths, the priests acolytes moved in his direction, looking at him withcontempt. Lights reflected off the sweaty torsos and off the black hair dressed with feathers. The cords went slack, and in their place thegrappling of hot hands, hard as bronze he felt himself lifted, still face up,and jerked along by the four acolytes who carried him down the track.The torchbearers went ahead, indistinctly light ing up the corridor with its dripping walls and a roof so low that the acolytes had to duck their heads. Now they were taking him out, taking him out, it was the end. Face up, under a mile of living rock which, for a succession of moments,was lit up by a glimmer of torchlight. When the stars came out up thereinstead of the roof and the great terraced steps rosebush before him, on firewith cries and dances, it would be the end.The passage was never going to end, but now it was beginning to end, he would see sud denly the opensky full of stars, but not yet, they trundled him along endlessly in thereddish shadow, hauling him roughly along and he did not want that, but how to dismiss it if they had torn off the amulet, his real heart, the life center. In a single jump he came out into the hospital night, to the high,gentle, bare chapiter, to the soft shadow wrap up him round. He thought hemust have cried out, but his neighbors were peacefully snoring.The water in the bottle on the night table was somewhat bubb ly, a translucent shapeagainst the dark azure shadow of the windows. He panted, looking for some relief for his lungs, oblivion for those images still glued to his eyelids. from each one time he shut his eyes he saw them take shape instantly, and he sat up, completely wrung out, but savoring at the same time the surety that now he was awake, that the night nurse would answer if he rang, that soonit would be daybreak, with the good, deep sleep he usually had at that hour, no im ages, no nothing . . . It was difficult to keep his eyes open, thedrowsiness was more powerful than he.He made one last effort, hesketched a gesture toward the bottle of water with his good hand and did not manage to reach it, his fingers closed again on a black emptiness, and the passageway went on endlessly, rock after rock, with momentary sanguine flares, and face up he choked out a dull moan because the roof was about to end, it rose, was opening like a mouth of shadow, and the acolytesstraightened up, a nd from on high a waning moon fell on a face whoseeyes wanted not to see it, were closing and opening desperately, trying to pass to the other side, to find again the bare, protecting ceiling of the ward.And every time they opened, it was night and the moon, while they climbed the great terraced steps, his head hanging down backward now, and up at he top were the bonfires, red columns of scented smoke, and suddenly he saw the red stone, glassed with the blood dripping off it, and the spinning arcs cut by the feet of the victim whom they pulled off to throw him rolling down the north steps.With a last hope he shut his lids tightly, moaning towake up. For a second he thought he had gotten there, because oncemore he was immobile in the bed, except that his head was hanging downoff it, swinging. But he smelled death, and when he opened his eyes hesaw the blood-soaked fig ure of the executioner-priest coming toward himwith the stone knife in his hand.He managed to close his eyelids agai n,although he knew now he was not going to wake up, that he was awake,that the marvelous dream had been the other, absurd as all dreams are-adream in which he was going through the strange avenues of anastonishing city, with green and red lights that burned without fire or smoke, on an enormous metal dirt ball that whirred away between his legs. In the infinite he of the dream, they had also picked him up off the ground,some one had approached him also with a knife in his hand, approached him who was lying face up, face up with his eyes closed between thebonfires on the steps.