Nova Istra

152 NOVI PRIJEVODI Daniel Allen COX ... Maybe I’d never outgrow my voice... ( 56) Moreš biti oprt s namon. Okej. Ča za spravlje je tako teško? Dovoljno je teško pensati na to ča rabin reći, a kamoli još i kako to reći. Razumiš me? Nis siguran da ima smisla ča govorin. Znan da ti je teško. Zato ti pomoren. Aa-aa-aa, skužaj – kada bin i proviva i kada bi zašlo z mene glatko, nijedan, ma nijedan ne bi moga znati, ne bi moga razumiti koliko je to muke sciditi hi van. Normalno je da želiš biti poštivan, to je normalno. ...Moguće je da baš nikad ne priresten vlastiti glas, baš nikada... If you really want to know what I’m afraid of, it’s inventing memories that never existed. I’ve done it before. I could be making myself so impressionable that any idea could seem like a memory, and soon I’ll be full of false ones... I’ve heard others say with relief that they feel free to tell strangers anything, knowing they’ll never see them again. I retort that they’ll most definitely see a stranger again, that when a comet passes you, it’s not by accident. Once you’re in someone’s orbit, it’s hard to avoid them. I wish they were right, that we’d see strangers only once and never again. If that were the case, I’d empty myself into them to the very bottom and then run away just before they exploded with an overload of human goo. I would use the situation to my advantage. But that’s not how it works. (137-138) Ako stvarno želiš znati od čega me strah, znaš, od zmišljenih uspomen kih nikad bilo ni, ke nikad postojale nisu. Već mi se to zgodalo. Moga san se tako uživiti da je svaki pensir postaja rikordo, uspomena na ništo ča se kako desilo, a u stvari ni, lažni spominak. Čuja san druge kako s gušton govore da neznancu moreš svašta reći, sve, jer ionako ga nikad više neš viti. Ma po meni neznanca vajka jopet pasaš, jopet na njega naletiš, kad-tad, perke kada te komet zgoda, to ni slučajno, viruj mi. Jedanput kad si uša u ničigovu orbitu, ne moreš mu ujti, tu je. Bilo bi lipo da furešte vidimo jedanput i nikad više. Da je tako, vero bin se spraznija u njih, do kraja, do samega dna i ondar uša ča dalje prije nego eksplodiraju s teškin karigon ljudske sluzotine. Iskoristija bin situaciju, svakako. Ali tako stvari ne gredu. Memory. I don’t understand it. It’s not a video recorder with a tape you can just play back; it’s more like the highs and lows of life get stamped into blood and tissue particles like icons imprinted onto tabs of ecstasy, which then float away into remote corners of the brain until a weak signal is sent to retrieve them. A memory can totally mutate on the way back or melt away completely. Maybe forgetting is a good thing. Our minds must do it for reason. Maybe memory is a giant storage warehouse that bombs itself to hell every year to make room for new stuff. Who knows?... (138)