holden_caulfield

Dear Friends,

I apologize for being away for so long, although I have a good, albeit embarrassing reason for my absence. If you e-mail me about it, I might be willing to share it with you privately.

Regards,

Holden_Caulfield

P.S. My only question now is, how do I catch up on all of the Suicide Girls whom I have missed during the past month?


HOLDEN-O-METER (Updated daily.): Holden. . .is wishing he had just a few more hours of zzzzzzzz What! Baseball doesn't start until 4:00pm on Saturday!?!

MY CURRENT LITERARY CONTRIBUTION:

el etngrafo
por Jorge Luis Borges

(MY ROUGH TRANSLATION BELOW)

El caso me lo refirieron en Texas, pero haba acontecido en otro estado. Cuenta con un solo protagonista, salvo que en toda historia los protagonistas son miles, visibles e invisibles, vivos y muertos. Se llamaba, creo, Fred Murdock. Era alto a la manera americana, ni rubio ni moreno, de perfil de hacha, de muy pocas palabras. Nada singular haba en l, ni siquiera esa fingida singularidad que es propia de los jvenes. Naturalmente respetuoso, no descrea de los libros ni de quienes escriben los libros. Era suya esa edad en que el hombre no sabe an quin es y est listo para entregarse a lo que le propone el azar: la mstica del persa o el desconocido origen del hngaro, la aventuras de la guerra o del lgebra, el puritanismo o la orga. En la universidad le aconsejaron el estudio de las lenguas indgenas. Hay ritos esotricos que perduran en ciertas tribus del oeste; su profesor, un hombre entrado en aos, le propuso que hiciera su habitacin en una toldera, que observara los ritos y que descubriera el secreto que los brujos revelan al iniciado. A su vuelta, redactara una tesis que las autoridades del instituto daran a la imprenta. Murdock acept con alacridad. Uno de sus mayores haba muerto en las guerras de la frontera; esa antigua discordia de sus estirpes era un vnculo ahora. Previ, sin duda, las dificultades que lo aguardaban; tena que lograr que los hombres rojos lo aceptaran como a uno de los suyos. Emprendi la larga aventura. Ms de dos aos habit en la pradera, bajo toldos de cuero o a la intemperie. Se levantaba antes del alba, se acostaba al anochecer, lleg a soar en un idioma que no era el de sus padres. Acostumbr su paladar a sabores speros, se cubri con ropas extraas, olvid los amigos y la ciudad, lleg a pensar de una manera que su lgica rechazaba. Durante los primeros meses de aprendizaje tomaba notas sigilosas, que rompera despus, acaso para no despertar la suspicacia de los otros, acaso porque ya no las precisaba. Al trmino de un plazo prefijado por ciertos ejercicios, de ndole moral y de ndole fsica, el sacerdote le orden que fuera recordando sus sueos y que se los confiara al clarear el da. Comprob que en las noches de luna llena soaba con bisontes. Confi estos sueos repetidos a su maestro; ste acab por revelarle su doctrina secreta. Una maana, sin haberse despedido de nadie, Murdock se fue.

En la ciudad, sinti la nostalgia de aquellas tardes iniciales de la pradera en que haba sentido, hace tiempo, la nostalgia de la ciudad. Se encamin al despacho del profesor y le dijo que saba el secreto y que haba resuelto no publicarlo.

-- Lo ata su juramento? -- pregunt el otro.

-- No es sa mi razn -- dijo Murdock --. En esas lejanas aprend algo que no puedo decir.

-- Acaso el idioma ingls es insuficiente? -- observara el otro.

-- Nada de eso, seor. Ahora que poseo el secreto, podra enunciarlo de cien modos distintos y aun contradictorios. No s muy bien cmo decirle que el secreto es precioso y que ahora la ciencia, nuestra ciencia, me parece una mera frivolidad.

Agreg al cabo de una pausa:

-- El secreto, por lo dems, no vale lo que valen los caminos que me condujeron a l. Esos caminos hay que andarlos.

El profesor le dijo con frialdad:

-- Comunicar su decisin al Consejo. Usted piensa vivir entre los indios?

Murdock le contest:

-- No. Tal vez no vuelva a la pradera. Lo que me ensearon sus hombres vale para cualquier lugar y para cualquier circunstancia.

Tal fue, en esencia, el dilogo.

Fred se cas, se divorci y es ahora uno de los bibliotecarios de Yale.


READERS NOTE: Please be aware that this is my rough translation of the above work. I am not a trained literary translator as such requires a great deal of study. But since I could not find a translation on the Internet, this will have to do.

The Enthnographer
by Jorge Luis Borges

These events were related to me in Texas, but had occurred in another State. Narrated with a sole protagonist, except that in all history the protagonists are thousands, visible and invisible, alive and dead. His name was, I believe, Fred Murdock. He was tall in the American sense, neither blonde nor dark-haired, of an axe-like profile, of very few words. There was nothing singular (unique) about him, not even that phony singularity that is common in teenagers. Naturally respectful, he trusted books and their authors. He was at the age at which he did not even know who he was and was ready to give himself over to what chance gave him: Persian Mysticism or the unknown origin of Hungarians, the adventures of war or of Algebra, Puritanism or the orgy. In college they advised him to study the languages of indigenous cultures. There are esoteric rites that survive in certain Western tribes; his professor, a man long in years, proposed that he reside in a tribal home, that he observe the rites and that he discover the secret that the tribal elders reveal to the initiate. On his return, he would write a thesis that the experts of the institute would present to the publisher. Murdock accepted his offer with alacrity (readiness). One of his elders had died in the border war; that ancient discord of his lineage was a link now. He foresaw, without doubt, the difficulties that awaited him; he had to get the red men to accept him as one of their own. He undertook a long adventure. He arose before dawn, went to bed at dusk, he managed to dream in a language that was not of his parents. He accustomed his palate to unrefined tastes, he dressed in strange (tribal) clothing, he forgot his friends and the city, he managed to think in a way that his logic rejected. During the first months of his tribal education he took notes stealthily, that he would destroy afterwards, perhaps not to awaken the suspicions of the others, perhaps because he already described them in detail. At the end of a pre-set deadline for certain exercises, of a moral and a physical nature, the tribal elder ordered that he record his dreams and that he keep them secret until dawn. He verified that during the full moon he dreamed of buffalo. He confided these dreams to his master (teacher); this ended by revealing to him their secret dogma. One morning, without saying goodbye to anyone, Murdock left.

In the city, he felt the nostalgia of those initial afternoons in the countryside in which he had felt, some time ago, the nostalgia of the city. He found his way to the professors office and told him that he knew the secret and that he had resolved not to publish it.

-Did you swear to it? asked the other.

-No, this is my way said Murdock. In that remote place I learned something that I cannot reveal.

-"Perhaps the English language is insufficent?" observed the other.

-None of that, sir. Now that I possess the secret, I could express it in one hundred distinct yet contradictory ways. I do not know very well how to tell you that the secret is precious and that now science, our science, seems to me like a mere frivolity.

He added with a pause:

-The secret, in other respects, is not as valuable as the path that led me to it. That path has to be traveled on its own.

The professor told him with frailty:

-I will communicate your decision to the Council. Do you plan to live with the Indians?

Murdock answered him:

-No. Perhaps I will not return to the countryside. What their men taught me has value everywhere for every circumstance.

Such was, in essence, the dialogue.

Fred married, divorced and now is one of the librarians at Yale.


Translators Note: My apologies to the Yale Skull & Bones Cult.