NEEDLING

Brutus is sick, or at least not in top top shape. Woke me up around 4h30 this morning throwing up. Took him outside, and he ran to the back behind the tree where I knew he was doing something that I’m glad he didn’t do inside the house. Bless him. Locked the front yard and went back inside to clean up the mess he had made, not nearly as bad as it could have been. Haven’t fed him this morning. Figured … let it go through his system whatever it was. Went for a walk a bit ago, and he was sick again, then it was plenty of dry butt heaves. Poor boy. It’s nothing too bad since he’s not depressed, he’s wagging his tale, running, being a normal dog. So I’m sure it’ll pass.

This morning, I tried to go back to bed, but couldn’t sleep, so I sat up and read till I finished the book I was reading, “Le Roman de Molière” by Mikhaïl Boulgakov, translated from the Russian to the French by Michel Pétris. Liked it, makes me want to read all of Molière’s plays.

Now, after a bath, a walk with the dog, and still some time in front of me before I need to be at work, I’ve re-opened a book I read and enjoyed many years ago: “Jacques le Fataliste,” by Diderot.

Here’s a quick and badly translated interpretation by yours truly of the first page or so:

How did they meet? By chance, like anybody. What were their names? Why does it matter? Where did they come from? From not too far away. Where were they going? Do we ever really know where we’re going? What were they talking about? The Boss said nothing; and Jacques said that his captain had told him that everything which happens to us down here, whether good or bad, had been written up in the skies.

The Boss – There’s some big philosophy that one.
Jacques – My captain would also add that every bullet leaving its gun had its ticket.
The Boss – And he was right …

After a small pause, Jacques burst out and yelled, “May the devil take the barman and his bar!”

The Boss – Why tell your neighbor to hell? That’s not very Christian of you.
Jacques – Well, it’s that, while I was getting drunk off his bad wine, I forget to take our horses to the drinking through. My father notices. He gets mad. I shake my head. He takes a stick and rubs my shoulders rather harshly. A battalion was passing there on their way to Fontenoy, so vexed, I joined up. We arrive at destination and the battle starts up!
The Boss – And you receive a bullet with your address on it.
Jacques – You figured it out, right in the knee. And God only knows what unfortunate adventures I’ve gotten into because of that shot. They hold together no better or worse than the links of a cheap chain bracelet. Without that shot I believe I would never have fallen in love, for example, or get a limp.
The Boss – So you’ve been in love?
Jacques – Yes, sure I have!
The Boss – And all because you were shot?
Jacques – Because I was shot!
The Boss – You’ve never told me a word about it.
Jacques – That’s right.
The Boss – And why’s that?
Jacques – Well, it’s because it couldn’t have been told neither too late nor too soon.
The Boss – And has the time come to learn of these love affairs?
Jacques – Who knows?
The Boss – Just in case, give it a shot …


Well ... I think I'll stick to reading it, rather than trying to translate it! My my, now I know why I've never wanted to be a translator. It's hard work! And I suck at it! And did I say it was difficult? Cheers.