Calderon - angol fordítás

Testvéreim a zűrben, hatalmas lelkesedéssel tudatom, hogy kész a Calderon angol fordítása! :)

Úgy egy éve a bloggerek vetették fel a külföldi könyvpiac ötletét, és azt, hogy odakint is megállná a helyét a regény. Katona Ildi azt mondta, hm, miért ne? Csapjunk bele!

De elsőre le is állt a dolog, mert nem találtunk fordítót, aki be merte volna vállalni. Ám tavaly év végén mégis akadt valaki, akinek a humora hasonló az enyémhez, és aki amúgy imádja a regényeket, és fejből idéz belőlük. Nincs jobb, mint egy vicces pasit ráereszteni egy másik vicces pasira! :) Dani és Calderon bensőséges órákat töltöttek együtt, és ennek hatására most már így fest a történet:

Calderon - Dead man wanted

 Genius Calderon pulled the trigger but the phase pistol did not fire. Judging by the humming sound its energy cell was depleted. He was not even surprised. With a blasé motion he pulled the gun out of his mouth and admired the light of dawn filtering through his window.

Mara is dead. The woman for whom he threw away his rank, who beat the prolific brain cancer, idiotically stepped in front of a shuttle. Ever since birth she had known that she was dying. It was always a race against time but she lived every moment to the fullest, always wholeheartedly glad for her own existence. If at night, after making love, Calderon whispered such things as not being able to live without her, with a thundering look she always promised him hauntings.

Since the burial Calderon had tried to commit suicide eight times but every time he had been disturbed in the act. If it wasn’t some religious fanatic ringing the doorbell than it was a little girl with watery eyes looking for her dog or the pistol not working. Even at midnight, when he had been about to jump off the sky-dock bridge a teenage girl had shown up, begging him to take her home because somebody was following her. Had Mara sent them?

He could constantly feel her presence in the house. The automated house system was malfunctioning: the windows did not darken in the evening, the lights could not be turned off as if some invisible force kept the depressing darkness out.

The sun rose outside the window. Calderon stared at the narrow beam of light on the floor and let his pistol fall to the ground. What right does anyone have to stop him? Let that be Mara or God himself. The kitchen knives were all gone but the sword he took form his father’s house… He got up and started looking for it behind the wardrobe’s control panel.

The simple hilt housed the black crystal control button. Calderon turned the foot long tube toward himself and pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He remembered that the weapon’s heat sensor prevents it form being opened toward a person. Turning it away form himself he pressed the button again. He was glad to see the blade pieces sliding out.

Calderon soon realised that stabbing himself in the throat with an arm long blade can be somewhat problematic. After considerable hardship he finally managed to rest the hilt against the backrest of the armchair while putting the tip to his throat.

And the doorbell rang.

Calderon decided not to answer it.

The person at the door was leaning on the bell with their full weight and no matter how hard Calderon tried to concentrate, to immerse himself in the last moments of his own existence, five seconds later he found himself relinquishing the sword and heading towards the entrance while employing a few of his choicest swear words.

Karl, the boy across the street, stood panting in the door.

“What do you want?”

           “We are collecting waste microchips in school to fund our meteor trip. Do you have any chips you don’t need?” gabbled the lanky teenager.

What a peculiar time to pick for environmental activism. Calderon looked at the lightening sky then at the boy’s home and was baffled by the sudden realisation. To hell with the supernatural! The kid had a clear view into his house from his upstairs window! He recognised the girl trying to hide behind the curtains as well. He had escorted her home in the middle of the night!

He took the boy by the scruff of his neck and slammed him to the wall. The boy, instead of being afraid, only showed that impertinent grin characteristic of teenagers:

            “What now? Are you going to beat up a minor? You are our summer job. Much better than scrubbing robots, I can tell you!”

“Who hired you?”

“What do you think?”

Frank, that damned brother-in-law. Calderon let go of the boy and, as he was, started into a bare-foot run with nothing on but his shorts.

            “Tell him that this morning counts as two! Hey, wait! If you kill him, who is    going to pay me? You can’t do this to me!”

After running two blocks Calderon saw Frank coming out of the biohouse. Karl must have called him. It was easy to see that the psychologist had just gotten out of bed with his hair falling in tangles upon his shoulder and wearing nothing but shorts on that fine summer morning, he had not even had time to put on his slippers. Calderon grabbed his throat and pushed him up against the fence.

“Are you having me watched?!”

            Frank did not even try to disengage. With blue eyes shining loftily and an annoying business-like smile on his face he said:

            “Nice of you to show up! There is a captain-selection today at the Admiralty. You should take a look.”

            Calderon tightened his grip on Frank's throat. He would have liked Frank to hit him or to do anything that would justify a good beating but not for nothing did the man give anger management lessons. He did not even move a muscle.

“How dare you spy on me?!”

            “I promised Mara that I would keep an eye on you. Your narcissistic personality falling apart was no big surprise,” said the psychologist calmly.

“You better get the kids off my back or…!”

“Fine. Would you let go of me already?”

            Calderon let go of him. Frank's smile was wiped off his face.

            “Kill yourself for all I care! You did not deserve my little sister!” he spat at Calderon disdainfully.

“Who would have been worthy of her? Apart form you, of course.”

“You just couldn’t leave her in peace!”

            “In peace? Sisters become wives, dear brother! Get yourself checked out real fast, you need a therapist.”

            “Like hell I do! This isn’t envy. You damned addict! Do you really think I can’t spot one after working with them every day? You are an incurable gambler and Mara somehow peaked your interest. You knew she had a brain tumour and in a couple of years you would be free again. Such a convenient incident! It came in handy.”

Calderon put his full weight behind the next punch. Frank fell onto the fence, nose bleeding.  Not wasting his time he retaliated at once but he was no match for Calderon. The man, ever since had gotten married half a year ago, had been working in the docks. Loading flammable materials and all other sorts of cargo by hand toughened him up, the life in docks even more so.

After taking a couple of hits Frank was lying on the ground, bleeding copiously from his nose and mouth. Calderon would have like to kick him a couple of times but his upbringing got the better of him. Noblemen do not break ribs.

*

Ha van ötletetek, hogyan lehetne frappánsan lefordítani a két címet, Calderon, avagy hullajelölt kerestetik és Calderon, avagy felségáruláshoz bricsesz dukál, szeretettel várom az ötleteket. Azt hiszem, ez lesz a legnagyobb kihívás :)

Most még a szöveghez angol anyanyelvű lektort keresünk. Majd mesélek, hogy mi lesz utána. :)

Addig is hallgassunk egy kis Dean Martint erre a nagy örömre: