Class 10: Correction Giradoux, New Text by JM LeClézio

Part One: Correction of "La
surenchère" by Jean Giradoux.

Upping the Ante (for the definition, see http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/upping+the+ante)

Charlie strode up and down the islands and climbed on Goat’s Rock. Suddenly, he stopped to listen. Someone was walking behind him cautiously (there were footsteps behind him, cautious footsteps), and had been for a good while (quite some time). The steps would come closer at every dangerous bend (turn) and would, on the contrary, slow up (linger, hang back) when the rocks became level (flat), finally to come even closer and become more threatening (menacing) when bordering a waterfall. People who are about to (are going to) commit suicide may still be afraid of (avoid) spiders and caterpillars, but they are not afraid of being attacked / assaulted. Excited about this adventure, Charlie decided to lure the killer or thief to a little island (islet) where they would not be disturbed (where no one would bother them). He only had to jump (stride) over a little creek which was noisier than it was dangerous, and before crossing over the last Rubicon (the point of no return), that didn’t pose a problem (that would be no problem). He jumped. Someone jumped behind him, floundering (splashing) even slightly. [Then] He climbed a rock overhanging an abyss over which thousands of rainbows intersected (criss-crossed), melted (faded) and reflected like (split into) cinematographic rosaces (stars of light). The someone climbed up after him, not without slipping several times. He turned around abruptly. (He did an about face).

The tattooed face of an Iroquois (Indian) in war paint (battle dress) would have startled/upset him less (would have been less disturbing) than what he saw. Instead of the standard gangster he was expecting, there stood one of those blond and pretty young girls like you see on posters (billboards) smiling at him.

“Mr. Eggins?” she asked simply. Charlie bowed (nodded).

“Mr. Eggins, I am an active member of the Association of the Lord’s Partisans. You probably know of its churches in Boston. And, like everyone, you have probably come to see its presidential chambers where all the objects, even the bathtub, are made of solid gold. I come in His name to remind you that suicide is a mortal sin and to beg you to live for the sake of your soul.

“I am sorry, Miss, but that’s impossible.”

“Are you really determined to die?”

“I am”

“Will you swear not to change your mind?”

“I swear.”

“Well, then Mr. Eggins, let me explain to you the second part of my mission. I am also a representative of the Forbett Company from Indianapolis. You’re certainly familiar with their shoe polishes and varnishes. Forbetts would like to offer you twenty thousand dollars, payable to whichever relative you designate, if, on Sunday, you throw yourself from the suspension bridge with a banner that they will provide you that has their name printed on it. I will come to your hotel tonight at 8 o’clock for your answer.”

PART TWO: Text to translate for next week

LeClézio: L'Etoile Errante, "La portrait d'Esther"

Elle se souvenait du premier hiver à la montagne, et de la musique de l’eau au printemps. C’était quand ? Elle marchait entre son père et sa mère dans la rue du village, elle leur donnait la main. Son bras tirait plus d’un côté, parce que son père était si grand. Et l’eau descendait de tous les côtés, en faisant cette musique, ces chuintements, ces sifflements, ces tambourinades. Chaque fois qu’elle se souvenait de cela, elle avait envie de rire, parce que c’était un bruit doux et drôle comme une caresse. Elle riait, alors, entre son père et sa mère, et l’eau des gouttières et du ruisseau lui répondait, glissait, cascadait…

Maintenant, avec la brûlure de l’été, le ciel d’un bleu intense, il y avait un bonheur qui emplissait tout le corps, qui faisait peur, presque. Elle aimait surtout la grande pente herbeuse qui montait vers le ciel, au-dessus du village. Elle n’allait pas jusqu’en haut, parce qu’on disait qu’il y avait des vipères. Elle marchait un instant au bord du champ, juste assez pour sentir la fraîcheur de la terre, les lames coupantes contre ses lèvres. Par endroits, les herbes étaient si hautes qu’elle disparaissait complètement. Elle avait treize ans, elle s’appelait Hélène Grève, mais son père disait : Esther.”