TETOVIRANI ČOVEK

IZGNANICI

IZGNANICI	The Exiles
Oči su im bile od same vatre, a iz veštičijih usta sukljao je plamen dok su se naginjale da riju po kazanu zamašćenim štapom i koštunjavim prstima.	THEIR EYES were fire and the breath flamed out the witches’ mouths as they bent to probe the caldron with greasy stick and bony finger.
"Kad ćemo se nas tri opet sresti...	“When shall we three meet again...
Kad dažd pljusne, munja blesne, ili grom zatrešti?"	In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”
Pijano su igrale na obali praznog mora, prljajući vazduh svojim jezicima, pržeći ga mačjim očima koje su zlobno sijale:	They danced drunkenly on the shore of an empty sea, fouling the air with their three tongues, and burning it with their cats’ eyes malevolently aglitter:
"Hopa-cupa oko kotla;	“Round about the cauldron go;
Otrov droba mu u grotla...	In the poison’d entrails throw.
Hitaj, hitaj, rmbaj, rintaj;	Double, double, toil and trouble;
Vatro, plamsaj, kotle, ključaj!"	Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!”
Zastadoše i baciše pogled unaokolo. "Gde je kristal? Kamo igle?"	They paused and cast a glance about. “Where’s the crystal? Where the needles?”
"Ovde!"	“Here!”
"Dobro!"	“Good!”
"Je li se zgusnuo žuti vosak?"	“Is the yellow wax thickened?”
"Jeste!"	“Yes!”
"Sipaj ga u gvozdeni kalup!"	“Pour it in the iron mold!”
"Je li gotova voštana figura?" Uobličavali su je kao melasu koja im je kapala po zelenim rukama.	“Is the wax figure done?” They shaped it like molasses adrip on their green hands.
"Proteraj iglu kroz srce!"	“Shove the needle through the heart!”
"Kristal, kristal; donesi ga iz gatarske torbe. Skini prašinu s njega; pogledaj!"	“The crystal, the crystal; fetch it from the tarot bag. Dust it off; have a look!”
Nagnuše se nad kristal, belih lica.	They bent to the crystal, their faces white.
"Vidi, vidi, vidi..."	“See, see, see . . .”
Raketni brod kretao se svemirom sa planete Zemlje na planetu Mars. Na brodu su umirali ljudi.	A rocket ship moved through space from the planet Earth to the planet Mars. On the rocket ship men were dying.
Kapetan umorno podiže glavu. "Moraćemo da upotrebimo morfijum."	The captain raised his head, tiredly. “We’ll have to use the morphine.”
"Ali, Kapetane..."	“But, Captain—”
"Vidiš i sam u kakvom je stanju ovaj čovek." Kapetan podiže vuneno ćebe i čovek zgrčen ispod vlažnog čaršava pokrenu se i zaječa. Vazduh je bio ispunjen sumpornom grmljavinom.	“You see yourself this man’s condition.” The captain lifted the wool blanket and the man restrained beneath the wet sheet moved and groaned. The air was full of sulphurous thunder.
"Video sam ga - video sam ga." Čovek otvori oči i napregnuto se zagleda u otvore za svetlost gde se video samo crni svemir, zvezde koje su brzo promicale, Zemlja u daljini, i planeta Mars na svom usponu, velika i crvena. "Video sam ga - slepog miša, ogromnog, slepog miša sa čovečijim licem, raširio se nad prednjim otvorom. Leprša i leprša, leprša i leprša."	“I saw it—I saw it.” The man opened his eyes and stared at the port where there were only black spaces, reeling stars, Earth far removed, and the planet Mars rising large and red. “I saw it—a bat, a huge thing, a bat with a man’s face, spread over the front port. Fluttering and fluttering, fluttering and fluttering.”
"Puls?" zapita kapetan.	“Pulse?” asked the captain.
Dežurni izmeri puls. "Sto trideset."	The orderly measured it. “One hundred and thirty.”
"Ne može on tako dalje. Daj mu morfijum. Hajde, Smite."	“He can’t go on with that. Use the morphine. Come along, Smith.”
Krenuše odatle. Podne ploče odjednom oživeše od kostiju i belih lobanja koje su vriskale. Kapetan se nije usuđivao da pogleda nadole, i iznad vriskova reče: "Je li Perns na ovom mestu?" Zavirujući kod jednog otvora.	They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed. The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said, “Is this where Perse is?” turning in at a hatch.

Hirurg u belom mantilu se odmače od jednog tela. "Ja to prosto ne shvatam."	A white-smocked surgeon stepped away from a body. “I just don’t understand it.”
"Kako je umro Pers?"	“How did Perse die?”
"Ne znamo Kapetane. Nije bilo ni srce, ni mozak, niti šok. Jednostavno - umro."	“We don’t know, Captain. It wasn’t his heart, his brain, or shock. He just—died.”
Kapetan opipa doktorov članak, koji se pretvori u šištavu zmiju i ujede ga. Kapetan se nije trgao. "Čuvaj se. I tebi je ubrzan puls."	The captain felt the doctor’s wrist, which changed to a hissing snake and bit him. The captain did not flinch. “Take care of yourself. You’ve a pulse too.”
Doktor klimnu glavom. "Pers se žalio na bolove ,žiganje, govorio je - u ručnim zglobovima i nogama. Govorio je da se oseća kao da je od voska, da se topi. Pao je. Ja sam mu pomogao da se digne. Plakao je kao dete. Kaže da ima srebrnu iglu u srcu. Umre. Evo ga. Možemo da ponovimo autopsiju, da vidite. Sve je fizički normalno."	The doctor nodded. “Perse complained of pains—needles, he said—in his wrists and legs. Said he felt like wax, melting. He fell. I helped him up. He cried like a child. Said he had a silver needle in his heart. He died. Here he is. We can repeat the autopsy for you. Everything’s physically normal.”
"To je nemoguće! Umro je od nečega!"	“That’s impossible! He died of something!”
Kapetan ode do otvora. Mirisao je na mentol i jod, i na zeleni sapun na glatkim i manikiranim rukama. Beli zubi bili su mu istrljani preparatom za čišćenje zuba, uši izribane do rumenila, kao i obrazi. Uniforma bela kao sneg, čizme kao sjajna crna ogledala pod njim. Kovrdžava kratko podšišana kosa mirisala mu je na jak alkohol. Čak mu je i dah bio rezak i svež, čist. Ni mrljice na njemu. Svež instrument, upravo iskuvan, naoštren i spreman.	The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentifriced, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks. His uniform was the color of new salt, and his boots were black mirrors shining below him. His crisp crew-cut hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean. There was no spot to him. He was a fresh instrument, honed and ready, still hot from the surgeon’s oven.
Ljudi sa njim bili su na isti kalup. Čovek bi očekivao da vidi ogromne mesingane ključeve kako im se klate na leđima. To su bile skupe, talentovane, dobro podmazane spravice, poslušne i brze.	The men with him were from the same mold. One expected huge brass keys spiraling slowly from their backs. They were expensive, talented, well-oiled toys, obedient and quick.
Kapetan je posmatrao kako planeta Mars raste u svemiru. "Za jedan sat ćemo se spustiti na to prokleto mesto. Smite, jesi li ti video neke slepe miševe, jesi li imao kakve druge košmare?"	The captain watched the planet Mars grow very large in space. “We’ll be landing in an hour on that damned place. Smith, did you see any bats, or have other nightmares?”
"Da, gospodine. Onog meseca pre nego što je naša raketa poletela iz Njujorka, gospodine. Ujedaju me za vrat beli pacovi, piju mi krv. Nisam to ispričao. Bojao sam se da mi nećete dozvoliti da pođem na ovaj put."	“Yes, sir. The month before our rocket took off from New York, sir. White rats biting my neck, drinking my blood. I didn’t tell. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come on this trip.”
"Ne mari", uzdahnu kapetan. "I ja sam sanjao. Za svih mojih pedeset godina nikada nisam sanjao sve do one nedelje pre nego što smo uzleteli sa Zemlje. A onda sam svake noći sanjao da sam beli vuk. Kao uhvatili me na jednom snežnom brdu. Ustrelili srebrnim metkom. Zakopali me sa kocem u srcu." Odmahnu glavom prema Marsu. "Šta misliš, Smite, znaju li oni da dolazimo?"	“Never mind,” sighed the captain. “I had dreams too. In all of my fifty years I never had a dream until that week before we took off from Earth. And then every night I dreamed I was a white wolf. Caught on a snowy hill. Shot with a silver bullet. Buried with a stake in my heart.” He moved his head toward Mars. “Do you think, Smith, they know we’re coming?”
"Mi ne znamo da li ima Marsovaca, gospodine."	“We don’t know if there are Martian people, sir.”
"Ne znamo? Počeli su da nas odvraćaju zastrašivanjem pre osam nedelja, pre nego što smo pošli. Sada su ubili Persa i Rejnoldsa. Juče je Grenvil oslepeo zbog njih. Kako? Ne znam. Slepi miševi, igle, snovi, ljudi umiru bez razloga. To bih nazvao činima da je neko drugo doba. Ali ovo je godina 2120., Smite. Mi smo racionalni ljudi. Sve ovo se ne može događati. Ali događa se! Ko su da su, sa svojim iglama i slepim miševima, nastojaće da nas sve dokrajče." Okrenu se oko sebe. "Smite, donesi mi one knjige sa moje police. Hoću da ih imam kada se spustimo."	“Don’t we? They began frightening us off eight weeks ago, before we started. They’ve killed Perse and Reynolds now. Yesterday they made Crenville go blind. How? I don’t know. Bats, needles, dreams, men dying for no reason. I’d call it witchcraft in another day. But this is the year 2120, Smith. We’re rational men. This all can’t be happening. But it is! Whoever they are, with their needles and their bats, they’ll try to finish us all.” He swung about. “Smith, fetch those books from my file. I want them when we land.”
Na palubi rakete bilo je naslagano dve stotine knjiga.	Two hundred books were piled on the rocket deck.
"Hvala, Smite. Jesi li bacio pogled na njih? Misliš da sam šenuo. Možda. Neko šašavo predosećanje. U onom poslednjem trenutku poručio sam knjige iz Istorijskog muzeja. Zbog mojih snova. Dvadeset noći su me boli, kasapili, bio sam slepi miš koji vrišti dok ga pribadaju na hirurški podmetač, trunuo pod zemljom u crnoj kutiji; gadni, zli snovi. Cela naša posada sanjala je veštičine, vukodlačine, vampire, i fantome, sve stvari o kojima ništa nisu mogli znati. Zašto? Zato što su knjige o takvim jezivim stvarima uništene pre jednog veka. Zakonom. Zabranjeno je svima posedovanje tih groznih knjiga. Ove knjige koje vidiš ovde poslednji su primerci, koji se čuvaju u muzejskim podrumima u cilju proučavanja istorije."	“Thank you, Smith. Have you glanced at them? Think I’m insane? Perhaps. It’s a crazy hunch. At that last moment I ordered these books from the Historical Museum. Because of my dreams. Twenty nights I was stabbed, butchered, a screaming bat pinned to a surgical mat, a thing rotting underground in a black box; bad, wicked dreams. Our whole crew dreamed of witch-things and were-things, vampires and phantoms, things they couldn’t know anything about. Why? Because books on such ghastly subjects were destroyed a century ago. By law. Forbidden for anyone to own the grisly volumes. These books you see here are the last copies, kept for historical purposes in the locked museum vaults.”
Smit se saže da bi pročitao prašnjave naslove:	Smith bent to read the dusty titles:
"Priče tajanstva i mašte, od Edgara Alana Poa. Drakula, od Brema Stoukera. Frankenštajn, od Meri Šeli. Okretaj zavrtke, Od Henri Džejmsa. Legenda o usnuloj šupljini, od Vašingtona Irvinga. Rapaćinijeva kći, od Natanijela Hotorna. Događaj kod mosta na Sovinom potoku, od Embrouza Birsa. Alisa u zemlji čuda, od Luisa Karola. Vrbe, od Aldžernona Blekvuda. Čarobnjak iz Oza, od L. Frenk Bauma. Jeziva senka nad Insmautom, od H. P. Lavkrafta. I još i više! Knjige Voltera de la Mera, Veikfilda, Harvija, Velsa, Eskvita, Hakslija - sve zabranjenih pisaca. Sve koje su bile spaljene one iste godine kada su Svi sveti stavljeni van zakona i zabranjen Božić! Ali, gospodine, šta nam one vrede ovde na raketi?"	“Tales of Mystery and Imagination, by Edgar Allan Poe. Dracula, by Brain Stoker. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving. Rappaccini’s Daughter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, by Ambrose Bierce. Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. The Willows, by Algernon Blackwood. The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The Weird Shadow Over Innsmouth, by H. P. Lovecraft. And more! Books by Walter de la Mare, Wakefield, Harvey, Wells, Asquith, Huxley—all forbidden authors. All burned in the same year that Halloween was outlawed and Christmas was banned! But, sir, what good are these to us on the rocket?”
"Ne znam", uzdahnu kapetan, "još."	“I don’t know,” sighed the captain, “yet.”
Tri čaralice podigoše kristal u kome je svetlucao kapetanov lik, dok mu je iz fino brušenog stakla zvoncao sićušan glas:	The three bags lifted the crystal where the captain’s image flickered, his tiny voice tinkling out of the glass:
"Ne znam", uzdahnu kapetan, "još."	“I don’t know,” sighed the captain, “yet.”
Tri veštice se crveno iskrlještiše jedna drugoj u lice.	The three witches glared redly into one another’s faces.
"Nemamo mnogo vremena", reče jedna.	“We haven’t much time,” said one.
"Bolje da opomenemo Njih u Gradu."	“Better warn Them in the City.”
"Hteće da čuju o knjigama. Ovo ne izgleda dobro. Ta budala kapetan!"	“They’ll want to know about the books. It doesn’t look good. That fool of a captain!”
"Spustiće raketu za jedan sat."	“In an hour they’ll land their rocket.”
Tri veštice se stresoše i zažmirkaše uvis prema Smaragdnom gradu na ivici suvog Marsovskog mora. Na najvišem prozoru u gradu jedan mali čovek držao je kao krv crveni zastor pomeren u stranu. Posmatrao je pustaru gde su tri veštice punile svoj kazan i uobličavale figure od voska. Tamo dalje, još hiljade i hiljade plavih vatri i dima od lovorika, crnih duvanskih dimova, cimetnih prahova i prahova od kostiju dizale su se poput mekokrilih leptirica kroz marsovsku noć. Čovek je prebrojavao razigrane mađijske vatre. Zatim, kada se tri veštice izbečiše, on se okrenu. Grimizni zastor, pušten, pade, od čega udaljeni portal žmirnu, kao žuto oko.	The three bags shuddered and blinked up at the Emerald City by the edge of the dry Martian sea. In its highest window a small man held a blood-red drape aside. He watched the wastelands where the three witches fed their caldron and shaped the waxes. Farther along, ten thousand other blue fires and laurel incenses, black tobacco smokes and fir weeds, cinnamons and bone dusts rose soft as moths through the Martian night. The man counted the angry, magical fires. Then, as the three witches stared, he turned. The crimson drape, released, fell, causing the distant portal to wink, like a yellow eye.
Gospodin Edgar Alan Po stajao je u prozoru na kuli, sa lakim alkoholnim isparenjem u dahu. "Hekatini prijatelji su zauzeti večeras", reče ugledavši veštice, daleko dole.	Mr. Edgar Allan Poe stood in the tower window, a faint vapor of spirits upon his breath. “Hecate’s friends are busy tonight,” he said, seeing the witches, far below.
Jedan glas iza njega reče: "Video sam Vila Šekspira na obali, malopre, ganja ih. Svuda duž mora samo Šekspirova tevabija, noćas, na hiljade: tri veštice, Oberon, Hamletov otac, Puk - svi, svi oni - hiljade! Blagi Bože, koja svetina."	A voice behind him said, “I saw Will Shakespeare at the shore, earlier, whipping them on. All along the sea Shakespeare’s army alone, tonight, numbers thousands: the three witches, Oberon, Hamlet’s father, Puck—all, all of them—thousands! Good lord, a regular sea of people.”
"Dobri Vilijem." Po se okrenu. Pusti grimizni zastor da se sklopi. Stajao je trenutak gledajući sobu od netesanog kamena, sto od crnog drveta, plamen sveće, drugog čoveka, g. Embrouza Birsa koji je sedeo i dosađivao se, palio šibice i gledao ih kako dogorevaju; prigušeno zviždukao, povremeno se smejao sam za sebe.	“Good William.” Poe turned. He let the crimson drape fall shut. He stood for a moment to observe the raw stone room, the black-timbered table, the candle flame, the other man, Mr. Ambrose Bierce, sitting very idly there, lighting matches and watching them burn down, whistling under his breath, now and then laughing to himself.
"Sada ćemo morati da kažemo G. Dikensu", reče g. Po. "Odlažemo već i suviše dugo: To je pitanje sati. Hoćeš li da siđeš sa mnom do njegove kuće, Birse?"	“We’ll have to tell Mr. Dickens now,” said Mr. Poe. “We’ve put it off too long. It’s a matter of hours. Will you go down to his home with me, Bierce?”

Birs veselo diže pogled. "Baš razmišljam - šta će se s nama dogoditi?"	Bierce glanced up merrily. “I’ve just been thinking—what’ll happen to us?”
"Ako ne možemo da poubijamo ljude sa rakete, da ih naplašimo i oteramo, onda ćemo morati da odemo, odavde, naravno. Otići ćemo na Jupiter, a kada oni dođu na Jupiter mi ćemo dalje na Saturn, pa kada oni dođu na Saturn, mi ćemo na Uran, ili Neptun, pa onda dalje do Plutona..."	“If we can’t kill the rocket men off, frighten them away, then we’ll have to leave, of course. We’ll go on to Jupiter, and when they come to Jupiter, we’ll go on to Saturn, and when they come to Saturn, we’ll go to Uranus, or Neptune, and then on out to Pluto——”
"A gde posle?"	“Where then?”
Lice gospodina Poa bilo je umorno; u očima mu trnulo zaostalo ugljevlje, govorio je sa nekim tužnim bezumljem; šake su mu beskorisno visile, kosa pravo padala preko čudesnog belog čela. Ličio je na zloduha neke izgubljene mračne Stvari, generala koji se vratio iz skitačke invazije. Brbljive usne izlizale su mu svilenkast, mek crni brk. Bio je toliko mali da se činilo kao da mu čelo pluta, široko i fosforescentno, samo za sebe u mračnoj sobi.	Mr. Poe’s face was weary; there were fire coals remaining, fading, in his eyes, and a sad wildness in the way he talked, and a uselessness of his hands and the way his hair fell lankly over his amazing white brow. He was like a satan of some lost dark cause, a general arrived from a derelict invasion. His silky, soft, black mustache was worn away by his musing lips. He was so small his brow seemed to float, vast and phosphorescent, by itself, in the dark room.
"Mi imamo prednost boljih formi putovanja", reče on. "Uvek se možemo nadati da će se povratiti neki od njihovih atomskih ratova, raspadanje, vek mračnjaštva. Možemo se nadati povratku praznoverja. Onda bismo mogli da se vratimo na Zemlju, svi mi, za jednu noć." Crne oči gospodina Poa prodorno su gledale ispod njegovog okruglog sjajnog čela. Bio je zagledan u tavanicu. "Znači dolaze da unište i ovaj svet? Ništa neće ostati nezaprljano, je l' tako?"	“We have the advantages of superior forms of travel,” he said. “We can always hope for one of their atomic wars, dissolution, the dark ages come again. The return of superstition. We could go back then to Earth, all of us, in one night.” Mr. Poe’s black eyes brooded under his round and luminant brow. He gazed at the ceiling. “So they’re coming to ruin this world too? They won’t leave anything undefiled, will they?”
"Da li se čopor vukova zaustavlja dok ne poubija svoj plen i ne proždere utrobu? To treba da bude pravi rat. Ja ću sedeti sa strane i brojati poene. Toliko Zemljana skuvano u ulju, toliko Rukopisa nađenih u bocama spaljeno, toliko i toliko Zemljana probodeno iglama, toliko i toliko Crvenih smrti lansirano baterijom potkožnih špriceva - ha!"	“Does a wolf pack stop until it’s killed its prey and eaten the guts? It should be quite a war. I shall sit on the side lines and be the scorekeeper. So many Earthmen boiled in oil, so many Mss. Found in Bottles burnt, so many Earthmen stabbed with needles, so many Red Deaths put to flight by a battery of hypodermic syringes—ha!”
Po se ljutito klatio, pomalo pijan od vina. "Šta smo učinili? Budi sa nama, Birse, za ime Boga! Da li su nam pravično sudili književni kritičari! Ne! Naše knjige su pokupili preciznim, sterilnim hirurškim pincetama i hitnuli u kazane, da ih iskuvaju, da im poubijaju sve smrtonosne klice. Prokleti bili svi!"	Poe swayed angrily, faintly drunk with wine. “What did we do? Be with us, Bierce, in the name of God! Did we have a fair trial before a company of literary critics? No! Our books were plucked up by neat, sterile, surgeon’s pliers, and flung into vats, to boil, to be killed of all their mortuary germs. Damn them all!”
"Ja mislim da je naša situacija zabavna", reče Birs. Prekide ih jedan histeričan krik sa stepeništa kule.	“I find our situation amusing,” said Bierce. They were interrupted by a hysterical shout from the tower stair.
"Gospodine Po! Gospodine Birse!"	“Mr. Poe! Mr. Bierce!”
"Da, da, evo nas!" Po i Birs siđoše i nađoše jednog čoveka oslonjenog o kameni zid hodnika, široko otvorenih usta.	“Yes, yes, we’re coming!” Poe and Bierce descended to find a man gasping against the stone passage wall.
"Jeste li čuli novosti?" uzviknu on i grčevito ih zgrabi kao čovek koji samo što se ne preturi preko litice. "Sleteće za jedan sat! Donose knjige sa sobom - stare knjige, kažu veštice! Šta radite na kuli u jednom ovakvom trenutku? Zašto ne delate?"	“Have you heard the news?” he cried immediately, clawing at them like a man about to fall over a cliff. “In an hour they’ll land! They’re bringing books with them—old books, the witches said! What’re you doing in the tower at a time like this? Why aren’t you acting?”
Po reče: "Činimo sve što možemo, Blekvude. Tebi je sve ovo novo. Hajde sa nama, idemo do g. Čarlsa Dikensa..."	Poe said: “We’re doing everything we can, Blackwood. You’re new to all this. Come along, we’re going to Mr. Charles Dickens’ place——”
"...da porazmislimo o svojoj kobi, svojoj crnoj kobi", reče Birs i namignu.	“—to contemplate our doom, our black doom,” said Mr. Bierce, with a wink.
Silazili su grotlom zamka koje je odjekivalo, sve niže i niže po mračnim zelenim spratovima, u ustajalost i trulež, među paukove u njihovim košmarnim mrežama. "Ne brinite se", govorio je Po, dok mu je čelo tonulo ispred njih, kao ogromna bela svetiljka. "Večeras sam pozvao sve duž mrtvog mora. Tvoje prijatelje i moje, Blekvude Birse. Svi su tamo. Životinje i starice, i oni visoki ljudi sa oštrim belim zubima. Zamke čekaju, jame, jeste, i klatna. Crvena smrt." Tu se tiho zasmeja. "Da, čak i Crvena smrt. Nikada nisam pomišljao - ne, nikada nisam pomišljao da će doći vreme da se tako nešto kao Crvena smrt stvarno dogodi. Ali oni su je tražili, i dobiće je!"	They moved down the echoing throats of the castle, level after dim green level, down into mustiness and decay and spiders and dreamlike webbing. “Don’t worry,” said Poe, his brow like a huge white lamp before them, descending, sinking. “All along the dead sea tonight I’ve called the others. Your friends and mine, Blackwood—Bierce. They’re all there. The animals and the old women and the tall men with the sharp white teeth. The traps are waiting; the pits, yes, and the pendulums. The Red Death.” Here he laughed quietly. “Yes, even the Red Death. I never thought—no, I never thought the time would come when a thing like the Red Death would actually be. But they asked for it, and they shall have it!”
"Ali da li smo dovoljno jaki?" zapita se Blekvud.	“But are we strong enough?” wondered Blackwood.
"Koliko jako je jako? Oni neće biti spremni za nas, u najmanju ruku. Nemaju tu maštu. Ti čisti mladi raketaši sa svojim antiseptičnim pumpericama i šlemovima kao noše, sa svojom novom religijom. Oko vratova im, o zlatnim lancima, skalpeli. Na glavama, dijadema mikroskopa. Među svetim prstima, zakađene urne koje se puše, u stvari samo antiseptične pećnice za isterivanje praznoverja parom. Imena Poa, Birsa, Hotorna, Blekvuda - svetogrđe za njihove čiste usne."	“How strong is strong? They won’t be prepared for us, at least. They haven’t the imagination. Those clean young rocket men with their antiseptic bloomers and fish-bowl helmets, with their new religion. About their necks, on gold chains, scalpels. Upon their heads, a diadem of microscopes. In their holy fingers, steaming incense urns which in reality are only germicidal ovens for steaming out superstition. The names of Poe, Bierce, Hawthorne, Blackwood—blasphemy to their clean lips.”
Kada su izašli iz zamka pođoše kroz prostor pun vode, brdsko jezerce na pustari koje i nije bilo jezerce, koje se maglilo pred njima kao u košmaru. Vazduh je bio ispunjen lepetom i šumorom krila, kretanjem vetrova i tminom. Menjali su se glasovi, klatile prilike oko logorskih vatri. Gospodin Po je gledao igle kako pletu, pletu, pletu, u svetlosti vatre; pletu bol i jad, pletenjem zlo pretvaraju u voštane marionete, lutke od ilovače. Kazanski mirisi divljeg belog luka, kajene i šafrana sa šištanjem su se dizali uvis prožimajući noć otrovnim zajedanjem.	Outside the castle they advanced through a watery space, a tarn that was not a tarn, which misted before them like the stuff of nightmares. The air filled with wing sounds and a whirring, a motion of winds and blacknesses. Voices changed, figures swayed at campfires. Mr. Poe watched the needles knitting, knitting, knitting, in the firelight; knitting pain and misery, knitting wickedness into wax marionettes, clay puppets. The caldron smells of wild garlic and cayenne and saffron hissed up to fill the night with evil pungency.
"Nastavite!" reče Po. "Vratiću se!"	“Get on with it!” said Poe. “I’ll be back!”
Svuda duž prazne obale lelujale su se i bledele crne prilike, narastale i pretvarale se u crni dim na nebu. U planinskim tornjevima zvonila su zvona, a gavrani kuljali napolje iz tornjeva, zajedno sa jekom bronze i u krugovima se zaletali u pepeo.	All down the empty seashore black figures spindled and waned, grew up and blew into black smoke on the sky. Bells rang in mountain towers and licorice ravens spilled out with the bronze sounds and spun away to ashes.
Po i Birs požuriše preko puste močvare, pa u jednu udoljicu, i odjednom se nađoše na kaldrmisanoj ulici, na hladnom, sumornom, mrzlom vremenu, sa ljudima koji su trupkali gore-dole po kamenitim dvorištima da bi zagrejali noge; pored svega toga još i magla, i sveće koje plamsaju u prozorima kancelarija i izlozima radnji sa izvešanim božićnim ćurkama. U daljini su neki dečaci, natrontani, ćurlikali, dok im je iz usta frktavo izbijala bleda para u studeni vazduh. "Bog neka vam da veselja, Gospodo", a jedan veliki sat gromovito je odzvanjao ponoć. Deca su protrčavala izlećući iz pekare, sa večerama koje su im se sve pušile u musavim rukama, na poslužavnicima u srebrnim poklopljenim zdelama.	Over a lonely moor and into a small valley Poe and Bierce hurried, and found themselves quite suddenly on a cobbled street, in cold, bleak, biting weather, with people stomping up and down stony courtyards to warm their feet; foggy withal, and candles flaring in the windows of offices and shops where hung the Yuletide turkeys. At a distance some boys, all bundled up, snorting their pale breaths on the wintry air, were trilling, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” while the immense tones of a great clock continuously sounded midnight. Children dashed by from the baker’s with dinners all asteam in their grubby fists, on trays and under silver bowls.
Kod firme na kojoj je pisalo SKRUDŽ, MARLI I DIKENS Po zakuca zvekirom, i iznutra, kada se vrata otvoriše za nekoliko centimetara, iznenadan nalet muzike gotovo ih povuče u igru. Tu je, iza ramena čoveka koji je isturao kozju bradicu i brkove ka njima, bio gospodin Fezivig i pljeskao rukama, tu je bila gospođa Fezivig, sva od širokog osmeha, igrala i sudarala se sa ostalim lumpadžijama, dok je violina cvrkutala a smeh se kotrljao oko stola kao zveckanje kristala u lusteru kada ga iznenada protrese vetar. Veliki sto bio je pretrpan svinjskom salamurom, ćurkama, zimzelenom, guskama; pitama s mesom, sisančićima, vencima kobasica, pomorandžama i jabukama, tu su bili Bob Krečit i Mala Dorit i Sitni Tim i sam gospodin Fejdžin, i jedan čovek koji bi po izgledu mogao biti nesvaren komad govedine, mrlja od senfa, mrvka sira, parče neskuvanog krompira - ko drugi nego gospodin Marli, sa lancima i svim ostalim, dok se vino lilo a zlaćane ćurke pušile punom parom!	At a sign which read SCROOGE, MARLEY AND DICKENS, Poe gave the Marley-faced knocker a rap, and from within, as the door popped open a few inches, a sudden gust of music almost swept them into a dance. And there, beyond the shoulder of the man who was sticking a him goatee and mustaches at them, was Mr. Fezziwig clapping his hands, and Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile, dancing and colliding with other merrymakers, while the fiddle chirped and laughter ran about a table like chandelier crystals given a sudden push of wind. The large table was heaped with brawn and turkey and holly and geese; with mince pies, suckling pigs, wreaths of sausages, oranges and apples; and there was Bob Cratchit and Little Dorrit and Tiny Tim and Mr. Fagin himself, and a man who looked as if he might be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato—who else but Mr. Marley, chains and all, while the wine poured and the brown turkeys did their excellent best to steam!
"Šta želite?" zapita gospodin Čarls Dikens.	“What do you want?” demanded Mr. Charles Dickens.
"Došli smo da te opet umoljavamo, Čarlse; potrebna nam je tvoja pomoć", reče Po.	“We’ve come to plead with you again, Charles; we need your help,” said Poe.
"Pomoć? Mislite da bih vam pomogao da se borite protiv onih dobrih ljudi što dolaze u raketi? Ja tu ionako ne spadam. Moje knjige su spaljene greškom. Ja nisam nikakav natprirodnjak, nisam pisac groze i strave kao ti, Po; kao ti, Birse, ili drugi. Nemam ja ništa sa vama grozomornicima!"	“Help? Do you think I would help you fight against those good men coming in the rocket? I don’t belong here, anyway. My books were burned by mistake. I’m no supernaturalist, no writer of horrors and terrors like you, Poe; you, Bierce, or the others. I’ll have nothing to do with you terrible people!”
"Ti si ubedljiv govornik", rezonovao je Po. "Mogao bi da odeš da sačekaš raketaše, uljuljkaš ih, uspavaš njihove sumnje i onda - onda bismo se mi pobrinuli za njih."	“You are a persuasive talker,” reasoned Poe. “You could go to meet the rocket men, lull them, lull their suspicions and then—then we would take care of them.”
Gospodin Dikens se zagleda u nabore crnog ogrtača koji su skrivali Poove ruke. Smešeći se, Po izvuče odande jednu crnu mačku. "Za jednog od naših posetilaca."	Mr. Dickens eyed the folds of the black cape which hid Poe’s hands. From it, smiling, Poe drew forth a black cat. “For one of our visitors.”
"A za druge?"	“And for the others?”
Po se opet osmehnu, zadovoljan. "Prevremena sahrana?"	Poe smiled again, well pleased. “The Premature Burial?”
"Mračan ste čovek, gospodine Po."	“You are a grim man, Mr. Poe.”
"Ja sam uplašen i ljut čovek. Ja sam bog, gospodine Dikense, isto kao što ste i vi bog, kao što smo svi bogovi, a tvorevine našeg uma - naši ljudi, ako hoćete - ne samo da su bili ugroženi, već i, proganjani i spaljivani, cepani i cenzurisani, uništavani i uništeni. Svetovi koje smo mi stvorili ruše se. Čak i bogovi se moraju boriti!"	“I am a frightened and an angry man. I am a god, Mr. Dickens, even as you are a god, even as we all are gods, and our inventions—our people, if you wish—have not only been threatened, but banished and burned, torn up and censored, ruined and done away with. The worlds we created are falling into ruin. Even gods must fight!”

"Pa?" Gospodin Dikens nakrivi glavu, nestrpljivo čekajući da se vrati društvu, muzici, hrani. "Možda možete da objasnite zašto smo ovde? Kako smo ovamo došli?"	“So?” Mr. Dickens tilted his head, impatient to return to the party, the music, the food. “Perhaps you can explain why we are here? How did we come here?”
"Rat začinje rat. Razaranje začinje razaranje. Na Zemlji, pre jednog veka godine 2020. naše knjige stavili su van zakona. Kakva užasna stvar - uništiti naša književna dela na takav način! To nas je prizvalo iz čega? Smrti?	“War begets war. Destruction begets destruction. On Earth, a century ago, in the year 2020 they outlawed our books. Oh, what a horrible thing—to destroy our literary creations that way! It summoned us out of—what? Death?
Vanživotnog? Ne volim apstraktne stvari. Ne znam. Znam samo da su nas naši svetovi i naša dela pozvali i da smo pokušali da ih spasemo, i da je jedino što smo mogli da učinimo u tom spasavanju bilo da iščekamo jedno stoleće ovde na Marsu, u nadi da će se Zemlja možda preopteretiti tim naučnicima i njihovim sumnjama; ali sada oni dolaze da nas iščiste odavde, nas i naše mračne stvari, sve alhemičare, veštice, vampire i vukodlačiće koji su se, jedan po jedan, povlačili preko svemira kako je nauka prodirala kroz sve države na Zemlji ne ostavljajući konačno nikakav izbor uopšte osim sveopšteg odlaska sa Zemlje. Morate nam pomoći. Vi umete dobro da govorite. Potrebni ste nam."	The Beyond? I don’t like abstract things. I don’t know. I only know that our worlds and our creations called us and we tried to save them, and the only saving thing we could do was wait out the century here on Mars, hoping Earth might overweight itself with these scientists and their doubtings; but now they’re coming to clean us out of here, us and our dark things, and all the alchemists, witches, vampires, and were-things that, one by one, retreated across space as science made inroads through every country on Earth and finally left no alternative at all but exodus. You must help us. You have a good speaking manner. We need you.”
"Ponavljam, ja ne pripadam vama, ne odobravam vam, a ni ostalima", povika ljutito Dikens. "Ja se nisam igrao sa vešticama i vampirima i ponoćnim spodobama."	“I repeat, I am not of you, I don’t approve of you and the others,” cried Dickens angrily. “I was no player with witches and vampires and midnight things.”
"A Božična pesma?"	“What of A Christmas Carol?”
"Smešno! Jedna priča. A, napisao sam ja još nekoliko o duhovima, možda pa šta? U mojim glavnim delima nije bilo ništa od tih besmislica!"	“Ridiculous! One story. Oh, I wrote a few others about ghosts, perhaps, but what of that? My basic works had none of that nonsense!”
"Pogrešno ili ne, oni su vas svrstali sa nama. Uništili su i vaše knjige - vaše svetove. Morate ih mrzeti, gospodine Dikense!"	“Mistaken or not, they grouped you with us. They destroyed your books—your worlds too. You must hate them, Mr. Dickens!”
"Priznajem da su glupi i grubijani, ali to je sve. Do videnja!"	“I admit they are stupid and rude, but that is all. Good day!”
"Neka bar pođe gospodin Marli!"	“Let Mr. Marley come, at least!”
"Ne!"	“No!”
Vrata se zalupiše. Kada se Po okrete od vrata, ulicom, jedva dotičući smrznuto tle, sa kočijašem koji je svirao neku veselu ariju u rog, dolete velika kočija iz koje smejući se i pevajući poispadaše zacrveneli Pikvikovci koji stadoše da lupaju u vrata glasno uzvikujući Srećan Božić kada im debeli dečak otvori.	The door slammed. As Poe turned away, down the street, skimming over the frosty ground, the coachman playing a lively air on a bugle, came a great coach, out of which, cherry-red, laughing and singing, piled the Pickwickians, banging on the door, shouting Merry Christmas good and loud, when the door was opened by the fat boy.
Gospodin Po pohita ponoćnom obalom suvog mora. Zastajao je kod vatara i dimova, izvikivao naređenja, proveravao uzavrele kotlove, otrove i kredom iscrtane pentagrame. "Dobro!" govorio je i trčao dalje. "Fino!" vikao i opet trčao. Ljudi su mu prilazili i trčali s njim. Sada su sa njim trčali g. Kopard i g. Mačin. Tu su bile zmijurine pune mržnje, ljuti demoni i vatreni bronzani zmajevi, guje pljuvalice i drhturave veštice, kao i bodlje, koprive i trnje i sva ona gadna naplavina i krš od povučenog mora uobrazilje, sve ostavljeno na setnoj obali da cvili, baca penu i pljuje.	Mr. Poe hurried along the midnight shore of the dry sea. By fires and smoke he hesitated, to shout orders, to check the bubbling caldrons, the poisons and the chalked pentagrams. “Good!” he said, and ran on. “Fine!” he shouted, and ran again. People joined him and ran with him. Here were Mr. Coppard and Mr. Machen running with him now. And there were hating serpents and angry demons and fiery bronze dragons and spitting vipers and trembling witches like the barbs and nettles and thorns and all the vile flotsam and jetsam of the retreating sea of imagination, left on the melancholy shore, whining and frothing and spitting.
Gospodin Mečin stade. Sede kao dete na hladan pesak. Poče da jeca. Pokušaše da ga uteše, ali on nije hteo da sluša. "Samo sam pomislio", reče, "šta će se dogoditi sa nama onog dana kada poslednje od naših knjiga budu uništene?"	Mr. Machen stopped. He sat like a child on the cold sand. He began to sob. They tried to soothe him, but he would not listen. “I just thought,” he said. “What happens to us on the day when the last copies of our books are destroyed?”
Vazduh se okretao u kovitlac.	The air whirled.
"Ne govori o tome!"	“Don’t speak of it!”
"Moramo", cvileo je g. Mečin. "Sada, sada, kada se raketa spusti, vi, g. Po; ti, Koparde; ti, Birse - svi vi ćete iščileti. Kao dim. Otići ćete s vetrom. Lica će vam se rastopiti..."	“We must,” wailed Mr. Machen. “Now, now, as the rocket comes down, you, Mr. Poe; you, Coppard; you, Bierce—all of you grow faint. Like wood smoke. Blowing away. Your faces melt—”
"Smrt! Prava smrt za sve nas."	“Death! Real death for all of us.”
"Mi postojimo samo sa dozvolom Zemlje. Ako bi jedan konačan ukaz večeras uništio naših poslednjih nekoliko dela, bili bismo kao ugašena svetla."	“We exist only through Earth’s sufferance. If a final edict tonight destroyed our last few works we’d be like lights put out.”
Kopard je tiho razmišljao. "Pitam se ko sam ja. U kakvoj glavi na Zemlji postojim ja noćas? U nekoj afričkoj kolibi? U nekom pustinjaku koji čita moje priče? Je li on-ona usamljena sveća na vetru vremena i nauke? Svetlucavi krug koji me održava ovde u buntovnom izgnanstvu? Je li to on? Ili neki dečak na napuštenom tavanu, koji me pronalazi u poslednjem trenutku! Oh, prošle noći sam se osećao bolestan, bolestan, bolestan do srži svoje, jer postoji telo duše kao i telo tela, i to dušino telo bolelo me je kroz onako svetlo, i prošle noći osetio sam se kao sveća, topio sam se. Tada sam odjednom skočio, dobio novu svetlost! Kada je neko dete, kijajući od prašine, u nekoj žućkastoj sobici na Zemlji još jednom našlo jedan moj pohaban primerak, sa mrljama od vremena! Tako sam dobio kratko odlaganje!"	Coppard brooded gently. “I wonder who I am. In what Earth mind tonight do I exist? In some African hut? Some hermit, reading my tales? Is he the lonely candle in the wind of time and science? The flickering orb sustaining me here in rebellious exile? Is it him? Or some boy in a discarded attic, finding me, only just in time! Oh, last night I felt ill, ill, ill to the marrows of me, for there is a body of the soul as well as a body of the body, and this soul body ached in all of its glowing parts, and last night I felt myself a candle, guttering. When suddenly I sprang up, given new light! As some child, sneezing with dust, in some yellow garret on Earth once more found a worn, time-specked copy of me! And so I’m given a short respite!”
Na jednoj kolibici uz obalu s treskom se otvoriše vrata. Napolje kroči tanak čovečuljak sa mesom koje je visilo sa njega u naborima, i, ne obraćajući pažnju na druge, sede i zablenu se u svoje stisnute pesnice.	A door banged wide in a little hut by the shore. A thin short man, with flesh hanging from him in folds, stepped out and, paying no attention to the others, sat down and stared into his clenched fists.
"Eno ga onaj koga žalim", prošapta Blekvud. "Gledajte ga kako odumire. Nekada je bio stvarniji od nas, koji smo bili ljudi. Uzeli su ga, golu ideju, i stolećima ga oblačili u ružičasto meso i snežnu bradu, u crveni somotski ogrtač i crne čizme; dodali mu jelene, šljokice, zimzelene grančice. I pošto su ga tako vekovima izrađivali, udavili ga u kazanu sa lizolom, moglo bi se reći."	“There’s the one I’m sorry for,” whispered Blackwood. “Look at him, dying away. He was once more real than we, who were men. They took him, a skeleton thought, and clothed him in centuries of pink flesh and snow beard and red velvet suit and black boot; made him reindeers, tinsel, holly. And after centuries of manufacturing him they drowned him in a vat of Lysol, you might say.”
Ljudi su ćutali.	The men were silent.
"Kako li mora biti na Zemlji?" pitao se Po. "Bez Božića? Nema vrućih kestenova, nema jelke, nema ukrasa, ni doboša, ni sveća - ničega; ničega osim snega i vetra i usamljenih, stvarnih ljudi..."	“What must it be on Earth?” wondered Poe. “Without Christmas? No hot chestnuts, no tree, no ornaments or drums or candles—nothing; nothing but the snow and wind and the lonely, factual people. . . .”
Svi su gledali u mršavog malog starca sa zamršenom bradom i izbledelom odećom od crvenog somota.	They all looked at the thin little old man with the scraggly beard and faded red velvet suit.
"Jeste li čuli njegovu priču?"	“Have you heard his story?”
"Mogu da je zamislim. Psihijatar usjaktelih očiju, promućurni sociolog, zlovoljni stručnjak za obrazovanje sa penom na ustima, antiseptični roditelji..."	“I can imagine it. The glitter-eyed psychiatrist, the clever sociologist, the resentful, froth-mouthed educationalist, the antiseptic parents——”
"Žalosna situacija", reče Birs smeškajući se, "za trgovce o Božićnim praznicima koji su, tamo negde pred kraj, kako se sećam, počinjali da meću zimzelen i pevaju Božićne pesme dan uoči Svih svetih. Ako su imali i malo sreće, ove godine su mogli početi na Dan rada!" U većini država SAD i u Kanadi, zvaničan praznik, prvobitno određen za proslavu rada, obično prvi ponedeljak u septembru; prim. prev.	“A regrettable situation,” said fierce, smiling, “for the Yuletide merchants who, toward the last there, as I recall, were beginning to put up holly and sing Noel the day before Halloween. With any luck at all this year they might have started on Labor Day!”
Birs ne nastavi. Pade ničice uz uzdah. Ležeći na tlu imao je vremena samo da kaže: "Što je zanimljivo." I onda, dok su oni svi gledali, prestravljeni, njegovo telo sagore u plav prah i ugljenisane kosti, čiji se pepeo razlete kroz vazduh u crnim krpicama.	Bierce did not continue. He fell forward with a sigh. As he lay upon the ground he had time to say only, “How interesting.” And then, as they all watched, horrified, his body burned into blue dust and charred bone, the ashes of which fled through the air in black tatters.
"Birse, Birse!"	“Bierce, Berce!”
"Ode!"	“Gone!”

"Nestala mu je poslednja knjiga. Neko na Zemlji ju je baš sada spalio."	“His last book gone. Someone on Earth just now burned it.”
"Bog neka mu da počinka. Od njega sada ništa nije ostalo. Jer šta smo mi nego knjige, i kada one nestanu, više nema ničega."	“God rest him. Nothing of him left now. For what are we but books, and when those are gone, nothing’s to be seen.”
Prodoran zvuk ispuni nebo.	A rushing sound filled the sky.
Stadoše da viču, prestrašeni, i pogledaše uvis. Na nebu je bila raketa, zasenjujući ga praskavim oblacima vatre! Oko ljudi na obali mora zaigraše fenjeri; začu se cviljenje i klokotanje, uz oštar miris varenih čini. Tikve sa izrezanim očima i zapaljenim svećama podigoše se u hladan bistar vazduh. Mršavi prsti stisnuše se u pesnice, a jedna veštica zavrišta iz svojih usahlih usta:	They cried out, terrified, and looked up. In the sky, dazzling it with sizzling fire clouds, was the rocket! Around the men on the seashore lanterns bobbed; there was a squealing and a bubbling and an odor of cooked spells. Candle-eyed pumpkins lifted into the cold clear air. Thin fingers clenched into fists and a witch screamed from her withered mouth:
"Brode, brode, razbij se, padni!	“Ship, ship, break, fall!
Izgori ceo, brode gadni!	Ship, ship, burn all!
Krckaj, drmaj, da se slije!	Crack, flake, shake, melt!
Krzno mačje, prah mumije!"	Mummy dust, cat pelt!”
"Vreme je da idemo", promrmlja Blekvud. "Dalje na Jupiter, na Saturn ili Pluton."	“Time to go,” murmured Blackwood. “On to Jupiter, on to Saturn or Pluto.”
"Da bežimo?" uzviknu Po kroz vetar. "Nikada!"	“Run away?” shouted Poe in the wind. “Never!”
"Ja sam umoran star čovek!"	“I’m a tired old man!”
Po se zagleda u starčevo lice i poverova mu. Pope se svrh jednog ogromnog izvaljenog kamena i stade ispred deset hiljada sivih senki, zelenih svetlosti i žutih očiju na šištavom vetru.	Poe gazed into the old man’s face and believed him. He climbed atop a huge boulder and faced the ten thousand gray shadows and green lights and yellow eyes on the hissing wind.
"Prahovi!" povika.	“The powders!” he shouted.
Gust vreo miris gorkog badema, cimeta, kima, semena protiv glista i perunike!	A thick hot smell of bitter almond, civet, cumin, wormseed and orris!
Raketa je silazila - silazila sigurno, sa krikom duha prokletog! Po je besneo na raketu. Podiže pesnice uvis, i orkestar vreline, zadaha i mržnje odgovori simfonijom! Kao cepčice drveta, slepi miševi sunuše uvis! Srca u plamenu, zavitlana kao projektili, prskala su krvavim vatrometom u nagorelom vazduhu. Raketa je silazila sve niže i niže, neumoljivo nadole, kao klatno. A Po je arlaukao, razbesnelo, i uzmicao sa svakim novim zamahom rakete koja je sekla i pustošila vazduh! Čitavo mrtvo more činilo se kao jama u kojoj oni, uzamčeni, čekaju spuštanje stravične mašine, sjajnog sečiva; kao ljudi pod lavinom!	The rocket came down—steadily down, with the shriek of a damned spirit! Poe raged at it! He flung his fists up and the orchestra of heat and smell and hatred answered in symphony! Like stripped tree fragments, bats flew upward! Burning hearts, flung like missiles, burst in bloody fireworks on the singed air. Down, down, relentlessly down, like a pendulum the rocket came. And Poe howled, furiously, and shrank back with every sweep and sweep of the rocket cutting and ravening the air! All the dead sea seemed a pit in which, trapped, they waited the sinking of the dread machinery, the glistening ax; they were people under the avalanche!
"Zmije!" vrisnu Po.	“The snakes!” screamed Poe.
I svetlucave zmije sa vijugavim zelenim šarama ustremiše se prema raketi. Ali ona se spusti sa širokim zamahom, bljujući vatru, i leže izduvavajući crveno perje na pesak, na milju od njih.	And luminous serpentines of undulant green hurtled toward the rocket. But it came down, a sweep, a fire, a motion, and it lay panting out exhaustions of red plumage on the sand, a mile away.
"Na nju!" drečao je Po. "Menjamo plan! Imamo samo jednu šansu! Trk! Na nju! Na nju! Da ih podavimo našim telima! Da ih poubijamo!"	“At it!” shrieked Poe. “The plan’s changed! Only one chance! Run! At it! At it! Drown them with our bodies! Kill them!”
I kao da je kakvom silovitom moru naredio da promeni pravac, da se isisa iz svojih praiskonskih korita, preko morskog peska raširi se i krenu vatra u kovitlacima kao vetar i kiša i munja, duž praznih rečnih delta, uz igranje senki i vrištanje, zviždeći i cvileći, pucketajući praskajući i spajajući se u jedno ka raketi koja je, ugašena, ležala kao čista metalna baklja u udaljenoj šupljini. Kao da se prevrnuo veliki začađen kotao varničave lave, a sprženi ljudi i međusobno izujedane životinje sterani niz sasušene zidove provalija.	And as if he had commanded a violent sea to change its course, to suck itself free from primeval beds, the whirls and savage gouts of fire spread and ran like wind and rain and stark lightning over the sea sands, down empty river deltas, shadowing and screaming, whistling and whining, sputtering and coalescing toward the rocket which, extinguished, lay like a clean metal torch in the farthest hollow. As if a great charred caldron of sparkling lava had been overturned, the boiling people and snapping animals churned down the dry fathoms.
"Ubijajte ih!" vrištao je Po u trku.	“Kill them!” screamed Poe, running.
Ljudi iz rakete poiskakaše sa svog broda, sa puškama na gotovs. Šunjali su se, njušeći vazduh kao lovački psi. Ne zapaziše ništa. Laknu im.	The rocket men leaped out of their ship, guns ready. They stalked about, sniffing the air like hounds. They saw nothing. They relaxed.
Kapetan siđe poslednji. Izdavao je odsečne naredbe. Nakupiše drva, potpališe ih, i vatra se razbukta za tren oka. Kapetan sakupi ljude u polukrug oko sebe.	The captain stepped forth last. He gave sharp commands. Wood was gathered, kindled, and a fire leapt up in an instant. The captain beckoned his men into a half circle about him.
"Nov svet", reče, sileći se da govori neusiljeno, mada je svaki čas nervozno bacao pogled iza leđa na prazno more. "Stari svet smo ostavili. Nov početak. Počinje novo. Ima li veće simbolike od ove kada se mi ovde još odlučnije posvećujemo nauci i progresu." Škrto klimnu glavom svom poručniku. "Knjige."	“A new world,” he said, forcing himself to speak deliberately, though he glanced nervously, now and again, over his shoulder at the empty sea. “The old world left behind. A new start. What more symbolic than that we here dedicate ourselves all the more firmly to science and progress.” He nodded crisply to his lieutenant. “The books.”
Svetlost vatre je igrala po izbledelim pozlaćenim naslovima: Vrbe, Autsajder, Posmatraj, Snevač, Dr. Džekil i g. Hajd, Zemlja Oz, Pelusidar, Zemlja koju je zaboravilo vreme, San letnje noći, i po čudovišnim imenima Mečina i Edgara Alana Poa, Kabela, Dansanija, Blekvuda i Luisa Karola; imena, stara imena, zla imena.	Firelight limned the faded gilt titles: The Willows, The Outsider, Behold, The Dreamer, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Land of Oz, Pellucidar, The Land That Time Forgot A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the monstrous names of Machen and Edgar Allan Poe and Cabell and Dunsany and Blackwood and Lewis Carroll; the names, the old names, the evil names.
"Nov svet. Jednim pokretom ruke, spalićemo poslednje što je ostalo od starog." Kapetan stade da cepa stranice iz knjiga. Bacao je u vatru sasušen list po list.	“A new world. With a gesture, we burn the last of the old.” The captain ripped pages from the books. Leaf by seared leaf, he fed them into the fire.
Vrisak!	A scream!
Odskočivši unazad, ljudi su gledali preko svetlosti vatre u ivice ogromnog i nenastanjenog mora.	Leaping back, the men stared beyond the firelight at the edges of the encroaching and uninhabited sea.
Još jedan vrisak, visok i zavijajući, kao od aždaje na izdisaju ili od bronzano crvenog kita koji udara repom o zemlju ostavljen da zeva na suvom kada se vode đavoljeg mora povuku preko kamenjara i ispare.	Another scream! A high and wailing thing, like the death of a dragon and the thrashing of a bronzed whale left gasping when the waters of a leviathan’s sea drain down the shingles and evaporate.
To je bio zvuk vazduha koji hrli da ispuni prazan prostor u kojem je, trenutak pre toga, bilo nešto! Kapetan pedantno završi sa poslednjom knjigom stavljajući je u vatru.	It was the sound of air rushing in to fill a vacuum, where, a moment before, there had been something! The captain neatly disposed of the last book by putting it into the fire.
Vazduh prestade da treperi. Tišina!	The air stopped quivering. Silence!

Raketaši se nagnuše i stadoše "Kapetane, jeste li čuli?"	The rocket men leaned and listened. “Captain, did you hear it?”
"Ne."	“No.”
"Kao talas, gospodine. Na dnu mora! Mislim da sam nešto video. Tamo. Jedan crn talas. Veliki. Jurio je na nas."	“Like a wave, sir. On the sea bottom! I thought I saw something. Over there. A black wave. Big. Running at us.”
"Pogrešio si."	“You were mistaken.”
"Tamo, gospodine!"	“There, sir!”
"Šta?"	“What?”
"Vidite ga? Tamo! Grad! Tamo preko! Onaj zeleni grad blizu jezera! Rascepljuje se na pola. Ruši se!"	“See it? There! The city! Way over! That green city near the lake! It’s splitting in half. It’s falling!”
Ljudi začkiljiše i sunuše napred.	The men squinted and shuffled forward.
Smit je stajao među njima i drhtao. Stavi šaku na glavu kao da bi da tamo pronađe neku misao. "Sećam se. Da, sada se sećam. Davno je to bilo. Kada sam bio dete. Jedna knjiga koju sam čitao. Jedna priča. Oz, mislim da je bio. Jeste, Oz. Smaragdni grad Oz..."	Smith stood trembling among them. He put his hand to his head as if to find a thought there. “I remember. Yes, now I do. A long time back. When I was a child. A book I read. A story. Oz, I think it was. Yes, Oz. The Emerald City of Oz . . .”
"Oz? Nikad nisam čuo."	“Oz? Never heard of it.”
"Jeste, Oz, to je bilo to. Sad sam ga baš video, kao u priči. Video sam kako se ruši."	“Yes, Oz, that’s what it was. I saw it just now, like in the story. I saw it fall.”
"Smite!"	“Smith!”
"Da. gospodine?"	“Yes, sir?”
"Javi se sutra za psihoanalizu."	“Report for psychoanalysis tomorrow.”
"Razumem, gospodine!" Odsečan vojnički pozdrav.	“Yes, sir!” A brisk salute.
"Čuvaj se."	“Be careful.”
Na vrhovima prstiju, sa uperenim puškama, ljudi izađoše izvan kruga aseptične svetlosti broda, da osmatraju izduženo more i niska brda.	The men tiptoed, guns alert, beyond the ship’s aseptic light to gaze at the long sea and the low hills.
"Ma", prošapta Smit, razočaran, "ovde uopšte nema nikoga, je l' tako? Nikoga uopšte."	“Why,” whispered Smith, disappointed, “there’s no one here at all, is there? No one here at all.”
Vetar mu je cvileći nanosio pesak preko cipela.	The wind blew sand over his shoes, whining.

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