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Thursday, November 20, 2008
The Troy Burroghs: The Thief [Now in English and Spanish]By: Dennis Siluk
The Troy Burroghs Adventures
[Impressionist-Traveler]
The Thief
You just never know what is around the corner on this planet do yah. I was somewhere in Boston I think, I think I was a little out of it, you know, drunk and found myself in another town, place, kind of like a Giant Black-Out, anyways here I am at the mission, and I got to eat, got some sleeping gear here also, I put it over in the corner for the moment, found myself in an earthquake looking at someone from across the table, the building’s shaking.
A thought went through my mind: go outside, and so I did, I found a money clip with some money in it, my hands a little nervous, I quietly put it in my pocket, a black guy saw me do it. I checked out my pocket again yaw it’s there. I had two sets of keys, where did I get them I ask myself. I don’t have a car to drive. This is weird. I then gave the black guy one of the two money clips I found in my pocket. Yup, I had two of each, money clips and sets of keys: weird things happen in my life I’ll tell you. I must have found them somewhere (I’m talking to myself I think). I remember the one money clip, I kind of stole it, back in the old days, in my old neighborhood, back in the early or mid 60s we called it scarfed it: there’s no such word but I didn’t know that back then, I mean it’s not in the dictionary—the ‘ed’ part of it anyhow; let’s see now, where was I (?): you know, I found it, them in my pocket. As I was about to say, I gave one of the money clips with some money in it to the black guy. He looked desperate, like me I suppose.
You know, we get our good and bad days; this is a bad one. I now took out one set of keys and threw them into the street, as I stood along side of this building.
Now I heard a cop’s voice say:
“Who threw those keys, they belong…” that is all I could hear. The black guy looked at me, threw the money clip on the ground with $5.00 in it, and hi-tailed it out the back way up a hill. I figured dandy, I’m standing here and he scoots to who know where.
I stood there for a moment, then said to myself,
“Guilty or not guilty, get your ass moving, if the black guy did, he knows, get going: they got these build in antennas you know, and they are better than radar…” and I hi-tailed it around several street corners—dodging incoming rounds as if I was in Vietnam.
I had escaped, not sure what, but I suppose: being suspicious and being interrogated; then I heard the cops found the black guy and questioned him, he had a record but I didn’t, therefore they couldn’t find me; didn’t know my name, nor did the black guy. No one knew me from Eve, I mean Adam; nor did the people at the mission, where I had supper. I think the world is coming to an end.
Written: 11/2002/Revised and reedited 1/7/2006; the writer was in Boston, in l969, just for a few days, on his way to Germany, and thereafter, to Vietnam.
In Spanish
Translated by Nancy Penaloza
Las Aventuras de Troy Burroghs (viajero impresionista)
El Ladrón
Ud. Justo nunca sabe lo que hay a la vuelta de la esquina en este planeta ¿verdad? Yo estaba en algún sitio en Boston, creo, Pienso que estaba un poco fuera de esto, Ud. sabe, ebrio y encontrándome en otra ciudad, lugar, una clase de amnesia gigantesca, de cualquier manera aquí yo estoy en la misión, y conseguí para comer, conseguí alguna ropa de dormir allí también, lo puse en la esquina por el momento, encontrándome en un terremoto mirando a alguien a través de la mesa, los edificios sacudiéndose.
Un pensamiento vino a mi mente: ve afuera, y así lo hice, encontré un sujetador de billetes con algo de dinero en el, mis manos un poco nerviosas, discretamente lo puse en mi bolsillo, un muchacho negro me vio hacerlo, yo comprobé mi bolsillo nuevamente, yaw esto esta allí. Yo tenía dos juegos de llaves, donde los conseguí me pregunte. No tengo ningún carro para conducir, esto es extraño. Luego yo di al muchacho negro uno de los dos sujetadores de dinero que yo encontré en mi bolsillo. Yup, yo tuve dos de cada uno, sujetador de dinero y juego de llaves: cosas extrañas suceden en mi vida te diré. Yo debo haberlos encontrado en algún sitio (estoy hablando conmigo mismo pienso). Yo recuerdo uno de los sujetadores de dinero, una especie de faja. Atrás en los viejos tiempos, en mi antiguo vecindario, atrás en los tempranos o a mediados de los años 60 nosotros los llamábamos scarfed it. No hay tal palabra, pero yo no lo sabia entonces, pienso que no esta en el diccionario- la parte “ed” de esto, de todas maneras, déjame ver ahora, donde estaba yo (¿): tu sabes, los encontré en mi bolsillo, como estaba a punto de decir, le di, uno de los sujetadores de dinero con algún dinero en el, al muchacho negro, el miro desesperado como yo, supongo.
Tu sabes, nosotros tenemos nuestros buenos y malos días, este es uno de los malos, yo ahora, saco un juego de llaves y los tiro a la calle, mientras yo permanezco a lo largo de este edificio.
Ahora escucho la vos del policía diciendo:
“Quien tiro esas llaves, ellos pertenecen” eso es todo lo que pude oír. El muchacho negro me miro, tiro el sujetador de dinero en el piso con $5.00 dólares en el, y huyo agachado por el camino trasero hacia el cerro. Me imagino afectado, yo estoy permaneciendo aquí y el se escabulle a quien sabe donde.
Yo permanecí allí por un momento, luego me dije a mi mismo,
“Culpable o no culpable, consigue mover el culo, si el muchacho negro lo hizo, el sabe, muevete: ellos consiguieron fabricar antenas tu sabes, y ellos son mejores que un radar” y yo agachado alrededor varias calles esquivando esquinas entrantes de ida y vuelta como si estuviera en Vietnam.
Yo había escapado, no seguro de que, pero lo supuse: siendo sospechoso y siendo interrogado: luego oí que los policías encontraron al muchacho negro y lo interrogaron, el tenia un record, pero yo no, sin embargo, ellos no pudieron encontrarme; no conocían mi nombre, ni el muchacho negro. Nadie me conocía desde Eva, pienso Adán; ni la gente en la misión, donde yo había cenado. Yo pienso que el mundo esta llegando a su fin.
Escrito: 11/2002/ Revisado y reeditado 1/7/2006; el escritor estuvo en Boston, en 1969, justo por pocos días, en su camino hacia Alemania, y de allí, hacia Vietnam.
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See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
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