a illa do tesouro

Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17—, and go back to the time when my father kept the "Admiral Benbow " inn, and the brown old seaman, with the sabre cut, first took up his lodging under our roof.

I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulde rs of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid that he sang so often afterwards...

"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest...

!Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"

in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.

"This is a handy cove," says he, at length; "and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?"

My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.

"Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me. Here you, matey," he cried to the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up my chest, I'll stay here a bit," he continued. "I'm a plain man; rum and bacon and eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch ships off. What you mought call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I see what you're at—there;" and he threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold. "You can tell me when I've worked through that," says he, looking as fierce as a commander.

And, indeed, bad as his clothes were, and coarsely as he spoke, he had none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast; but seemed like a mate or skipper, accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at the "Royal George;" that he had inquired what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And that was all we could learn of our guest.

Treasure Island

 R. L. Stevenson

Publicado por primeira vez en Cassell and Company  en Londres 1883

Ilustracións: N.C. Wyeth

Téndome pedido o fidalgo Trealwney, o doutor Lipio ó fin, ocultando nada máis que a posición da illa (e iso só porque aínda queda alí parte do tesouro), tomo a pluma no ano de gracia de mil e setecentos e..., e volvo ós tempos de cando o meu pai rexentaba a “Pousada do Almirante Benbow” e se veu instalar baixo o noso teito un home de mar moreno e cun corte de sabre na cara.

Lémbroo coma se fose onte: atravesando o limiar da pousada, o seu arcón mariñeiro seguíndoo nun carriño de man. Era un tipo alto, forte, pesado, moreno cor de noz; traía unha trenciña esfregándoselle ó camiñar polos ombros ensebados de casaca azul; tiña as mans curtidas, cheas de cicatrices, con uñas negras e rotas; e un corte de sabre sulcándolle unha das faulas cun recordo branquicento, lívido, suxo... Lémbroo mirando a enseada en volta asubiando mentres miraba –para logo romper coa vella canción mariñeira que despois tantas veces nos cantaría...

“Quince homes sobre o arcón do morto...

¡Io-hó-hó, e unha botella de ron!”,

Con voz berrona, vella e desengonzada, que parecía mesmo afinada e estragada entre as barras do cabrestante. Daquela bateu á porta coa especie de bastón coma unha barra ferrada que traía e apareceu o meu vello, e o suxeito esixiu sen cerimonia un vaso de ron. E cando meu pai llo trouxo, bebeuno de vagar, coma se fose bo cantor, gustándoo e regustándoo, en canto pasaba a ollada dos cantís da costa ó letreiro da nosa hospedería.

    -Velaí unha baía xeitosiña, si señor, -dixo logo o fulano- e unha taberna ben situada. ¿E ten moita parroquia, patrón?

Meu pai respondeulle que non; había poucos fregueses; tan poucos que ata daba pena.

    -Ben, entón este é o meu ancoradoiro... Ei, compañeiro. –Berroume ó rapaz que lle empuxara o carriño-. Acércate e súbeme o cofre. Vou quedar por aquí un pedazo. –E continuo para nós:- Eu sonlles un tipo fácil se contentar; ron e touciño con ovos é todo, e un altiño coma aquel de alí para mira-los barcos saír... ¿E como me han de chamar? Pódenme chamar capitán... Oh xa vexo que... Velaí... –Deixou caer tres ou catro pezas de ouro na pedra do limiar-. Váiame dicindo cando eses cartos de lle acaban –soltoulle ó meu pai con aires altivos de xefe supremo.

E realmente, a pesar da ruína da súa roupa e do xeito basto de falar, non parecía ter navegado como mariñeiro común senón como oficial ou patrón, afeito a ser obedecido ou dar pau. O mozo que lle trouxo os trastes contounos que a dilixencia o deixara na mañá anterior diante da “Hospedería Real”; que preguntara que pousadas había ó longo da costa, e, oíndo falar ben da nosa, e como –supoño- lle dixeron que quedaba afastada, escolléraa como lugar de residencia: Isto foi canto puidemos saber do noso hóspede.

A Illa do Tesouro

Traducido por Xavier Alcalá

Publicado en edicións xerais de Galicia en Vigo 1984

Ilustracións: Mervyn Peake