Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), moito tempo un maldito, escribiu, entre outras cousas, numerosas historias curtas ou contos, precursor da literatura de terror e das historias de detectives.
"The Tell-Tale Heart" é unha desas historias que ten inspirado, á súa vez, outras historias, películas, obras de teatro, adaptacións de teatro e na radio ...
temos o texto completo desta historia ... comeza así:
TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had
been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my
senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing
acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things
in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I
can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea
entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there
was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me.
He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his
eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale
blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and
so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old
man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad.
Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how
wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what
dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during
the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the
latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an
opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so
that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have
laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very
slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to
place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay
upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my
head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously - oh, so cautiously - cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single
thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every
night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was
impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil
Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke
courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he
had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man,
indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him
while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than
usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly
than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers,
of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that
there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my
secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard
me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I
drew back - but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness
(for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew
that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on
steadily, steadily.
un "postre" ... unha curta animada de 1953
