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Pole November 1941

Die seun in 'n pet van lap en verslete skoene was uitgeput en uitasem. Die dagbreek breek toe hy hygend agter 'n omgevalle boom lê, skaars in die dik bosveld wat 'n leë koeiveld omring, ver van die stad vanwaar hy gevlug het. Die Duitse troepe, sommige so jonk soos hy, het al lankal al die vee geslag. Hulle het dit met meer sorg gedoen as wat hulle die mans van sy dorp geslag het. Hulle sou die koeie geëet het of hul kwota na die Russiese front gestuur het.
 
•1•

Poland November 1941

The boy in a cloth cap and worn-out shoes was worn out and out of breath. The dawn was breaking as he lay panting behind a fallen tree barely inside the thick woodlands that surrounded an empty cow field far from the city from which he'd fled. The German troops, some as young as he, had long since slaughtered all the cattle. They'd done so with more care than they'd used to butcher the men of his village. They'd have eaten the cows or shipped their quota to the Russian front.  

Die seun het die Ghetto waarheen hy vervoer is, ontsnap met sy hoë, haastig geboude drie en 'n half meter hoë mure met gebreekte glas daarop. Hy het deur vuil rioolwater en ondergrondse kanale van Warskou gekruip. Hy het weggekruip in uitgebrande winkels en kantore van sy neefs en ooms in die stad, elkeen nou dood of die wit armband gedra met 'n blou ster.
 
•2•
The boy had escaped the Ghetto to which he'd been transported with its high, hastily built three and a half meter high walls topped with broken glass. He had crawled through filthy sewers and underground canals of Warsaw. He hid in burned-out shops and offices of his city cousins and uncles, each now dead or wearing the white armband emblazoned with a blue star.
 

Hy dink aan die ster en die armband terwyl hy daar lê. Haat dit en is mal daaroor. Dit het hom en sy wil om te oorleef gedefinieer. Haat dit omdat hy hom as die gejag aangedui het. Hy het dit van sy jas afgeskeur en 'n oorblyfsel van verskillende kleure draadjies as bewys gelaat.
 
•3•
He thought on that star and armband as he lay there. Hated it and loved it. It defined him and his will to survive. Hated it for marking him as the hunted. He'd torn it off his coat, leaving as evidence a vestige of different colored thread.
 

'n Eekhoring, nie tien meter dieper die bos in as die seun nie, het vry en onversorgend gespeel terwyl hy vreugdevol van boom tot boom spring. Die seun het gewens dat hy ook vry sou wees. Die eekhoring vries, klou skielik aan die bas van die boom vas, sy pels is 'n byna perfekte kamoefleer, oë versigtig, spiere stywer as die snare op sy oom Mordegai se viool.
 
•4•
A squirrel, not ten meters deeper into the woods than the boy, played free and uncaring as it leaped joyously from tree to tree. The boy wished he were free also. The squirrel froze, suddenly clinging to the bark of the tree, its fur a near-perfect camouflage, eyes wary, muscles tighter than the strings on his uncle Mordecai's violin.
 

'n Haasgeluid kom met sulke plotseling, 'n swaaiende geluid soos 'n swaar koeël van ver af. Dit het hom geskrik; vrees styg van diep in sy leë maag en vul die agterkant van sy keel met bitter gal. Duisend gedagtes storm in sy gedagtes op. Moet hy hardloop of verborge bly. Sou hy met minder sorg as 'n koei in 'n veld geskiet of gemartel of doodgemaak word?
 
•5•
A rushing sound came with such suddenness, a swishing sound like a heavy bullet fired from afar. It startled him; fear rose from deep in his empty stomach filling the back of his throat with bitter gall. A thousand thoughts rushed into his mind. Should he run or stay hidden. Would he be shot or tortured or killed with less care than a cow in a field?
 

Onbewustelik lig hy sy hand bo die dik stam waaragter hy lê. Die vlerk van 'n valk swiep laag oor die stomp. Die wind van die valk se vlerke streel oor die uitgestrekte vingers van die seun terwyl hy met 'n woeste skoonheid na sy prooi vlieg, en sy groot kloue strek vooruit vir die moord. Met 'n skielike kundigheid wat slegs gebore is uit 'n oer-instinktiewe verskrikking, het die eekhoring gespring en agteruit beweeg. Dit het ontsnap van die sekere pyn van gevangenskap of onmiddellike dood. Byna so vinnig as wat die oog kon sien, het die eekhoring 'n skynbaar onmoontlike gaping oorbrug en die swaartekrag trotseer tot die veiligheid van 'n verlate spechtnes in een van die naburige bome.
 
•6•
Unconsciously he'd raised his hand above the thick trunk behind which he lay. The wing of a hawk swooped low over the log. The wind from the hawk's wings caressing the boy's outstretched fingers as it expertly flew with savage beauty towards its prey, its great talons stretching forward for the kill. With sudden expertise born only of a primeval instinctive terror, the squirrel leaped and somersaulted backward. It escaped from the certain pain of capture or instant death. Almost as fast as the eye could see, the squirrel bridged a seemingly impossible gap, defying gravity to the safety of an abandoned woodpecker's nest in one of the neighboring trees.
 

Die valk het gefrustreerd op 'n nabygeleë tak gerus, met sy kop wat links en regs draai en sy prooi soek. 'n Vlugveer wat in die konflik losgeraak is, het losgebars en saggies na die bosvloer gewapper. Die valk het skielik opgehou om direk na 'n gesig te kyk wat voorlopig uit sy verafgeleë swart hawe kyk. Dit staar en staar asof die eekhoring bereid is om toe te gee aan die wil van die jagter.
 
•7•
The hawk rested frustrated on a nearby branch, its head swiveling left and right, searching out its prey. A flight feather loosened in the conflict broke free and fluttered gently to the forest floor. The hawk suddenly ceased its search to stare directly at a face peeping tentatively out its distant black haven. It stared and stared as if willing the squirrel to give in to the will of the hunter.
 

Die seun, verlore in die drama van die oomblik, was traag om die geluide van agtervolging in te neem. Toe hy dit doen, vlug die valk hoog in die boomtoppe. Die geluide van geskree bevele en baaihonde het harder en nader geword.
 
•8•
The boy, lost in the drama of the moment, was slow to take in the sounds of pursuit. When he did, the hawk took flight high in the treetops. The sounds of shouted commands and baying dogs grew louder, nearer.
 

Die jagters van mans was nog ver weg. Hardloop of wegsteek? Hy hardloop en buk net om die gevalle veer op te tel. Dieper in die bos verdwyn die geluide van strewe. Hoog bo en sonder om die seun te ken, het die valk ongemaklik gevlieg en uitgestrekte boomlemmetjies gesweer en dieselfde spoor gevolg asof hy die verlore veer wou haal.
 
•9•
The hunters of men were still far away. Run or hide? He ran, stooping down only to pick up the fallen feather. Deeper in the woods now, the sounds of pursuit faded. High above and unbeknown to the boy, the hawk flew awkwardly, dodging outstretched tree limbs following the same track as if with intent to retrieve the lost feather.
 

Die seun voel vry, skielik vergeet hy die werklikheid, hardloop asof hy geheime speletjies speel tussen die bome van 'n gelukkige kinderjare wat verlore is. Hy hardloop, skiet van boom tot boom, maak asof dit 'n wegkruipertjie is, en verwag op enige oomblik 'n glimlaggende gesig om te roep: "Ek sien jou."
 
•10•
The boy felt free, suddenly forgetting reality, running as if playing secret games amongst the trees of a happy childhood lost. He ran, darting from tree to tree, pretending it was a game of hide-and-seek, expecting at any moment a smiling face to call out, "I see you."
 

'n Tak het hard gebars toe dit onder die voet van die seun gebreek het. Dit het hom teruggekeer na die werklikheid en skielike bewustheid. 'N Soldaat in die grys velduniform het hom verlig teen 'n ou boom, en sy geweer leun gemaklik op sy growwe bas. Hulle was nie meer as twaalf tree van mekaar af nie. By die skielike geluid draai die soldaat om en reik terselfdertyd na die geweer. Hy trek dit na sy skouer en skiet. Hy staan grootoog, verbaas oor sy eie reaksie, sy eerste ervaring van die geveg. By die beweging het die seun gespring. Die koeël ontplof in die bas van die boom waarteen hy oomblikke vantevore gedroom het. Hy het hom agteroor gestamp oor 'n uitstekende wortel. Hy beland in 'n onwaardige houding met die tone van sy verslete skoene na sy teëstander. Dit het hom op die grond laat sit, 'n arm agter hom wat sy bolyf regop gehou het, terwyl die ander een aan sy gedraaide enkel gryp - 'n perfekte teiken.
 
•11•
A branch cracked loud as it broke under the boy's foot. It returned him to reality and sudden awareness. A soldier in the grey field uniform had been relieving himself against an ancient tree, his rifle leaning casually on its rough bark. They were not more than twelve paces apart. At the sudden sound, the soldier spun around, reaching at the same time for the rifle. He drew it to his shoulder and fired. He stood wide-eyed, surprised at his own reaction, his first experience of battle. At the movement, the boy leaped. The bullet exploded into the bark of the tree against which he'd been daydreaming moments before. He tripped him backward over a protruding root. He landed in an undignified posture with the toes of his worn-out shoes pointing at his adversary. It left him sitting on the ground, an arm behind him holding his torso upright, the other grasping at his twisted ankle - a perfect target.
 

Elkeen het na die ander gestaar, onseker wat om te doen. Hulle was albei ongeveer sestien jaar oud.
 
•12•
Each stared at the other, unsure what to do. They were both about sixteen years of age.
 

Met nog oë wyd asof hy die dieptes van 'n grot in staar, laat sak die soldaat sy geweer. 'n Minuut het verbygegaan. Die jong Joodse seuntjie se bene begin hom pynlik agtertoe in 'n ongemaklike kolfskommeling te skop om weer sy voete te kry, gereed om te vlug. Skielik draai die jong asvaalgesig om en stap weg, die gedempte geluide van baaiende oorlogshonde hoorbaar.
 
•13•
With eyes still wide as if staring into the depths of a cave, the soldier lowered his rifle. A minute passed. The young Jewish boy's legs started scooting him painfully backward in an awkward butt-shuffle to then regain his feet, ready to flee. Suddenly the young ashen-faced soldier turned and walked away, the muted sounds of baying dogs of war just audible.
 

Vreesbevange en vlugtig wens hy is terug in die Ghetto, vries die seun, sit half en staan half verskrik.
 
•14•
Terrified and fleetingly wishing he was back in the Ghetto, the boy froze, half-sitting, half-standing in terror.
 

Die jong soldaat, nou 'n entjie verder, draai om en skiet. Toe hy sy geweer laat sak, val 'n valk en wapper in die doodsnikke aan die voete van die seun. Met die vlugveer nog in sy hand vasgevang, mank hy dieper die bos in en die vryheid in.
 
•15•
The young soldier, now some distance away, turned and shot. As he lowered his rifle, a hawk fell, fluttering in its death throes at the feet of the boy. With the flight feather still clutched in his hand, the boy limped deeper into the woods and freedom.
 

 


Missouri November 1971

'n Eekhoring, nie tien meter dieper die bos in as die takbokjagter nie, het vry en onversorgend gespeel terwyl hy vreugdevol van boom tot boom spring. Die jagter voel ook vry, nadat hy amper die aksent verloor het wat hom gedefinieer het as 'n immigrant van 'n jarelange ouderdom, van een wat nou in die kultuur van die Midde-Amerika geassimileer is.
 
•1•

Missouri November 1971

A squirrel, not ten yards deeper into the woods than the deer hunter, played free and uncaring as it leaped joyously from tree to tree. The hunter also felt free, having almost lost the accent that defined him as an immigrant of long-standing, of one now assimilated into the culture of mid-west America.
 

Die eekhoring het skielik gevries, vasgeklou aan die bas van die boom, sy pels 'n byna perfekte kamoefleer, oë versigtig, spiere styf.
 
•2•
The squirrel suddenly froze, clinging to the bark of the tree, its fur a near-perfect camouflage, eyes wary, muscles tight.
 

'n Stormgeluid kom met plotseling, 'n swaaiende geluid. Die jagter lig sy hand instinktief beskermend bo die dik stam waaragter hy sit. Vir 'n kort oomblik het die geluid 'n koue sweet van paniek van vrees op sy voorkop laat ontstaan, die begeerte om te hardloop, om weg te kruip ondanks die geweer wat hy gedra het.
 
•3•
A rushing sound came with suddenness, a swishing sound. The hunter instinctively raised his hand protectively above the thick trunk behind which he sat. For a brief moment, the sound raised a cold sweat of panic of fear on his brow, the desire to run, to hide despite the rifle he carried.
 

Die valk swaai laag en boog oor die houtstomp. Die wind van sy vlerke streel oor die jagter se uitgestrekte vingers terwyl hy met kundige wreedhede na sy prooi vlieg, en kloue strek vorentoe vir die moord. Met skielike kundigheid wat net met perfekte instinktiewe verskrikking gekom het, het die eekhoring wankelrig opgespring weg van die onvermydelike dood. Die valk, verbaas oor hierdie skynbaar maklike maaltyd, verloor sy fokus op sy taak en val 'n vlerk in die growwe bas van die boom. Dit het getuimel voordat dit genoeg vlugmomentum gekry het om 'n ledemaat te kry. Byna so vinnig as wat die oog kon sien, het die eekhoring 'n skynbaar onmoontlike gaping oorbrug wat die swaartekrag trotseer, en boom na boom gespring na die veiligheid van 'n verlate houtkapper se nes.
 
•4•
The hawk swooped low, arching over the log. The wind from its wings caressing the hunter's outstretched fingers as it flew with expert savagery towards its prey, talons stretching forward for the kill. With sudden expertise that came only with perfect instinctive terror, the squirrel leaped somersaulting backward away from the inevitable death. The hawk, surprised at this seemingly easy meal, lost focus on its task and crashed a wing into the rough bark of the tree. It tumbled before recovering enough flight momentum to gain hold of a limb. Almost as fast as the eye could see, the squirrel bridged a seemingly impossible gap defying gravity, leaped tree to tree to the safety of a distant abandoned woodpecker's nest.
 

Die verstomde valk het gefrustreerd op 'n nabygeleë tak gerus, met sy kop wat links en regs draai en sy prooi soek. 'n Vlugveer wat in die konflik van geweld losgemaak is, het losgebars en saggies na die bosvloer gewapper. Die valk draai sy soekende staar om direk na die jagter te kyk. Die jagter sien nie die valk op sy hoë sitplek nie, maar die veer in stadige beweging wat mettertyd agteruit geval het.
 
•5•
The stunned hawk rested frustrated on a nearby branch, its head swiveling left and right, searching out its prey. A flight feather loosened in the violence of conflict broke free and fluttered gently to the forest floor. The hawk turned its searching stare to face directly at the hunter. The hunter saw not the hawk on its lofty perch but the feather in slow motion that fell backward in time.