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City Of Glass - New York Trilogy #1, City of Glass - CD 02 parte I (2)

City of Glass - CD 02 parte I (2)

The counterman shook his head. “First two times up, Kingman hits solo shots,” he said. “Boom, boom. Big mothers—all the way to the moon. Jones is pitching good for once and things don't look too bad. It's two to one, bottom of the ninth. Pittsburgh gets men on second and third, one out, so the Mets go to the bullpen for Allen. He walks the next guy to load them up. The Mets bring the corners in for a force at home, or maybe they can get the double play if it's hit up the middle. Peña comes up and chicken-shits a little grounder to first and the fucker goes through Kingman's legs. Two men score, and that's it, bye-bye New York.”

“Dave Kingman is a turd,” said Quinn, biting into his hamburger.

“But watch out for Foster,” said the counterman.

“Foster's washed up. A has-been. A mean-faced bozo.” Quinn chewed his food carefully, feeling with his tongue for stray bits of bone. “They should ship him back to Cincinnati by express mail.”

“Yeah,” said the counterman. “But they'll be tough. Better than last year, anyway.”

“I don't know,” said Quinn, taking another bite. “It looks good on paper, but what do they really have? Stearns is always getting hurt. They have minor leaguers at second and short, and Brooks can't keep his mind on the game. Mookie's good, but he's raw, and they can't even decide who to put in right. There's still Rusty, of course, but he's too fat to run anymore. And as for the pitching, forget it. You and I could go over to Shea tomorrow and get hired as the top two starters.”

“Maybe I make you the manager,” said the counterman. “You could tell those fuckers where to get off.”

“You bet your bottom dollar,” said Quinn.

After he finished eating, Quinn wandered over to the stationery shelves. A shipment of new notebooks had come in, and the pile was impressive, a beautiful array of blues and greens and reds and yellows. He picked one up and saw that the pages had the narrow lines he preferred. Quinn did all his writing with a pen, using a typewriter only for final drafts, and he was always on the lookout for good spiral notebooks. Now that he had embarked on the Stillman case, he felt that a new notebook was in order. It would be helpful to have a separate place to record his thoughts, his observations, and his questions. In that way, perhaps, things might not get out of control.

He looked through the pile, trying to decide which one to pick. For reasons that were never made clear to him, he suddenly felt an irresistible urge for a particular red notebook at the bottom. He pulled it out and examined it, gingerly fanning the pages with his thumb. He was at a loss to explain to himself why he found it so appealing. It was a standard eight-and-a-half-by-eleven notebook with one hundred pages. But something about it seemed to call out to him—as if its unique destiny in the world was to hold the words that came from his pen. Almost embarrassed by the intensity of his feelings, Quinn tucked the red notebook under his arm, walked over to the cash register, and bought it.

Back in his apartment a quarter of an hour later, Quinn removed the photograph of Stillman and the check from his jacket pocket and placed them carefully on his desk. He cleared the debris from the surface—dead matches, cigarette butts, eddies of ash, spent ink cartridges, a few coins, ticket stubs, doodles, a dirty handkerchief—and put the red notebook in the center. Then he drew the shades in the room, took off all his clothes, and sat down at the desk. He had never done this before, but it somehow seemed appropriate to be naked at this moment. He sat there for twenty or thirty seconds, trying not to move, trying not to do anything but breathe. Then he opened the red notebook. He picked up his pen and wrote his initials, D.Q. (for Daniel Quinn), on the first page. It was the first time in more than five years that he had put his own name in one of his notebooks. He stopped to consider this fact for a moment but then dismissed it as irrelevant. He turned the page. For several moments he studied its blankness, wondering if he was not a bloody fool. Then he pressed his pen against the top line and made the first entry in the red notebook.

Stillman's face. Or: Stillman's face as it was twenty years ago. Impossible to know whether the face tomorrow will resemble it. It is certain, however, that this is not the face of a madman. Or is this not a legitimate statement? To my eyes, at least, it seems benign, if not downright pleasant. A hint of tenderness around the mouth even. More than likely blue eyes, with a tendency to water. Thin hair even then, so perhaps gone now, and what remains gray, or even white. He bears an odd familiarity: the meditative type, no doubt high-strung, someone who might stutter, fight with himself to stem the flood of words rushing from his mouth.

Little Peter. Is it necessary for me to imagine it, or can I accept it on faith? The darkness. To think of myself in that room, screaming. I am reluctant. Nor do I think I even want to understand it. To what end? This is not a story, after all. It is a fact, something happening in the world, and I am supposed to do a job, one little thing, and I have said yes to it. If all goes well, it should even be quite simple. I have not been hired to understand—merely to act. This is something new. To keep it in mind, at all costs.

And yet, what is it that Dupin says in Poe? “An identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent.” But here it would apply to Stillman senior. Which is probably even worse.

As for Virginia, I am in a quandary. Not just the kiss, which might be explained by any number of reasons; not what Peter said about her, which is unimportant. Her marriage? Perhaps. The complete incongruity of it. Could it be that she's in it for the money? Or somehow working in collaboration with Stillman? That would change everything. But, at the same time, it makes no sense. For why would she have hired me? To have a witness to her apparent good intentions? Perhaps. But that seems too complicated. And yet: why do I feel she is not to be trusted?

Stillman's face, again. Thinking for these past few minutes that I have seen it before. Perhaps years ago in the neighborhood—before the time of his arrest.

To remember what it feels like to wear other people's clothes. To begin with that, I think. Assuming I must. Back in the old days, eighteen, twenty years ago, when I had no money and friends would give me things to wear. J.'s old overcoat in college, for example. And the strange sense I would have of climbing into his skin. That is probably a start.

And then, most important of all: to remember who I am. To remember who I am supposed to be. I do not think this is a game. On the other hand, nothing is clear. For example: who are you? And if you think you know, why do you keep lying about it? I have no answer. All I can say is this: listen to me. My name is Paul Auster. That is not my real name.

6

Quinn spent the next morning at the Columbia library with Stillman's book. He arrived early, the first one there as the doors opened, and the silence of the marble halls comforted him, as though he had been allowed to enter some crypt of oblivion. After flashing his alumni card at the drowsing attendant behind the desk, he retrieved the book from the stacks, returned to the third floor, and then settled down in a green leather armchair in one of the smoking rooms. The bright May morning lurked outside like a temptation, a call to wander aimlessly in the air, but Quinn fought it off. He turned the chair around, positioning himself with his back to the window, and opened the book.

The Garden and the Tower: Early Visions of the New World was divided into two parts of approximately equal length, “The Myth of Paradise” and “The Myth of Babel.” The first concentrated on the discoveries of the explorers, beginning with Columbus and continuing on through Raleigh. It was Stillman's contention that the first men to visit America believed they had accidentally found paradise, a second Garden of Eden. In the narrative of his third voyage, for example, Columbus wrote: “For I believe that the earthly Paradise lies here, which no one can enter except by God's leave.” As for the people of this land, Peter Martyr would write as early as 1505: “They seem to live in that golden world of which old writers speak so much, wherein men lived simply and innocently, without enforcement of laws, without quarrelling, judges, or libels, content only to satisfy nature.” Or, as the ever-present Montaigne would write more than half a century later: “In my opinion, what we actually see in these nations not only surpasses all the pictures which the poets have drawn of the Golden Age, and all their inventions representing the then happy state of mankind, but also the conception and desire of philosophy itself.” From the very beginning, according to Stillman, the discovery of the New World was the quickening impulse of utopian thought, the spark that gave hope to the perfectibility of human life—from Thomas More's book of 1516 to Gerónimo de Mendieta's prophecy, some years later, that America would become an ideal theocratic state, a veritable City of God.

There was, however, an opposite point of view. If some saw the Indians as living in prelapsarian innocence, there were others who judged them to be savage beasts, devils in the form of men. The discovery of cannibals in the Caribbean did nothing to assuage this opinion. The Spaniards used it as a justification to exploit the natives mercilessly for their own mercantile ends. For if you do not consider the man before you to be human, there are few restraints of conscience on your behavior towards him. It was not until 1537, with the papal bull of Paul III, that the Indians were declared to be true men possessing souls. The debate nevertheless went on for several hundred years, culminating on the one hand in the “noble savage” of Locke and Rousseau—which laid the theoretical foundations of democracy in an independent America—and, on the other hand, in the campaign to exterminate the Indians, in the undying belief that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.

The second part of the book began with a new examination of the fall. Relying heavily on Milton and his account in Paradise Lost—as representing the orthodox Puritan position—Stillman claimed that it was only after the fall that human life as we know it came into being. For if there was no evil in the Garden, neither was there any good. As Milton himself put it in the Areopagitica, “It was out of the rind of one apple tasted that good and evil leapt forth into the world, like two twins cleaving together.” Stillman's gloss on this sentence was exceedingly thorough. Alert to the possibility of puns and wordplay throughout, he showed how the word “taste” was actually a reference to the Latin word “sapere,” which means both “to taste” and “to know” and therefore contains a subliminal reference to the tree of knowledge: the source of the apple whose taste brought forth knowledge into the world, which is to say, good and evil. Stillman also dwelled on the paradox of the word “cleave,” which means both “to join together” and “to break apart,” thus embodying two equal and opposite significations, which in turn embodies a view of language that Stillman found to be present in all of Milton's work. In Paradise Lost, for example, each key word has two meanings—one before the fall and one after the fall. To illustrate his point, Stillman isolated several of those words—sinister, serpentine, delicious—and showed how their prelapsarian use was free of moral connotations, whereas their use after the fall was shaded, ambiguous, informed by a knowledge of evil. Adam's one task in the Garden had been to invent language, to give each creature and thing its name. In that state of innocence, his tongue had gone straight to the quick of the world. His words had not been merely appended to the things he saw, they had revealed their essences, had literally brought them to life. A thing and its name were interchangeable. After the fall, this was no longer true. Names became detached from things; words devolved into a collection of arbitrary signs; language had been severed from God. The story of the Garden, therefore, records not only the fall of man, but the fall of language.



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City of Glass - CD 02 parte I (2)

The counterman shook his head. El contador negó con la cabeza. “First two times up, Kingman hits solo shots,” he said. “Las dos primeras veces, Kingman golpea tiros en solitario”, dijo. “Boom, boom. Big mothers—all the way to the moon. Grandes madres, hasta la luna. Jones is pitching good for once and things don't look too bad. Jones está lanzando bien por una vez y las cosas no se ven tan mal. It's two to one, bottom of the ninth. Es dos a uno, al final de la novena. Pittsburgh gets men on second and third, one out, so the Mets go to the bullpen for Allen. Pittsburgh pone hombres en segunda y tercera, con un out, por lo que los Mets van al bullpen por Allen. He walks the next guy to load them up. Acompaña al siguiente tipo para que los cargue. The Mets bring the corners in for a force at home, or maybe they can get the double play if it's hit up the middle. Los Mets traen las esquinas para una fuerza en casa, o tal vez puedan obtener el doble play si se golpea por el medio. Peña comes up and chicken-shits a little grounder to first and the fucker goes through Kingman's legs. Peña se acerca y le hace un roletazo a primera y el hijo de puta atraviesa las piernas de Kingman. Two men score, and that's it, bye-bye New York.” Dos hombres marcan, y eso es todo, adiós Nueva York”.

“Dave Kingman is a turd,” said Quinn, biting into his hamburger. "Dave Kingman es un idiota", dijo Quinn, mordiendo su hamburguesa.

“But watch out for Foster,” said the counterman. “Pero cuidado con Foster”, dijo el encargado del mostrador.

“Foster's washed up. Foster está acabado. A has-been. Un ha sido. A mean-faced bozo.” Quinn chewed his food carefully, feeling with his tongue for stray bits of bone. Un bozo de cara mezquina. Quinn masticó su comida con cuidado, palpando con la lengua en busca de trozos de hueso. “They should ship him back to Cincinnati by express mail.” “Deberían enviarlo de regreso a Cincinnati por correo urgente”.

“Yeah,” said the counterman. "Sí", dijo el contador. “But they'll be tough. Pero serán duros. Better than last year, anyway.” Mejor que el año pasado, de todos modos.

“I don't know,” said Quinn, taking another bite. "No lo sé", dijo Quinn, tomando otro bocado. “It looks good on paper, but what do they really have? “Se ve bien en el papel, pero ¿qué es lo que realmente tienen? Stearns is always getting hurt. Stearns siempre sale lastimado. They have minor leaguers at second and short, and Brooks can't keep his mind on the game. Tienen jugadores de ligas menores en segunda y corto plazo, y Brooks no puede concentrarse en el juego. Mookie's good, but he's raw, and they can't even decide who to put in right. Mookie es bueno, pero está crudo, y ni siquiera pueden decidir a quién colocar correctamente. There's still Rusty, of course, but he's too fat to run anymore. Todavía está Rusty, por supuesto, pero está demasiado gordo para seguir corriendo. And as for the pitching, forget it. Y en cuanto al pitcheo, olvídalo. You and I could go over to Shea tomorrow and get hired as the top two starters.” Tú y yo podríamos ir a Shea mañana y ser contratados como los dos mejores abridores.

“Maybe I make you the manager,” said the counterman. “Tal vez te haga gerente”, dijo el encargado del mostrador. “You could tell those fuckers where to get off.” Podrías decirles a esos hijos de puta dónde bajar.

“You bet your bottom dollar,” said Quinn. “Apuesta tu último dólar”, dijo Quinn.

After he finished eating, Quinn wandered over to the stationery shelves. Después de que terminó de comer, Quinn se acercó a los estantes de papelería. A shipment of new notebooks had come in, and the pile was impressive, a beautiful array of blues and greens and reds and yellows. Había llegado un envío de cuadernos nuevos, y la pila era impresionante, una hermosa variedad de azules, verdes, rojos y amarillos. He picked one up and saw that the pages had the narrow lines he preferred. Cogió uno y vio que las páginas tenían las líneas estrechas que él prefería. Quinn did all his writing with a pen, using a typewriter only for final drafts, and he was always on the lookout for good spiral notebooks. Quinn escribía todo con un bolígrafo, usaba una máquina de escribir solo para los borradores finales, y siempre estaba buscando buenos cuadernos de espiral. Now that he had embarked on the Stillman case, he felt that a new notebook was in order. Ahora que se había embarcado en el caso Stillman, sintió que necesitaba un nuevo cuaderno. It would be helpful to have a separate place to record his thoughts, his observations, and his questions. Sería útil tener un lugar separado para registrar sus pensamientos, sus observaciones y sus preguntas. In that way, perhaps, things might not get out of control. De esa manera, tal vez, las cosas no se salgan de control.

He looked through the pile, trying to decide which one to pick. Miró a través de la pila, tratando de decidir cuál elegir. For reasons that were never made clear to him, he suddenly felt an irresistible urge for a particular red notebook at the bottom. Por razones que nunca le quedaron claras, de repente sintió un impulso irresistible por un cuaderno rojo en particular en la parte inferior. He pulled it out and examined it, gingerly fanning the pages with his thumb. Lo sacó y lo examinó, abanicando con cautela las páginas con el pulgar. He was at a loss to explain to himself why he found it so appealing. No sabía cómo explicarse a sí mismo por qué lo encontraba tan atractivo. It was a standard eight-and-a-half-by-eleven notebook with one hundred pages. Era un cuaderno estándar de ocho y medio por once con cien páginas. But something about it seemed to call out to him—as if its unique destiny in the world was to hold the words that came from his pen. Pero algo en él parecía llamarlo, como si su único destino en el mundo fuera contener las palabras que salían de su pluma. Almost embarrassed by the intensity of his feelings, Quinn tucked the red notebook under his arm, walked over to the cash register, and bought it. Casi avergonzado por la intensidad de sus sentimientos, Quinn se puso el cuaderno rojo bajo el brazo, se acercó a la caja registradora y lo compró.

Back in his apartment a quarter of an hour later, Quinn removed the photograph of Stillman and the check from his jacket pocket and placed them carefully on his desk. De vuelta en su apartamento un cuarto de hora más tarde, Quinn sacó la fotografía de Stillman y el cheque del bolsillo de su chaqueta y los colocó cuidadosamente sobre su escritorio. He cleared the debris from the surface—dead matches, cigarette butts, eddies of ash, spent ink cartridges, a few coins, ticket stubs, doodles, a dirty handkerchief—and put the red notebook in the center. Quitó los escombros de la superficie (fósforos apagados, colillas de cigarrillos, remolinos de ceniza, cartuchos de tinta gastados, algunas monedas, talones de boletos, garabatos, un pañuelo sucio) y colocó el cuaderno rojo en el centro. Then he drew the shades in the room, took off all his clothes, and sat down at the desk. Luego corrió las persianas de la habitación, se quitó toda la ropa y se sentó al escritorio. He had never done this before, but it somehow seemed appropriate to be naked at this moment. Nunca había hecho esto antes, pero de alguna manera parecía apropiado estar desnudo en este momento. He sat there for twenty or thirty seconds, trying not to move, trying not to do anything but breathe. Se sentó allí durante veinte o treinta segundos, tratando de no moverse, tratando de no hacer nada más que respirar. Then he opened the red notebook. He picked up his pen and wrote his initials, D.Q. Cogió su pluma y escribió sus iniciales, DQ (for Daniel Quinn), on the first page. (para Daniel Quinn), en la primera página. It was the first time in more than five years that he had put his own name in one of his notebooks. He stopped to consider this fact for a moment but then dismissed it as irrelevant. He turned the page. Pasó la página. For several moments he studied its blankness, wondering if he was not a bloody fool. Durante varios momentos estudió su vacío, preguntándose si no sería un maldito tonto. Then he pressed his pen against the top line and made the first entry in the red notebook. Luego presionó su bolígrafo contra la línea superior e hizo la primera entrada en el cuaderno rojo.

Stillman's face. La cara de Stillman. Or: Stillman's face as it was twenty years ago. O: la cara de Stillman como era hace veinte años. Impossible to know whether the face tomorrow will resemble it. Imposible saber si el rostro de mañana se parecerá a él. It is certain, however, that this is not the face of a madman. Es cierto, sin embargo, que este no es el rostro de un loco. Or is this not a legitimate statement? ¿O no es esta una afirmación legítima? To my eyes, at least, it seems benign, if not downright pleasant. A mis ojos, al menos, parece benigno, si no francamente agradable. A hint of tenderness around the mouth even. Incluso un toque de ternura alrededor de la boca. More than likely blue eyes, with a tendency to water. Más que probables ojos azules, con tendencia a lagrimear. Thin hair even then, so perhaps gone now, and what remains gray, or even white. Cabello fino incluso entonces, tal vez desaparecido ahora, y lo que queda gris, o incluso blanco. He bears an odd familiarity: the meditative type, no doubt high-strung, someone who might stutter, fight with himself to stem the flood of words rushing from his mouth. Tiene una extraña familiaridad: el tipo meditativo, sin duda nervioso, alguien que podría tartamudear, luchar consigo mismo para detener el torrente de palabras que salen de su boca.

Little Peter. Is it necessary for me to imagine it, or can I accept it on faith? ¿Es necesario que me lo imagine, o puedo aceptarlo por fe? The darkness. La oscuridad. To think of myself in that room, screaming. Pensar en mí mismo en esa habitación, gritando. I am reluctant. soy reacio Nor do I think I even want to understand it. Ni siquiera creo que quiera entenderlo. To what end? ¿A que final? This is not a story, after all. Esto no es una historia, después de todo. It is a fact, something happening in the world, and I am supposed to do a job, one little thing, and I have said yes to it. Es un hecho, algo que sucede en el mundo, y se supone que debo hacer un trabajo, una pequeña cosa, y le he dicho que sí. If all goes well, it should even be quite simple. Si todo va bien, incluso debería ser bastante simple. I have not been hired to understand—merely to act. No he sido contratado para comprender, simplemente para actuar. This is something new. Esto es algo nuevo. To keep it in mind, at all costs. A tenerlo en cuenta, a toda costa.

And yet, what is it that Dupin says in Poe? Y sin embargo, ¿qué es lo que dice Dupin en Poe? “An identification of the reasoner's intellect with that of his opponent.” But here it would apply to Stillman senior. “Una identificación del intelecto del razonador con el de su oponente.” Pero aquí se aplicaría a Stillman senior. Which is probably even worse. Lo cual es probablemente aún peor.

As for Virginia, I am in a quandary. En cuanto a Virginia, estoy en un dilema. Not just the kiss, which might be explained by any number of reasons; not what Peter said about her, which is unimportant. No solo el beso, que podría explicarse por varias razones; no lo que dijo Peter sobre ella, que no tiene importancia. Her marriage? ¿Su matrimonio? Perhaps. Quizás. The complete incongruity of it. La completa incongruencia de la misma. Could it be that she's in it for the money? ¿Podría ser que ella está en esto por el dinero? Or somehow working in collaboration with Stillman? ¿O de alguna manera trabajando en colaboración con Stillman? That would change everything. Eso lo cambiaría todo. But, at the same time, it makes no sense. Pero, al mismo tiempo, no tiene sentido. For why would she have hired me? ¿Por qué me habría contratado? To have a witness to her apparent good intentions? ¿Tener un testigo de sus aparentes buenas intenciones? Perhaps. Quizás. But that seems too complicated. Pero eso parece demasiado complicado. And yet: why do I feel she is not to be trusted? Y sin embargo: ¿por qué siento que no se puede confiar en ella?

Stillman's face, again. La cara de Stillman, otra vez. Thinking for these past few minutes that I have seen it before. Pensando por estos últimos minutos que lo he visto antes. Perhaps years ago in the neighborhood—before the time of his arrest. Quizás hace años en el vecindario, antes del momento de su arresto.

To remember what it feels like to wear other people's clothes. Para recordar lo que se siente al usar la ropa de otras personas. To begin with that, I think. Para empezar, creo. Assuming I must. Suponiendo que debo hacerlo. Back in the old days, eighteen, twenty years ago, when I had no money and friends would give me things to wear. En los viejos tiempos, hace dieciocho, veinte años, cuando no tenía dinero y los amigos me daban cosas para ponerme. J.'s old overcoat in college, for example. El viejo abrigo de J. en la universidad, por ejemplo. And the strange sense I would have of climbing into his skin. Y la extraña sensación que tendría de meterme en su piel. That is probably a start. Eso es probablemente un comienzo.

And then, most important of all: to remember who I am. Y luego, lo más importante de todo: recordar quién soy. To remember who I am supposed to be. Para recordar quién se supone que debo ser. I do not think this is a game. No creo que esto sea un juego. On the other hand, nothing is clear. Por otro lado, nada está claro. For example: who are you? Por ejemplo: ¿quién eres? And if you think you know, why do you keep lying about it? Y si crees que lo sabes, ¿por qué sigues mintiendo al respecto? I have no answer. No tengo respuesta. All I can say is this: listen to me. Todo lo que puedo decir es esto: escúchame. My name is Paul Auster. Mi nombre es Paul Auster. That is not my real name. Ese no es mi verdadero nombre.

6

Quinn spent the next morning at the Columbia library with Stillman's book. Quinn pasó la mañana siguiente en la biblioteca de Columbia con el libro de Stillman. He arrived early, the first one there as the doors opened, and the silence of the marble halls comforted him, as though he had been allowed to enter some crypt of oblivion. Llegó temprano, el primero allí cuando se abrieron las puertas, y el silencio de los pasillos de mármol lo reconfortó, como si le hubieran permitido entrar en alguna cripta del olvido. After flashing his alumni card at the drowsing attendant behind the desk, he retrieved the book from the stacks, returned to the third floor, and then settled down in a green leather armchair in one of the smoking rooms. Después de mostrar su tarjeta de ex alumno al asistente adormecido detrás del escritorio, recuperó el libro de las pilas, regresó al tercer piso y luego se acomodó en un sillón de cuero verde en una de las salas de fumadores. The bright May morning lurked outside like a temptation, a call to wander aimlessly in the air, but Quinn fought it off. He turned the chair around, positioning himself with his back to the window, and opened the book. Giró la silla, colocándose de espaldas a la ventana, y abrió el libro.

The Garden and the Tower: Early Visions of the New World was divided into two parts of approximately equal length, “The Myth of Paradise” and “The Myth of Babel.” The first concentrated on the discoveries of the explorers, beginning with Columbus and continuing on through Raleigh. El Jardín y la Torre: Primeras Visiones del Nuevo Mundo se dividió en dos partes de aproximadamente la misma longitud, “El Mito del Paraíso” y “El Mito de Babel”. El primero se concentró en los descubrimientos de los exploradores, comenzando con Colón y continuando por Raleigh. It was Stillman's contention that the first men to visit America believed they had accidentally found paradise, a second Garden of Eden. Stillman sostuvo que los primeros hombres que visitaron América creían que habían encontrado accidentalmente el paraíso, un segundo Jardín del Edén. In the narrative of his third voyage, for example, Columbus wrote: “For I believe that the earthly Paradise lies here, which no one can enter except by God's leave.” As for the people of this land, Peter Martyr would write as early as 1505: “They seem to live in that golden world of which old writers speak so much, wherein men lived simply and innocently, without enforcement of laws, without quarrelling, judges, or libels, content only to satisfy nature.” Or, as the ever-present Montaigne would write more than half a century later: “In my opinion, what we actually see in these nations not only surpasses all the pictures which the poets have drawn of the Golden Age, and all their inventions representing the then happy state of mankind, but also the conception and desire of philosophy itself.” From the very beginning, according to Stillman, the discovery of the New World was the quickening impulse of utopian thought, the spark that gave hope to the perfectibility of human life—from Thomas More's book of 1516 to Gerónimo de Mendieta's prophecy, some years later, that America would become an ideal theocratic state, a veritable City of God. En la narración de su tercer viaje, por ejemplo, Colón escribió: “Porque creo que aquí está el Paraíso terrenal, al cual nadie puede entrar sino con el permiso de Dios”. En cuanto a la gente de esta tierra, Pedro Mártir escribiría ya en 1505: “Parecen vivir en ese mundo dorado del que tanto hablan los escritores antiguos, en el que los hombres vivían sencilla e inocentemente, sin aplicación de leyes, sin peleas, jueces , o libelos, contenido sólo para satisfacer la naturaleza.” O, como escribiría el siempre presente Montaigne más de medio siglo después: “En mi opinión, lo que realmente vemos en estas naciones no solo supera todas las imágenes que los poetas han dibujado de la Edad de Oro, y todas sus invenciones que representan el entonces feliz estado de la humanidad, sino también la concepción y el deseo de la filosofía misma.” Desde el principio, según Stillman, el descubrimiento del Nuevo Mundo fue el impulso vivificador del pensamiento utópico, la chispa que dio esperanza a la perfectibilidad de la vida humana—desde el libro de Tomás Moro de 1516 hasta la profecía de Gerónimo de Mendieta, algunos años después , que América se convertiría en un estado teocrático ideal, una verdadera Ciudad de Dios.

There was, however, an opposite point of view. Sin embargo, había un punto de vista opuesto. If some saw the Indians as living in prelapsarian innocence, there were others who judged them to be savage beasts, devils in the form of men. Si unos vieron a los indios viviendo en la inocencia prelapsaria, hubo otros que los juzgaron como bestias feroces, diablos en forma de hombres. The discovery of cannibals in the Caribbean did nothing to assuage this opinion. El descubrimiento de caníbales en el Caribe no hizo nada para mitigar esta opinión. The Spaniards used it as a justification to exploit the natives mercilessly for their own mercantile ends. Los españoles lo utilizaron como justificación para explotar sin piedad a los indígenas para sus propios fines mercantiles. For if you do not consider the man before you to be human, there are few restraints of conscience on your behavior towards him. Porque si no consideras humano al hombre que tienes delante, hay pocas restricciones de conciencia sobre tu comportamiento hacia él. It was not until 1537, with the papal bull of Paul III, that the Indians were declared to be true men possessing souls. No fue hasta 1537, con la bula papal de Pablo III, que los indios fueron declarados verdaderos hombres poseedores de alma. The debate nevertheless went on for several hundred years, culminating on the one hand in the “noble savage” of Locke and Rousseau—which laid the theoretical foundations of democracy in an independent America—and, on the other hand, in the campaign to exterminate the Indians, in the undying belief that the only good Indian was a dead Indian.

The second part of the book began with a new examination of the fall. La segunda parte del libro comenzaba con un nuevo examen de la caída. Relying heavily on Milton and his account in Paradise Lost—as representing the orthodox Puritan position—Stillman claimed that it was only after the fall that human life as we know it came into being. Basándose en gran medida en Milton y su relato en Paradise Lost, como representación de la posición puritana ortodoxa, Stillman afirmó que fue solo después de la caída que la vida humana tal como la conocemos llegó a existir. For if there was no evil in the Garden, neither was there any good. Porque si no había mal en el Jardín, tampoco había bien. As Milton himself put it in the Areopagitica, “It was out of the rind of one apple tasted that good and evil leapt forth into the world, like two twins cleaving together.” Stillman's gloss on this sentence was exceedingly thorough. Como el propio Milton lo expresó en la Areopagítica: “Fue de la cáscara de una manzana probada que el bien y el mal saltaron al mundo, como dos gemelos que se separan”. La glosa de Stillman sobre esta frase fue sumamente completa. Alert to the possibility of puns and wordplay throughout, he showed how the word “taste” was actually a reference to the Latin word “sapere,” which means both “to taste” and “to know” and therefore contains a subliminal reference to the tree of knowledge: the source of the apple whose taste brought forth knowledge into the world, which is to say, good and evil. Alerta de la posibilidad de juegos de palabras y juegos de palabras, mostró cómo la palabra "gustar" era en realidad una referencia a la palabra latina "sapere", que significa tanto "gustar" como "saber" y, por lo tanto, contiene una referencia subliminal a la árbol del conocimiento: la fuente de la manzana cuyo sabor trajo el conocimiento al mundo, es decir, el bien y el mal. Stillman also dwelled on the paradox of the word “cleave,” which means both “to join together” and “to break apart,” thus embodying two equal and opposite significations, which in turn embodies a view of language that Stillman found to be present in all of Milton's work. Stillman también se detuvo en la paradoja de la palabra "unir", que significa tanto "unir" como "separar", lo que representa dos significados iguales y opuestos, que a su vez representa una visión del lenguaje que Stillman descubrió que estaba presente. en toda la obra de Milton. In Paradise Lost, for example, each key word has two meanings—one before the fall and one after the fall. En Paradise Lost, por ejemplo, cada palabra clave tiene dos significados: uno antes de la caída y otro después de la caída. To illustrate his point, Stillman isolated several of those words—sinister, serpentine, delicious—and showed how their prelapsarian use was free of moral connotations, whereas their use after the fall was shaded, ambiguous, informed by a knowledge of evil. Para ilustrar su punto, Stillman aisló varias de esas palabras (siniestro, serpentino, delicioso) y mostró cómo su uso antes de la caída estaba libre de connotaciones morales, mientras que su uso después de la caída era sombrío, ambiguo, informado por un conocimiento del mal. Adam's one task in the Garden had been to invent language, to give each creature and thing its name. La única tarea de Adán en el Jardín había sido inventar el lenguaje, dar a cada criatura y cosa su nombre. In that state of innocence, his tongue had gone straight to the quick of the world. En ese estado de inocencia, su lengua había ido directamente a lo más vivo del mundo. His words had not been merely appended to the things he saw, they had revealed their essences, had literally brought them to life. Sus palabras no se habían agregado simplemente a las cosas que veía, sino que habían revelado sus esencias, literalmente las habían traído a la vida. A thing and its name were interchangeable. After the fall, this was no longer true. Después de la caída, esto ya no era cierto. Names became detached from things; words devolved into a collection of arbitrary signs; language had been severed from God. Los nombres se separaron de las cosas; las palabras se convirtieron en una colección de signos arbitrarios; el lenguaje había sido separado de Dios. The story of the Garden, therefore, records not only the fall of man, but the fall of language. La historia del Jardín, por lo tanto, registra no solo la caída del hombre, sino también la caída del lenguaje.

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