fumami, bevimi

E si ricordava di un’insegnante al college che parlava del mistero e della vita, e in particolare delle piante, e che diceva che forse l’idea di bere e fumare non era dell’uomo, che piuttosto erano le piante che ci adescavano col desiderio delle foglie di tabacco e delle viti.
Fumami, ci sussurravano, bevimi.

cop Grey
Andre Dubus
Voci dalla luna
trad. it. di Nicola Manuppelli
Matthioli 1885, 2011

i heard voices

all thatOnce when I was a little boy I received as a gift a toy cement mixer. It was made of wood except for its wheels—axles—which, as I remember, were thin metal rods. I’m ninety per cent sure it was a Christmas gift. I liked it the same way a boy that age likes toy dump trucks, ambulances, tractor-trailers, and whatnot. There are little boys who like trains and little boys who like vehicles—I liked the latter.

It was (“it” meaning the cement mixer) the same overlarge miniature as many other toy vehicles—about the size of a breadbox. It weighed three or four pounds. It was a simple toy—no batteries. It had a colored rope, with a yellow handle, and you held the handle and walked pulling the cement mixer behind you—rather like a wagon, although it was nowhere near the size of a wagon. For Christmas, I’m positive it was. It was when I was the age where you can, as they say, “hear voices” without worrying that something is wrong with you. I “heard voices” all the time as a small child. I was either five or six, I believe. (I’m not very good with numbers.)

David Foster Wallace, All That; continua qui sul New Yorker; su Archivio DFW invece la traduzione in italiano.