Besoin D'une Grosse Aide

[maud976]

Bonjour,

Pourriez vous me traduire en gros ce texte, me donner les idées principales, car je ne comprends pas tout….

Merci d’avance

Tim, 21, has left home. In Minnesota, an old man, Elroy, puts him for a week. On the sixth day, Elroy takes Tim out of fishing on the Rainy River, which marks the border betweeen the USA and Canada.

The little aluminum boat rocked softly beneath me. There was the wind and the sky. I tried to will myself overboard . I gripped the edge of the boat and leaned forward and thought, Now.

Idid try. It just wasn’t possible.

All those eyes on me_ the town, the whole universe _ and I couldn’t risk the embarrassment. It was as if there were an audience to my life, that swirl of faces along the river, and in my head I could hear people screaming at me. Traitor ! they yelled. Turncoat ! Pussy ! I felt myself blush. I couldn’t tolerate it. I couldn’t endure the mockery, or the disgrace, or the patriotic ridicule. Even in my imagination, the shore just twenty yards away , I couldn’t make myself brave. It had nothing to do with morality. Embarrassment, that’s all it was.

And right then I submitted.

I would go to the war_ I would kill and maybe die- because I was embarrassed not to.

That was the sad thing. And so I sat in the bow of the boat and cried. It was loud now. Loud, hard crying.

Elroy Berdhal remained quiet. He kept fishing. He worked his line with the tips of his fingers , patiently, squinting out at his red and white bobber on the Rainy River. His eyes were flat and impassive.

He didn't speak. He was simply there, like the river and the late-summer sun. And yet by his presence, his mute watchfulness, he made it real. He was the true audience. He was a witness, like God, or like the gods, who look on in absolute silence as we live our lives, as we make our choices or fail to make them.

« Ain’t biting », he said.

Then aftera time thr old man pulled in his line and turned the boat back toward Minesota.

I don’t remember saying good bye. That last night we had dinner together, and I went to bed early, and in the morning Elroy fixed breakfast for me. When I told him I’d be leaving, the old man nodded as if he already knew.

He looked down at the table and smiled.

At some point later in the morning it’s possible that we shook hands_ I just don’t remember _ but I do know that by the time I’d finished packing the old man has disappeared. In a way, I thought, it was appropriated. I left his two hundred dollars on the kitchen counter, got into the car, and drove south toward home.

The day was cloudy. I passed throught towns with familiar names, throught the pine forests and down to the prairie, and then to Vietnam, where I was a soldier, and then home again. I survived, but it’s not happy endign.

I was a coward , I went to the war.

[Invité k-ro]

Salut http://nouvelobs.reverso.net/textonly/default.asp

[Medusa171]

C'est une bonne histoire! Mais, elle a beaucoup des fautes. (Je connais anglais, mais je parle francais mal)