Конкурс переводов.
Злободневных тем, задевающих всех за живое, полно. Куда ни ткнись везде споры на повышенных тонах и бурные эмоции. Оно и понятно, время располагает. Но мне в такое время остаётся только молчать. На злободневные темы.
Поэтому я буду говорить о другом. О том, что пока остаётся без изменений, и слава Богу. О Нью-Йорке. Дело было почти неделю назад. Сегодня рассказала мужу (по-английски) и он велел срочно записывать это в ЖЖ, пока не забылось. Долго пытались совместно перевести историю, сохраняя все эффекты. Не получилось. Если кому-то удастся -- я буду очень рада.
One morning, as I was exiting the gates of my favorite Washington Mews (a little French street with old stone pavement smack in the middle of the Village), I witnessed a quaint Village scene:
A blind man was walking with his service dog, when the dog heard the call of the wild and proceeded to heed it right there in the middle of the street, and, upon completion of the task, promptly alerted its owner. The trouble was, the owner, being blind, could not see the exact location of the results. So he asked the nearest passers-by (who happened to be two gay men on their way to the gym) to help him identify the locale where his dog has sullied the streets of New York. One of the men respectfully took the blind man by the arm and led him to the place and lowered his hand to the spot, so that the blind man could use his little plastic bag to pick up the offending doo-doo and deposit it, with the help of the same gentleman, in the garbage can. Mission accomplished. End of story.
And ever since I had beholden this scene, I no longer feel a shred of respect for anyone who does not pick up after their dog. If a blind man can do it, you can do it.
Поэтому я буду говорить о другом. О том, что пока остаётся без изменений, и слава Богу. О Нью-Йорке. Дело было почти неделю назад. Сегодня рассказала мужу (по-английски) и он велел срочно записывать это в ЖЖ, пока не забылось. Долго пытались совместно перевести историю, сохраняя все эффекты. Не получилось. Если кому-то удастся -- я буду очень рада.
One morning, as I was exiting the gates of my favorite Washington Mews (a little French street with old stone pavement smack in the middle of the Village), I witnessed a quaint Village scene:
A blind man was walking with his service dog, when the dog heard the call of the wild and proceeded to heed it right there in the middle of the street, and, upon completion of the task, promptly alerted its owner. The trouble was, the owner, being blind, could not see the exact location of the results. So he asked the nearest passers-by (who happened to be two gay men on their way to the gym) to help him identify the locale where his dog has sullied the streets of New York. One of the men respectfully took the blind man by the arm and led him to the place and lowered his hand to the spot, so that the blind man could use his little plastic bag to pick up the offending doo-doo and deposit it, with the help of the same gentleman, in the garbage can. Mission accomplished. End of story.
And ever since I had beholden this scene, I no longer feel a shred of respect for anyone who does not pick up after their dog. If a blind man can do it, you can do it.