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French to English: The Child Who Did Not Exist General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Science (general)
Source text - French Régulièrement des nouvelles vous seront proposées
L'ENFANT QUI N'EXISTAIT PAS
DE
VALERIA J.CAMPANILEn
UR
Paul s'égarait à nouveau dans des rêves absurdes. Cette fois il s'était envolé au rythme des
gouttes de pluie qui martelaient inlassablement le dôme de verre de sa maison.
C'était la troisième fois depuis le début de la semaine qu'il se déconnectait de son unité vitale.
Il pensa tout d'abord à un virus contracté lors de ses déplacements sur les planètes sœurs.
Mais l'ordi-médical n'avait rien détecté d'anormal. Il lui avait juste prescrit un léger
euphorisant, que d'ailleurs, sans trop savoir pourquoi il n'avait pas pris.
Il observait le ciel enserrant dans sa voûte de plomb, les hautes sphères de verres de la cité.
La pluie venait de cesser et les nuages effilaient leurs grosses masses grises en minces
écharpes blanches puis translucides et soudain le ciel s'illumina.
Paul ne se souvenait pas d'avoir vu un spectacle aussi beau, peut-être dans l'espace, noyé dans
les myriades d'étoiles, mais c'était différent. Là, tout son être se dissolvait dans ces couleurs
étranges, inconnues qui doraient l'horizon métallique.
Il appela sa femme : - Mira, viens voir le ciel .C'est extraordinaire!
La jeune femme qui s'était avancée, observa le ciel gris et morne, puis elle dévisagea son mari
en fronçant ses minces sourcils bruns.
- C'est gris ! Comme d'habitude
- Mais Mira, tu ne vois pas là- bas, les couleurs, l'arc-en-ciel d'or et....... Paul stoppa net son
envolée lyrique. Puis il ferma les yeux, les rouvrit lentement et regarda à nouveau le ciel. Il
avait repris la teinte de la limaille de fer.
- Tu te sens bien, Paul? Demanda prudemment Mira en lui effleurant la main.
Celui-ci haussa les épaules et répondit d'un sourire triste : - Je sors.
- Où vas-tu, Paul ?
- A la base, je dois rendre mon rapport sur la planète Terra 2.
- Mais enfin, dit-elle en baissant la voix, c'est jour de repos obligatoire pour la reconnection
mensuelle. Et l'inquiétude jeta une ombre fugace dans ses jolies prunelles violines.
Paul prit son blouson et s'enfuit presque par le sas de sortie, pour s'enfoncer dans la brume qui
noyait la cité. Instinctivement il remonta son col de fourrure et fourra les mains
profondément dans ses poches.
Il aspira de grandes goulées d'air humide. Il se sentait mieux à présent. Il aimait marcher au
hasard des immenses avenues sans âme. La ville semblait oubliée des hommes, la plupart d'entre
eux devaient se trouver branchés à l'unité vitale dans leur petit cocon ionisé.
Tout en vagabondant au hasard de son humeur, Paul se mit a contempler la chaussée qui offrait
d'infinies figures rectilignes scintillantes de rosée. La pluie avait laissé sur le bitume noir de
larges flaques d'eau. Elles lui renvoyaient le reflet troublé de sa haute et svelte silhouette.
Il s'arrêta devant l'une de ces petites mares aux contours irréguliers et envoya un léger coup
de pied. La surface de l'eau frissonna et son image se fragmenta dans un clapotis boueux.
Amusé, il recommença encore et encore et pris d'une subite euphorie, il sauta à pieds joints
dans toutes les flaques en riant aux éclats. Ses pantalons furent rapidement recouverts d'une
pellicule de limon noirâtre mais il ne s'en souciait pas. Il ressentait une allégresse qu'il n'avait
jamais connue. Son rire résonnait dans la brume et il ne regardait rien d'autres que ses pieds
dans les flaques, mais quand il leva la tête, il s'aperçut que des dizaines de personnes formaient
un cercle autour de lui, immobiles, muettes, elles le regardaient jouer avec désapprobation.UR
Une sirène hurla dans le brouillard. La Sécurité Sanitaire ! pensa Paul affolé, et il se mit à
courir, bousculant les ombres noires qui l'observaient .Il devait se cacher sinon il serait arrêté
pour trouble de l'ordre public.
Paul obliqua rapidement dans une ruelle de la zone NC - non conforme- autrement dit zone à
détruire - et alla s'abriter sous une alcôve de pierres, vestiges des temps passés que le
gouvernement s'appliquait à détruire pour les remplacer par des matériaux plus adaptés aux
temps nouveaux.
Sous le porche délabré, bien à l'abri des regards indiscrets, il savourait cette délicieuse
sensation d'avoir fait une «bêtise». Il était ravi, délicieusement ravi de son forfait.
Au loin, il entrevit le véhicule de la Sanitaire arriver en trombe. Les badauds se dispersèrent
rapidement, personne n'aimait se colleter aux androïdes blancs de l'Ordre Sanitaire. Le
fourgon noir repartit sans chercher plus loin, la Sécurité ne s'aventurait guère dans ces
ruelles mal famées.
n
Quand l'agitation sembla se calmer, Paul reprit ses esprits et décida de retourner chez lui. Il
ne pouvait rester plus longtemps dehors. La situation lui échappait.
Il rentra hors d'haleine, et alla s'enfermer dans sa chambre.
Il s'allongea dans sa couche étroite et ferma ses grands yeux noirs. Sa respiration s'apaisa. Il
attendait, il savait que des images allaient l'envahir. Son corps vibrait, sa tête s'alourdissait. Il
fut happé dans un tourbillon bleu, puis des paysages magnifiques défilèrent. Des champs de
fleurs, des blés, des odeurs, même, portées par un souffle léger depuis les collines alentours
chatouillaient délicatement ses narines et, soudain, surgit cette petite silhouette, toujours la
même depuis des jours. Une silhouette agile, qui gambadait, sautait, grimpait aux arbres et qui
parfois stoppait sa course au milieu d'un champs et semblait lui dire :
- Viens, Paul, viens jouer avec moi. Et la silhouette repartait en riant, d'un rire plein de
bonheur, d'insouciance.
Le jeune homme se réveilla en sueurs. Qui était ce personnage? Il le saurait bientôt. Cette fois,
avant de s'endormir il avait branché sur ses tempes son rythmo-rêve. Il avait tout enregistré.
Il inséra dans la mémoire de l'ordi-médical toutes les données qu'il avait rassemblées. Ses
sensations, ses rêves, les couleurs, les flaques d'eau et attendit anxieux devant l'écran.
L'ordinateur bourdonnait, il ingurgitait une à une les informations paramétrées et cherchait
dans sa mémoire virtuelle une réponse.
Quelques minutes s'écoulèrent, la voix métallique de l'ordinateur s'éleva dans la pièce.
- Recomposition visuelle des données - attend ordre. Paul tremblait légèrement, il hésita puis il
appuya sur la touche de confirmation. L'écran se voila, de la neige apparue puis une ombre se
dessina et un petit être en pantalon court, les cheveux en bataille et arborant un large sourire
apparu sur l'écran.
Interloqué, Paul demanda - Mais qui est ce ?
- Un petit humain, répondit évasivement l'ordinateur.
- Un nain ? Pourtant il n'en existe plus, la Sécurité Sanitaire les a éradiqués.
- Non, ce n'est pas un nain, mais un enfant.
- Un enfant ! s'exclama Paul stupéfait. Mais je n'en ai jamais entendu parler.
Où trouve t-on des enfants ? Vivent- ils sur une planète sœur ? Je veux les rencontrer ! Ils
semblent si heureux.n
UR
Paul s'énervait car l'appareil ne lui répondait pas. Il semblait hésitant, cherchant une réponse à
cette étrange question. La voix de Paul se fit plus impérieuse.
- Doc, où se trouvent ces créatures?
- Elles n'existent pas.
- Pourquoi est ce que je les vois?
- Paul, je ne suis qu'un ordi-médical, je ne suis pas programmé pour répondre à des questions
hors normes.
- Doc, si tu ne réponds pas immédiatement, c'est toi, qui va te trouver hors norme, hurla Paul en
commençant à retirer les plaquettes mémo-vitales de l'ordinateur.
La machine capitula : - Très bien, mais vous allez le regretter.
- Je m'en fiche, je t'écoute.
- Paul, l'enfance est une étape dans la vie de l'homme, pas une race d'individu.
- Une étape? Mais alors, comment devient-on enfant ?
- On ne le devient pas, l'enfance est le passé de l'homme adulte.
-Pour vous, c'est trop tard. Je suis désolé.
Paul essuyait rageusement les larmes qui coulaient doucement sur ses joues.
- Mais je n’ai jamais été enfant ! Sanglotait-il
- Je sais, Paul, comme tous les autres, vous êtes un clone de la deuxième génération. Les clones
n'ont pas de passé. Ils sont le futur et ......
Mais Paul n'entendit pas la suite, alertés par Mira, les androïdes des Services Sanitaires
surgirent dans sa chambre et l'empoignèrent en lui injectant un somnifère.
- Vous ne lui ferez pas de mal ? S'inquiéta la jeune femme.
- Non, nous l'emmenons au centre de reconstitution sensorielle, dans quelques jours il aura
oublié tous ses rêves inutiles.
L'un des androïdes posa une main qui se voulait amicale sur l'épaule de Mira.
- Vous avez bien réagi en nous appelant. De toute façon on l'aurait localisé tôt ou tard. L'ordi-
médical nous avait déjà signalé son état. On ne pose pas impunément des questions sur les rêves.
Vous savez à quel point cela perturbe notre nouvel ordre social. Quand les hommes ouvrent la
porte du monde des chimères, ils s'y perdent et oublient toute réalité.
Vous ne voulez pas perdre votre mari, reprit il en serrant plus fermement l'épaule de la jeune
femme. - Non, non, bien sur, répondit-elle en se mordant les lèvres.
- Allez, vous serez gratifiée de deux journées d'ensoleillement sur le satellite Sunny. Vous
ferez le voyage avec votre mari dés qu'il reviendra, dit il en desserrant l'étau froid de sa main.
Mais Paul se moquait bien de tout cela. Il n'avait opposé aucune résistance et souriait, car il
avait rejoint l'enfant qui, par- delà les nuages bleutés, lui avait fait signe.
Translation - English THE CHILD WHO DID NOT
EXIST
BY VALERIA J. CAMPANILE
Translated by Daphne LawlessPaul was lost again in ridiculous dreams. This time he had been carried away by the
rhythm of the raindrops which hammered ceaselessly on the glass dome of his house.
This was the third time since the start of the week that he had disconnected from the unity
of body and mind. Right at first, he suspected a virus contracted during his postings to the
sister-planets.
But the mediputer had detected nothing abnormal. It had just prescribed him a mild
stimulant, which in any case, without really knowing why, he hadn't taken.
He saw the sky enclosing, in its vault of lead, the tall glass spheres of the city. The rain had
just stopped and the clouds dissolved their fat grey masses into fine threads, first white
then transparent, and suddenly the sky was all light.
Paul could not remember having seen such a beautiful sight - perhaps in space, lost among the
multitude of stars, but that was different. Here, all his being dissolved into these strange,
unknown colours which made the metallic horizon shine with gold.
He called his wife: "Mira, come and look at the sky. It's amazing!"
The young woman who came forward observed the grey and gloomy sky, then stared at her
husband, narrowing her thin brown eyebrows.
"It's grey! As usual."
"But Mira, don't you see up there, the colours, the golden rainbow and..." Paul stopped his
lyrical rhapsody short. Then he closed his eyes, slowly re-opened them and looked at the
sky again. It had once again assumed the hue of iron filings.
"Are you feeling well, Paul?" Mira asked carefully while stroking his hand.
Paul shrugged and replied with a sad smile: "I'm going out."
"Where are you going, Paul?"
"To the base, I have to give my report on planet Terra-2."
"But Paul," she said lowering her voice, "it's the mandatory rest-day for monthly
reconnection." And her pretty violet eyes were shadowed with fleeting worry.
Paul took his jacket and almost fled through the exit airlock, to push into the fog which
covered the city. Instinctively he pulled up his furred collar and shoved his hands deeply into
his pockets.
He breathed in great gulps of humid air. He felt better now. He liked to wander around the
immense, soulless avenues. The town seemed deserted of people, most of them no doubt
firmly united in body and mind in their little ionised cocoon.
Wandering randomly as the mood took him, Paul began to contemplate the roadway, which
displayed an infinity of rectilinear figures sparkling with dew. The rain had left large puddles
of water on the black tarmac. They showed the troubled reflection of his tall, thin frame.
He stopped before one of these small, irregularly-shaped pounds and lightly kicked at it. The
surface of the water shimmered and his image fragmented in muddy ripples.
Amused, he did it again and again and, seized by a sudden euphoria, he jumped with both feet
into all the puddles, laughing out loud. His pants were rapidly covered with a film of blackish
silt, but he was not concerned. He was feeling a lightness of heart which he had never known.
His laugh echoed in the fog and he paid attention to nothing other than his feet in the
puddles, but when he raised his head, he noticed that dozens of people had formed a circle
around him, motionless and mute. They were watching him play with disapproval.A siren wailed in the mists. Sanitary Security! thought Paul in panic, and he began to run,
shoving aside the dark shadows who were watching him. He had to hide, or else be arrested
for disturbing public order.
Paul turned quickly into an alleyway in the NC zone - non-conforming, also known as the
demolition zone - and ran for shelter in an alcove of stones, leftovers from the past which the
government was setting about destroying, for replacement with materials better suited to new
times.
Under the ruined lintel, sheltered from prying eyes, he savoured the delicious sensation of
having done something "naughty". He was delighted, deliciously delighted with his crime.
Far away, he could see the Sanitary vehicle arrive like a whirlwind. The onlookers rapidly
dispersed - no-one wanted to tangle with the white androids of Sanitary Order. The black
wagon left again without searching very far - Security would scarcely venture into these
disreputable alleys.
When all the excitement seemed to die down, Paul pulled himself together and decided to go
home. He couldn't stay any longer outside. The situation had gotten away from him.
He came inside out of breath, and shut himself away in his room.
He stretched out on his narrow couch and closed his big black eyes. His breathing slowed. He
waited, he knew that visions would be overcoming him. His body shivered, his head felt heavy.
He was snatched up in a blue whirlwind, then a magnificent landscape spread out before him.
Fields of flowers, of wheat, aromas even, carried by a gentle breeze from the surrounding hills
gently tickled his nostrils and then, suddenly, that little figure emerged, always the same one
for days now. A nimble figure, which frolicked, jumped, climbed trees and which sometimes
stopped in its tracks in the middle of a field and seemed to say to him:
"Come on, Paul, come and play with me." And the figure ran off again laughing, a laugh full of
happiness, of carefree joy.
The young man awoke in a sweat. Who was this character? He'd soon find out. This time,
before falling asleep, he had connected his mindscanner to his temples. It had recorded
everything. He uploaded to the mediputer's memory all the data he had collected. His feelings,
his dreams, the colours, the puddles of water, and waited anxiously before the screen.
The computer buzzed, absorbed the parametric information and searched its virtual memory
for a response.
Several minutes passed before the metallic voice of the computer was heard in the room.
"Visual reconstitution of data - ready." Paul trembled slightly, hesitated, then pressed the
confirmation key. The screen went black, some static appeared then a shadow outlined itself
and a little being in short pants, with messy hair and sporting a wide smile, appeared on the
screen.
Taken aback, Paul asked: "... but what is it?"
"A small human," the computer replied evasively.
"A dwarf? But they don't exist anymore, Sanitary Security eradicated them."
"No, not a dwarf, a child."
"A child!" gasped Paul, dumbfounded. "But I've never heard of such a thing. Where are they
from? Do they live on one of the sister-planets? I want to meet them! They seem so happy!"Paul became nervous when the appliance did not reply. It seemed hesitant, searching for a reply
to this strange question. Paul's voice became more commanding.
"Medi, where can these creatures be found?"
"They do not exist."
"Then why do I see them?"
"Paul, I am only a mediputer, I am not programmed to respond to questions which are out of
bounds."
"Medi, if you don't reply this instant, you'll be out of bounds!" yelled Paul, beginning to pull out
the computer's vital memory boards.
The machine surrendered: "All right, but you will regret it."
"I don't give a damn, I'm listening."
"Paul, childhood is a stage in human life, not a kind of creature."
"A stage? So then, how do you become a child?"
"You do not. Childhood is the past of the adult human. For you, it is too late. I am sorry."
Paul angrily wiped away the tears which softly flowed on his cheeks.
"But I was never a child!" he sobbed.
"I know, Paul. Like everyone else, you are a second-generation clone. Clones have no past. They
are the future and ..."
But Paul did not hear the rest. Alerted by Mira, the Sanitary Security androids burst
into his room, grabbed him and injected him with a tranquiliser.
"You won't hurt him?" the young woman worried.
"No. We will take him to the sensory reconstruction centre, and in a few days he will have
forgotten all his useless dreams."
One of the androids put a hand, intended to be friendly, on Mira's shoulder.
"You did the right thing calling us. In any case we would have tracked him down sooner or later.
The mediputer had already reported the state he was in. You cannot get away with asking
questions about dreams. You know how much that would disturb our new social order. When
humans open the door to the world of fantasy, they get lost there and forget all about reality.
You do not want to lose your husband," it resumed while gripping the young woman's
shoulder more firmly. "No, no, of course not," she said, biting her lips.
"Anyway, you will enjoy two days of sunshine therapy on the Sunny Satellite. You will go with
your husband as soon as he gets back," it said, loosening the cold vice of its hand.
But Paul didn't care about any of that. He had put up no resistance and smiled, because he was
once more with the child who, beyond the bluish clouds, had beckoned to him.
French to English: The hidden history of FEMEN General field: Social Sciences Detailed field: Government / Politics
Source text - French http://olivierpechter.wordpress.com/2014/01/17/du-communisme-aux-reseaux-neo-fascistes-lhistoire-cachee-des-femen-12/
Translation - English Communists and“red-browns”, the first allies – the hidden history of FEMEN(1/3)
Thisfirst part looks at FEMEN... before FEMEN.
This investigation, which could be called “the weight of words, the shock of images”, tells the story of FEMEN in light of their alliances and their numerous political shifts, often undertaken silently. An ongoing series.
Ukrainian political analysts unanimously consider FEMEN a“politico-commercial” enterprise and have never really looked into the subject in depth. Because of its incoherencies, this “chameleon” movement has had to leave their country before being fatally discredited.
In France, it has been able to bounce back, benefiting from supporters reaching as far as the Left Party.
For their part, the media has swamped us with a “FEMEN-ist”narrative. That is, until the eruption of the scandal at the Vienna Biennale, which unmasked the macho personality of Viktor Sviatski,long-time leader of FEMEN alongside Anna Hutsol. The image of the movement became clouded, its star faded. An alternative narrative took over.
The exclusive photos which this article reveals make the argument hard to dispute:
Born in the communist and anti-fascist crucible of Ukraine, FEMEN has not gone far without being associated, repeatedly, with reactionary, even ultranationalist, movements. This before fleeing to France, thanks to the goodwill of a certain neoconservative group. QED.
In Ukraine, without needing to oversimplify, two camps have opposed each other for a long time. In the East of the country, a pro-Russian and “anti-fascist” camp, brought to life by an alliance of aright-wing party with the Communist Party. And in the West of the country, a nationalist and pro-Western camp. The main figures in thislatter tendency are well known to us: Viktor Yushchenko, Yulia Timochenko... Now, some years before that, we saw the founders of FEMEN shift abruptly from one camp to the other. A U-turn with overtones of falsehood, which has led FEMEN to be described as “political technology” by Ukrainian specialists. In this first part, I will set about the history of FEMEN's political alliances,and at the same time a genealogy of their xenophobic positioning.
FEMEN, a “political technology?
Political technology, wazzat? We're talking about political manipulation taken to extremes. The tools to do this are familiar to us: narrative shaping, disinformation, “triangulation”... But the extended and intensive use of these tools in the former USSR,where it has become a veritable small industry, is less familiar. Inmost cases, it entails manoeuvres by an authoritarian government to keep itself in power, through trickery. FEMEN has for a long time been considered a provider of such services. But in their case, they seem to have shifted their positions with regard to the media and their political/financial supporters of the moment. It would thus be wrong to assert that FEMEN was created by some puppet-master whose interests they have been defending all along. They have before all else defended their own. Nevertheless, we shall reveal some of their political/financial acquaintances who have until now escaped notice, maybe even bringing to light reasons for some of the positions they have taken.
(One presumed example of political technology: the sudden rise to prominence, a few years ago, in the media close to President Yanukovych, of one of his political opponents: Vitali Klitschko. A former sports star who had no previous inclinations towards politics: divide and rule...)
FEMEN before FEMEN: in the orbit of the Communist Party and the pro-Russian camp...
The best-known FEMEN figure among the French public is Inna Shevchenko. But the real leader of FEMEN is Anna Hutsol, in partnership with her old comrade Viktor Sviatski. Presented as an “advertising guru”, the latter is above all a political professional.
Hailing from the town of Khmelnytsky (population 30,000), the autobiographical work FEMEN (referenced in the remainder of this article by “c.f. FEMEN”) describes the meeting of Hutsol with Sviatski at the beginning of the 2000s, within a“Marxist-road circle” of which he was the “mentor”. How romantic. The work passes in silence over their common work within the Komsomol, the youth wing of the Communist Party.
CAPTION: Oksana Chatchko (co-founder of FEMEN) with the young communists (Khmelnytsky)
Leaving Komsomol, Hutsol and Sviatski founded two different student movements, at the end of 2005: the Centre for Youth Perspectives (CYP, an activist group), and New Ethics (a women's organisation prefiguring FEMEN). They were conveniently launched under the auspices of Olga Ivanovna Ugrak, who was then the Communist Party candidate at the local elections. It was she who provided premisesfor the CYP. As for New Ethics, it was based at Sviatski's house(c.f. FEMEN). The creation of these organisations seemingly allowed the Communists to rejuvenate their image and to enlarge theirsupport among the small groups which constituted communist youth. Anna Hutsol would directly take part in the Communist campaign (c.f. FEMEN).
CAPTION:At centre and side by side, the Communist candidate Olga Ivanovna Ugrak and Viktor Sviatski. New Year's social at CYP.
This local election campaign marked a turning point: Sviatski and Hutsol withdrew from “serious” politics, marked by their time among the Communist youth, to make politics into a (media) career.
Working for a “red-brown” party
After the disastrous result of the Communist campaign (3% of the vote), Hutsol and her friends had to find a new ally. This was the brand-new but well-resourced Great Ukraine.The leaders of the CPY (Sviatski, Golenshin, Alexandrovich) became activists in the new party and New Ethics became its satellite. Great Ukraine was led by the enigmatic Igor Berkut. A self-declared former spy, this millionaire was a former owner of banks in Kazakhstan and Russia. He is also a kind of political “mercenary”, and his party was accused of availing itself of “political technology”. He authored a book reproducing the arguments of his “brother” Putin.
CAPTION:from left to right: the Great Ukraine party flag, Viktor Sviatski (CYP/Great Ukraine), Sasha Shevchenko (then leader of New Ethics, future co-founder of FEMEN), Igor Berkut (Great Ukraine), October 2007.
CAPTION:Viktor Sviatski at a demonstration by Great Ukraine, of which he was then an activist.
Great Ukraine,a “social patriotic” party vaguely on the Left, found itself alongside the Communist Party in the pro-Russian camp. Its strong support for the death penalty got it some media coverage, and its anti-immigrant positions (including the stationing on the border of“military-patriotic clubs”) gained a certain interest on the forums of the extreme Right. In 2010 it declared itself (in all seriousness) in favour of a “good democratic dictatorship”...
It is seemingly at this point that Hutsol and Sviatski discovered the market for “political technology”. We thus saw Sviatski and Great Ukraine,strangely for student activists, organise an action in defence of...wine-makers.
During these years, from 2006 to 2008, the women's movement New Ethics experimented itself with media stunts based upon flash mobs. For example, in April 2008, with a release of balloons. Sasha Shevchenko recounted at the time:
“We were on the Internet, looking for something interesting and we accidentally came across International Women's Day.”
The foundations of FEMEN were all in place.
Before going onto the birth of FEMEN itself, it is interesting to reveal one last photo, as it shows where the movement came from and how the usual depiction of FEMEN as the natural child of the Orange Revolution (presented as pro-Western and thus part of the “axis of good”) is incorrect. It shows Anna Hutsol in 2008, posing proudly with an anti-NATO gathering organised by the Progressive Socialist Party, an orthodox “panslavic” organisation (for the union of Russia, Belarus and Ukraine).
CAPTION:banner opposing both NATO and Bandera ( a “controversial” historical figure of Ukrainian nationalism)
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