tirsdag 28. juli 2009

The short story

(For den som synes at vår novelle ikke er av særlig høy litterær kvalitet, så lar vi Google oversette den til engelsk. Gjør den seg bedre på Shakespeare's språk, syns du ?)

It was a dark and stormy night. Through the Panty thin walls, could more than ane orchestra smukke tones: Music for fine ladies with revepels, Snehvit dollarglis and so much of the dry martini in the circulation that could be harmful to speak of them as wandering distilleries - vovede distilleries well to note.
If someone on the inside in this moment had cast a glance out the window, they would set a human-like shadow stretching out from the bushes, but if you first lay there on the inside, was outside for long been one of life's trifles.
Among those who were there, albeit in the background, was Henry V.
He hosted. Then he spoke.
But there was no one heard what he said, for Henry V was not exactly the one that was easiest to attract attention. Won as he was being ignored, forgotten him in the same what he would say, and immediately set course against the bar.
Having arrived at the bar was his attempt to communicate with the other hand, seen once, as bartenders often have a particularly well developed ability to understand both the more and less velartikluerte message, and he was quickly served his Special whiskey. Henry stood with drink in hand and his back against the bar and considered their medgjester. That was why he was here.
And after only a short time he had an eye on what he had come here for. Long he stood and regarded her. Ten years have passed, he thought, ten years and she is still just as beautiful!
She put on the other end of the premises together with three to four other guests. Of the slightly over-driven His gestures to judge the proportion of dry martini in her blood circulation in the level with the other and the wife of the party Spreadshirt to judge hang it with all the security one revepels in the locker room, the question was only whether she had also been fine frue since he saw her last .
Henry drank and ordered another whiskey; he had to have the nerves under control if he should take the initiative. Ten minutes later he let out on the floor like a ship on jomfrutur; first cautiously and tentatively, then with a steady course towards the target in the horizon. The aim lot not to have seen him. But now, he arrived at her table, thanks to his creation for spirits Dulmen effect, and sought eye contact.
While our whole strive to let my eyes speak with a very different authority than the one he really possesses, we're for a while our gaze to a location immediately outside the building where the glittering celebrations take place, to the human-like shadow that has long been out in the clear light and with the expectation that we look forward to that evening will expose him as anything other than an immaterial. Shadow smyger away to a small window and a sliding Mestertyven he and lands softly in something that resembles a potato binge.

6 kommentarer:

  1. "Through the Panty thin walls, could more than ane orchestra smukke tones: Music for fine ladies with revepels, Snehvit dollarglis"

    HA HA! Dette var fornøyelig! Rett og slett!Den gjør seg utrolig godt sånn som dette.

  2. Hvis denne slår an, skal vi holde den "engelske" versjonen oppdatert underveis.

  3. Åh gud, så morsomt! Shakespeare kunne ikke ha gjort det bedre selv.

    "He hosted. Then he spoke." Ho ho ho!

  4. Ja Spectatia, akkurat den vendingen syntes jeg også var fin! Minnet meg om språket i "The Julekalender". Men den så vel ikke du, siden du er blitt så svensk?

  5. Den var jo bærre lekker!

    Nei, jeg må faktisk innrømme at det lille jeg har fått med meg fra den er fraser jeg har snappet opp fra min tante som var nærmere nitti på den tiden det begav seg, men alikevel var mildt sagt entusiastisk over The Julekalender.

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