Boy: Roald Dahl’s autobiography

Jana Vokáčová, 2004

Roald Dahl  is one of the most successful and well-known of all children´s writers. He was born in 1916 in Wales to Norwegian parents. He was an RAF pilot during World War Two and began writing after being injured. A string of best-sellers followed  - many of which have been made into films – including Charlie and The Glass Elevator, James and The Giant Peach, Danny Champion of the World, Matilda, Fantastic Mr Fox, The BFG, The Twits and The Witches. He has sold over 25 million books. He died in 1990 at the age of 74.
Boy is one of his autobiographies, it was first published  in 1984. The book could be subtitled Tales of childhood. It brings all the information about him starting from the very first days of his life (in fact he even describes his father´s adventures from the time when he left Norway, his homeland) till the time when he said goodbye to school and got his first job. He describes everything from the children´s perspective even though he wrote this book when he was over sixty years old. The book reads extremely well and it reveals many interesting facts about his early life. I was wondering why it has not been translated into Czech yet as so many of his books for children were.  I suppose it would become as popular as all other translations of his books and it would make the readers aware of his life adventures in a very accessible way. 
In the next part of this paper I would like to comment on some of the problems I came across while translating the  part I have chosen.  Let me start with the title of the book. I decided to translate it as Chlapecká léta as I didn´t particularly like the idea of translating it as a one-word title in Czech – Chlapec - which would not say as much to the reader as my suggested title. The main lexical problem concerning translation  was the fact that in the chosen passage, there were names of different sweets which we either do not have in Czech or which are not the same as the English words. So in some cases I tried to introduce names of sweets similar to the British originals and if there was no convenient equivalent, I had to use a description of such kind of sweet which I was not very happy about as in the case of Gobstoppers (translated as velké cucavé bonbóny) where my idea worked quite well but it would not work that good in another part of the text where this item of sweets is being described thoroughly (pp.31-32 in the original). 
Another interesting problematic area which could be mentioned are cultural differences that almost always present an issue which must be dealt with. Here in this short passage it was the game called conkers (p.35 in the original) which to my knowledge does not exist in the Czech Republic but as the translation of this word (kaštan) is homonymous with another Czech word which is widespread and could even fit into the stated context although it does not give the same information, I believe it is not a fault to use it.                 

[Za povšimnutí rovněž stojí slovní spojení village green, jež, jak se domnívám, zde označuje zatravněnou plochu na návsi a nikoliv hřiště, které se objevilo ve francouzském překladu Janine Herisson z roku 1985.]

Boy by Roald Dahl

Chlapecká léta

[p. 33]
‘But why do they put it into sweets and sell them to us?’  we asked him.		
You might think a question like this would have baffled Thwaites. But Thwaites was never baffled. ‘My father says Tonsil Ticklers were invented for dangerous prisoners in jail,’ he said. ‘They give them one with each meal and the chloroform makes them sleepy and stops them rioting.’		
‘Yes,’ we said, ‘but why sell them to children?		
‘It’s a plot,’ Thwaites said. ‘A grown-up plot to keep us quiet.’		
The sweet-shop in Llandaff in the year 1923 was the very centre of our lives. To us, it was what a bar is to a drunk, or a church is to a Bishop. Without it, there would have been little to live for. But it had one terrible drawback, this sweet-shop. The woman who owned it was a horror. We hated her and we had good reason for doing so.	V roce 1923 pro nás byla cukrárna v Landaffu středem vesmíru. Byla pro nás stejně důležitá jako pro opilce bar nebo jako pro biskupa kostel. Bez ní bychom neměli téměř proč žít. Cukrárna měla však jednu velkou nevýhodu. Její majitelka byla příšerná ženská, kterou jsme nenáviděli. A měli jsme k tomu dobrý důvod.	
Her name was Mrs Pratchett. She was a small skinny  old hag with a moustache on her upper lip and a mouth as  sour as a green gooseberry. She never smiled. She never  welcomed us when we went in, and the only times she  spoke were when she said things like, ‘I’m watchin’ you  so keep yer thievin’ fingers off them chocolates!’ Or ‘I  don’t want you in ‘ere just to look around! Either you forks out or you gets out!’	Jmenovala se paní Pratchettová. Byla to stará čarodějnice malé vychrtlé postavy. Měla knírek a pokaždé se tvářila mrzutě a kysele. Nikdy se neusmála. A ani nás nikdy nepozdravila, když jsme vešli dovnitř. Jediné, co nám říkala, bylo: „Vidím vás, takže dejte ty vaše nenechavý prsty od těch bonbónů pryč.“ Nebo „Nechci, abyste mi to sem chodili jen okukovat, buď vysolte peníze nebo vypadněte!“	
But by far the most loathsome thing about Mrs Pratchett  was the filth that clung around her. Her apron was grey  and greasy. Her blouse had bits of breakfast all over it,  toast-crumbs and tea stains and splotches of dried egg-yolk.  It was her hands, however, that disturbed us most. They  were disgusting. They were black with dirt and grime,  They looked as though they had been putting lumps of coal on the fire all day long. And do not forget please that it  was these very hands and fingers that she plunged into the  sweet jars when we asked for a pennyworth of Treacle  Toffee or Wine Gums or Nut Clusters or whatever. There  were precious few health laws in those days, and nobody,  least of all Mrs Pratchett, ever thought of using a little shovel  for getting out the sweets as they do today. The mere sight  of her grimy right hand with its black fingernails digging an  ounce of Chocolate Fudge out of a jar would have caused a  starving tramp to go running from the shop. But not us.  Sweets were our life-blood. We would have put up with far  worse than that to get them. So we simply stood and  watched in sullen silence while this disgusting old woman  stirred around inside the jars with her foul fingers.	Ale to, co ze všeho nejvíc vzbuzovalo náš odpor, byla špína, která kolem ní panovala. Měla šedivou a umaštěnou zástěru. Na blůze měla všude zbytky od snídaně – drobky chleba, skvrny od čaje a fleky od zaschlých žloutků. Ovšem nejvíc nám vadily její ruce. Byly nechutné, umouněné a černota z nich jen čišela. Vypadaly, jako kdyby s nimi celý den přikládala uhlí do ohně. A hlavně nesmíte zapomenout, že právě tyhle ruce a prsty nořila do sklenic se sladkostmi, když jsme si kupovali za penci karamely, želatinové medvídky, pražené oříšky obalené v čokoládě, zkrátka cokoliv. Tehdy ještě neplatily přísné hygienické předpisy a nikoho, a už vůbec ne paní Pratchettovou, by ani ve snu nenapadlo použít malou lopatku k nabrání sladkostí, jak se to dělá dnes. Už jen pohled na paní Pratchettovou, jak svojí umouněnou pravou rukou se špínou za nehty doluje ze sklenice třicet gramů plněných čokoládových bonbónů, by přinutil vyhladovělého tuláka vzít nohy na ramena. Nás ovšem ne. Sladkosti pro nás byly životní nezbytností. Byli bychom se smířili i s horšími věcmi, jen abychom je dostali. A tak jsme tam zachmuřeně a v tichosti stáli a sledovali, jak se ta nechutná babizna prohrabuje svými odpornými prsty obsahem sklenic.	
The other thing we hated Mrs Pratchett for was her  meanness. Unless you spent a whole sixpence all in one  go, she wouldn’t give you a bag. Instead you got your  sweets twisted up in a small piece of newspaper which she’d tore off a pile of old Daily Mirrors lying on the counter. So you can well understand that we had it in for Mrs  Pratchett in a big way, but we didn’t quite know what to  do about it. Many schemes were put forward but none of  them was any good. None of them, that is, until suddenly,  one memorable afternoon, we found the dead mouse.	Dalším důvodem, proč jsme nenáviděli paní Pratchettovou, byla její lakota. Pokud člověk neutratil najednou celou šestipenci, nedostal od ní sáček. Místo toho vám sladkosti zabalila do kousku novin, který utrhla z hromady starých Daily Mirrors, co ležely na pultě.
Takže asi dokážete snadno pochopit, že jsme na ni měli jaksepatří spadeno, ale neměli jsme přesnou představu, jak se jí pomstít. Vymysleli jsme spoustu plánů, ale žádný nebyl ten pravý. Žádný nestál za to, až náhle jednoho památného odpoledne jsme našli mrtvou myš.	
The Great Mouse Plot	Velké myší spiknutí	
My four friends and I had come across a loose floor-board  at the back of the classroom; and when we prised it up  with the blade of a pocket-knife, we discovered a big  hollow space underneath: This, we decided, would be our  secret hiding place for sweets and other small treasures  such as conkers and monkey-nuts and birds’ eggs. Every  afternoon, when the last lesson was over, the five of us  would wait until the classroom had emptied, then we  would lift up the floor-board and examine our secret hoard,  perhaps adding to it or taking something away.	Spolu s mými čtyřmi kamarády jsme objevili vzadu ve třídě uvolněné prkno v podlaze, a když jsme ho pomocí kapesního nože nadzvedli, odhalili jsme pod ním velký prázdný prostor. Rozhodli jsme, že to bude naše tajná skrýš na sladkosti a další malé poklady jako kaštany, burské oříšky a ptačí vajíčka. Každé odpoledne, když skončila poslední hodina, jsme všichni počkali, až se vyprázdní třída, pak jsme nadzdvihli prkno v podlaze a zkontrolovali své tajné zásoby, popřípadě jsme k nim něco přidali nebo naopak jsme si z nich něco vzali.	
One day, when. we lifted it up, we found a dead mouse  lying among our treasures. It was an exciting discovery.  Thwaites took it out by its tail and waved it in front of our  faces. ‘What shall we do with it?’ he cried.	Jednoho dne, když jsme zdvihli prkno, našli jsme mezi svými poklady ležet mrtvou myš. Byl to vzrušující objev. Thwaites ji vzal za ocas a začal nám s ní mávat před očima.  „Co s ní uděláme?“, pokřikoval.	
‘It stinks!’ someone shouted. ‘Throw it out of the window quick!’	„Fuj, ta smrdí!“, zvolal jeden z nás. „Honem ji vyhoď oknem!“	
‘Hold on a tick,’ I said. ‘Don’t throw it away.’ 	„Počkej,“ řekl jsem. „Nevyhazuj ji.“	
Thwaites hesitated. They all looked at me.	Thwaites zaváhal. Všichni se po mně tázavě podívali.	
When writing about oneself, one must strive to be truthful. Truth is more important than modesty. I must tell  you, therefore, that it was I and I alone who had the idea  for the great and daring Mouse Plot. We all have our  moments of brilliance and glory, and this was mine.	Když člověk píše o sobě, měl by se snažit psát pravdivě. Je to důležitější, než být skromný. Musím vám tedy prozradit, že jsem to byl já, ano, já sám, kdo dostal ten nápad na velké a troufalé myší spiknutí. Všichni máme své oslnivé a slavné životní okamžiky a tohle byl ten můj.	
‘Why don’t we’, I said, ‘slip it into one of Mrs Pratchett’s  jars of sweets? Then when she puts her dirty hand in to  grab a handful, she’ll grab a stinky dead mouse instead.’ The other four stared at me in wonder. Then, as the  sheer genius of the plot began to sink in, they all started  grinning. They slapped me on the back. They cheered me  and danced around the classroom. ‘We’ll do it today!’ they  cried. ‘We’ll do it on the way home! You had the idea!’ they said to me, ‘so you can be the one to put the mouse  in the jar.’	„Co kdybychom ji podstrčili do jedné ze sklenic se sladkostmi k paní Pratchettové?“ řekl jsem. „Až tam pak strčí svou špinavou ruku, aby jich hrst nabrala, vyloví místo toho zapáchající mrtvou myš.“

Všichni čtyři na mě s údivem hleděli. Když jim pak došlo, jak geniální je to nápad, začli se smát na celé kolo a poplácávat mě po zádech. Provolávali mi slávu a tancovali po třídě. „Provedeme to dneska!“, volali. „Uděláme to cestou domů! Byl to TVŮJ nápad, takže ty můžeš dát tu myš do sklenice,“ řekli mi.	
Thwaites handed me the mouse. I put it into my trouser  pocket. Then the five of us left the school, crossed the  village green and headed for the sweet-shop. We were  tremendously jazzed up. We felt like a gang of desperados  setting out to rob a train or blow up the sheriff’s office.	Thwaites mi myš podal a já jsem si ji dal do kapsy u kalhot. Pak nás všech pět vyrazilo ze školy, přešli jsme náves a mířili do cukrárny. Srdce nám bušila napjatým očekáváním. Připadali jsme si jako gang desperátů, kteří se chystají vyloupit vlak nebo vyhodit do povětří šerifa i s jeho úřadem.	
‘Make sure you put it into a jar which is used often ‘  somebody said.	„Hlavně ji dej do nějaké sklenice, ze které často nabírá sladkosti“, řekl jeden z nás.	
‘I’m putting it in Gobstoppers,’ I said. ‘The Gobstopper  jar is never behind the counter.’	„Dám ji do těch velkých cucavých bonbónů. Ty nedává nikdy za pult.“	
‘I’ve got a penny,’ Thwaites said, ‘so I’ll ask for one Sherbet Sucker and one Bootlace. And while she turns  away to get them, you slip the mouse in quickly with the  Gobstoppers.’	„Mám jednu penci,“ řekl Thwaites, „takže si řeknu o jedno lízátko s příchutí šumáku a jednu lékořicovou tyčinku. A až se pro ně otočí, hodíš rychle myš do těch bonbónů.“	
Thus everything was arranged. We were strutting a little  as we entered the shop. We were the victors now and Mrs  Pratchett was the victim. She stood behind the counter,  and her small malignant pig-eyes watched us suspiciously  as we came forward.	Vše tedy bylo domluveno. Vstupovali jsme do obchodu a lehce se přitom naparovali. Byli jsme teď vítězové a paní Pratchettová byla naše oběť. Stála za pultem a jak jsme se blížili, podezíravě si nás prohlížela svýma malýma prasečíma očima.	
‘One Sherbet Sucker, please,’ Thwaites said to her, hold ing out his penny.	„Prosil bych jedno lízátko s příchutí šumáku,“ řekl jí Thwaites a podal jí svou penci.	
I kept to the rear of the group, and when I saw Mrs  Pratchett turn her head away for a couple of seconds to  fish a Sherbet Sucker out of the box, I lifted the heavy glass lid of the Gobstopper jar and dropped the mouse in. Then  I replaced the lid as silently as possible. My heart was  thumping like mad and my hands had gone all sweaty.	Držel jsem se vzadu za ostatními a když jsem viděl, že se paní Pratchettová na chvíli otočila, aby ho vylovila z krabice, zvedl jsem těžké skleněné víko sklenice s cucavými bonbóny a upustil do ní myš. Potom jsem ho co nejtišeji vrátil zpátky. Srdce mi prudce bušilo a ruce se mi úplně zapotily.	
‘And one Bootlace, please,’ I heard Thwaites saying.  When I turned round, I saw Mrs Pratchett holding out the  Bootlace in her filthy fingers.	Slyšel jsem, jak Thwaites dodal: „A jednu lékořicovou tyčinku, prosím.“ Když jsem se otočil, viděl jsem paní Pratchettovou, jak drží ve svých zašpiněných prstech lékořicovou tyčinku.	
‘I don’t want all the lot of you troopin’ in ‘ere if only  one of you is buyin’,’ she screamed at us. ‘Now beat it! Go  on, get out!’	„Nechci, abyste se sem pokaždý nahrnuli všichni, když si pak jenom jeden něco koupí,“ řvala na nás. „A teď vypadněte! No tak, kliďte se!“	
As soon as we were outside, we broke into a run. ‘Did  you do it?’ they shouted at me.	Hned jak jsme byli venku, dali jsme se na útěk. „Povedlo se ti to?“ ptali se mě.	
‘Of course I did!’ I said.	„No jasně!“ odpověděl jsem.	
‘Well done you!’ they cried. ‘What a super show!’	„Paráda! Seš fakt dobrej!“ volali všichni s nadšením.	
I felt like a hero. I was a hero. It was marvellous to be  so popular.	Cítil jsem se jako hrdina. Byl jsem hrdina. Byl to úžasný pocit být středem pozornosti.