Rêve de Smith

Rêve de Smith

Poursuite

Smith lay in his bed beside his third wife and dreamed his troublesome dream. They were after him again. His truck had been identified. His rocks had rolled too far. The Search and Rescue Team was howling mad. A warrant for his arrest had been issued in San Juan County. The Bishop of Blanding raged like a strictured bull over half of Utah. Smith fled down endless corridors of sweating concrete.
Down in the dank bowels of Reclamation. Engineers on skateboards glided past, clipboards in hand. Pneumatic panels opened before him, closed behind him, drawing Smith deeper and deeper into the dynamo heart of the Enemy. Magnetic webs pulled him toward the Inner Office. Where the director waited, waiting for him. Like Doc and Bonnie and George, also locked up somewhere in here, Smith knew he was going to be punished. [...] The Director spoke. Its voice resembled the whine of an electric violin, pitche din higest register to C-sharp, that same internal note which drove the deaf Smetana insane. “Smoth,” the voice began, “we know why you are here.” [...]
“Come closer, Joseph Fielding Smith, known informally as ‘Seldom Seen,’ born Salt Lake City, Utah, Shithead Capital of the Inter-Mountain West, for behold art thou not he who has foretold in 1 Nephi 2:1-4, The Book of Mormon, wherein it is written, ‘The Lord commanded him, even in a dream, that he should take his family and depart into the wilderness’? With ample provision, such as organic peanut butter, adn with his family known as one Doc Sarvis, one George H. Hayduke and one Miz B. Abbzug?” [...]
Smith found himself pinioned instantly by rigid, though invisible, bonds. “Hey—?” He shrugged feebly.
“Good. Affix the electrodes. Insert the anode into his penis. Quite so. The cathode goes up the rectum. Half a meter. Yes, all the way. Don`t be squeamish.” The Director issued his orders to invisible assistants, who bustled about Smith’s paralyzed body. [...]
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah...” Smith rose in his bed, filmed with cold sweat, turned and clutched at his wife like a drowning man. “Sheila,” he groaned, struggling toward the surface on consciousness, “great almighty Gawd – !”
Edward Abbey

The Monkey Wrench Gang

États-Unis   1975 Genre de texte
Roman
Contexte
Chapitre 21. Ce rêve constitue presque tout ce chapitre. Rêve de Seldom Seen Smith, un mormon. Cette nuit, il dort avec sa troisième femme, Sheila. Avec ses amis George Washington Hayduke, Bonne Azzbug et Doc Sarvis, il fait du terrorisme environnemental dans le sud-ouest des États-Unis. Il a peur de se faire attraper après avoir détruit un train, un étang et plusieurs bouteurs. Il rêve qu’il se fait prendre par un Directeur qui le torture.
Notes
Edward Abbey (1927-1989), romancier américain, connu pour son activisme environnemental.
Texte original
Smith lay in his bed beside his third wife and dreamed his troublesome dream. They were after him again. His truck had been identified. His rocks had rolled too far. The Search and Rescue Team was howling mad. A warrant for his arrest had been issued in San Juan County. The Bishop of Blanding raged like a strictured bull over half of Utah. Smith fled down endless corridors of sweating concrete. Down in the dank bowels of Reclamation. Engineers on skateboards glided past, clipboards in hand. Pneumatic panels opened before him, closed behind him, drawing Smith deeper and deeper into the dynamo heart of the Enemy. Magnetic webs pulled him toward the Inner Office. Where the director waited, waiting for him. Like Doc and Bonnie and George, also locked up somewhere in here, Smith knew he was going to be punished. [...] The Director spoke. Its voice resembled the whine of an electric violin, pitche din higest register to C-sharp, that same internal note which drove the deaf Smetana insane. “Smoth,” the voice began, “we know why you are here.” [...]
“Come closer, Joseph Fielding Smith, known informally as ‘Seldom Seen,’ born Salt Lake City, Utah, Shithead Capital of the Inter-Mountain West, for behold art thou not he who has foretold in 1 Nephi 2:1-4, The Book of Mormon, wherein it is written, ‘The Lord commanded him, even in a dream, that he should take his family and depart into the wilderness’? With ample provision, such as organic peanut butter, adn with his family known as one Doc Sarvis, one George H. Hayduke and one Miz B. Abbzug?” [...]
Smith found himself pinioned instantly by rigid, though invisible, bonds. “Hey—?” He shrugged feebly.
“Good. Affix the electrodes. Insert the anode into his penis. Quite so. The cathode goes up the rectum. Half a meter. Yes, all the way. Don`t be squeamish.” The Director issued his orders to invisible assistants, who bustled about Smith’s paralyzed body. [...]
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah...” Smith rose in his bed, filmed with cold sweat, turned and clutched at his wife like a drowning man. “Sheila,” he groaned, struggling toward the surface on consciousness, “great almighty Gawd – !”