Mas hoje a coisa muda de figura. Acho que todo mundo jÃ¡ se sentiu inspirado pela Terra-média para também tentar escrever ficção. HÃ¡ alguns meses, juntei a inspiração tolkieniana com uma ressonância dela no mundo real – a descoberta dos "hobbits", seres humanos primitivos de 1 m de altura, na ilha de Flores, na Indonésia – e escrevi meu primeiro conto de ficção cientÃfica, em inglês. E agora o publico aqui na Valinor, com a tradução para o português também. Encarem isso como um aperitivo para uma futura resenha do livro "The Science of Middle-Earth" (A Ciência da Terra-média). Divirtam-se!
A WALLED GARDEN
"Bloody GPS", cursed Sean.
In retrospect, it sounded like a bad idea from the start. Everybody was on weekend leave, and most of the guys had run to pick up the first flight to Jakarta, or even to Bali (bomb alerts notwithstanding). Instead, he had decided to "get to know the forest a little better". "We spend day and night with bent back inside limestone walls. I love this job, but there’s a whole lot of species out there that should be seen before they enter the fossil record, fellas", he had said.
He remembered that Pete, the lead paleoanthropologist, had laughed and shaken his head. "Damn you, mate, now I see why you got into hominid hunting. You’re a bloody dreamer, that’s what you are."
And now it was past three and, after what looked like an innocent nap against a tree trunk, he was unmistakably lost. No use trying to find the east by the sun’s position under that canopy. "I’ve got to try and reach a clearance. It shouldn’t be that difficult with loggers all round here these days", he thought.
Sean chose his course at random and on he went. The birds became unusually quiet after a while, until he saw a patch of open sky and heard what seemed to be children’s voices a few dozen feet away. Maybe it was a farmers’ family, eking out a hard living from the rainforest.
Then he stepped into the clearance and looked down – there was a shallow hollow, filled with low grass and bushes, and little shapely flowers. "They don’t call this place Flores for nothing", smiled Sean to himself. He couldn’t help thinking the Portuguese word was a better fit for the red-yellow blossoms than the English one. He smiled again. "Sapir-Whorf, huh? Thought you had read your Pinker, fella."
Sean saw the lads whose shouting he had heard: five or six-year-olds by their heights, their backs were turned against him and they treaded the grass naked, with sticks in their hands. He called out in Bahasa (the few words he knew) and, for some reason, that seemed to alarm them. They run and shouted again, and three slightly older kids, also with some kind of walking stick, popped up from behind a taller bush and walked briskly towards Sean. They didn’t look happy.
And then, when they were close enough for him to see their faces, his world fell apart.
(Versão traduzida para o português)
"Droga de GPS", xingou Sean.
"Companheiro, agora eu sei por que você entrou nesse negÃ³cio de caçar hominÃdeo. Você é uma droga de sonhador, isso sim."
Passava das oito e uma chuva furiosa estava encharcando o mundo quando ele chegou. Não conseguia ligar o telefone, ainda não. Sean secou o cabelo e decidiu que precisava de uma boa leitura. O Terceiro Chimpanzé estava em cima da cama, e ele retomou o livro de onde tinha parado na noite anterior. Coincidência ou não, o tema era a Tasmânia.
avia na Terra dois povos menos equipados para entender um ao outro do que os tasmanianos e os brancos."