نان اثر مارکارت آتوود به روایت شهرزاد فتوحی کارگردانی و تنظیم حسین آشتیانی از کانال وقت داستان

Описание: #داستانهای_آمریکایی
نان
نویسنده: #مارگارت_آتوود
ترجمه: #پژمان_طهرانیان

راوی: #شهرزاد_فتوحی

کارگردان: #حسین_آشتیانی
تولید:کانال وقت داستان
@storytimes

BREAD MARGARET ATWOOD

I MAGINE a piece of bread. You don't have to imagine it, it's right here inthe kitchen, onthe bread board, in its plastic bag, lying beside the bread knife. The bread knife is an old one you picked up at an auction; it hasthe word BREAD carved into the woodenhandle. You openthe bag, pullbackthe wrapper, cut yourselfa slice. You put butter onit, then peanut butter, then honey, and you fold it over. Some ofthe honey runs out onto your fingers andyoulick it off. It takesyou about a minute to eat the bread. This bread happens to be brown, but there is also white bread, in the refri- gerator, and a heel ofthe rye you got last week, round as a full stomach then, now going mouldy. Occasion- ally youmake bread. You think of it as something relaxing to do withyourhands.
I MAGINE a famine. Now imagine a piece ofbread. Both of these things are real but you happen to be in the same room with onlyone ofthem. Putyourselfinto a different room, that's what the mind is for. You are nowlying on a thin mattressin a hot room. The walls are made of dried earth and your sister, who is younger than you are, is inthe room withyou. She is starving, her belly is bloated, flies land onher eyes; you brushthem off withyour hand. You have a clothtoo, filthy but damp, andyou press it to her lips and forehead. The piece ofbread is the breadyou've beensaving, for days it seems. You are as hungryas she is, but not yet as weak. How long doesthis take? Whenwill some- one come with more bread?You think of going outto see if you might find somethingthat could be eaten, but outside the streets are infested with scavengers and the stink of corpses is everywhere. Should you share the bread or give the whole piece to your sister? Should you eat the piece ofbreadyour- self? After all, you have a better chance of living, you're stronger. How long does it take to decide?
I MAGINE a prison. There is some- thing you knowthatyouhave not yet told. Those in controloLthe prison know that you know. So do those not in control. Ifyou tell, thirtyor
forty or a hundredofyour friends, your comrades, will be caught andwill die. Ifyourefuse totell, to- night will be like last night. Theyalways choose the night. You don't thinkabout the night however, but aboutthe piece of breadthey offered you. How long doesit take? The piece ofbread was brown and fresh and remindedyou ofsunlight falling across a wooden floor. It remindedyouofa bowl, a yellow bowlthat wasonce in your home. It held apples and pears; it stood on a table you can also remember. It'snotthe hunger or the painthat is killing you but the absence ofthe yellow bowl. Ifyou could only holdthe bowl in yourhands, right here, you could withstand anything, youtell yourself. The bread theyoffered you is sub- versive, it's treacherous, it does not mean life. T HERE were once two sisters. One wasrich and had no children, the other had five childrenand wasa widow, so poorthat she no longer had any food left. She went to her sister and asked her for a mouthful of bread. 'My children are dying,' she said. The rich sister said, 'I do not have enough for myself,' and drove her away from the door. Thenthe husband ofthe rich sister came home and wantedto cut himselfa piece ofbread; but when he made the first cut, out flowed red blood. Everyone knew what that meant. Thisis a traditional German fairy-tale.
T HE LOAF ofbread 1have conjured for you floats about a foot above your kitchen table. The table is normal, there are no trap doors in it. A blue tea towel floats beneath the bread, and there are no strings attaching the cloth to the bread orthe breadto the ceiling or the table to the cloth, you've proved it bypassing your hand above and below. You didn'ttouch the breadthough. What stoppedyou? You don'twantto know whetherthe bread is real or whether it'sjusta hallucination I've somehowdupedyou into seeing. There'sno doubt that you cansee the bread, you can even smellit, it smells like yeast, and it looks solid enough, solid as your own arm. But can youtrust it? Can you eat it? you don't wantto know, imaginethat.