Act 1 is complete!
It is amazing how a text that seemed so very powerful the first time you read it can mean so much more after the passage of several years. I finished translating act 1 tonight, all the way through to where the impotent man kills his unfaithful wife who has driven him to the edges of despair... Act II and III are even better. I met the woman who translated her first novel, and she was excited about the project too, so there is nothing to do but plunge forth and try not to plunder innocent villages...
In other news, I witnessed (tangentially, really the aftermath - Miguel was the one who saw it happen while we were out to lunch) a terrible bike accident today. A guy tried to pop a wheelie (oh god is that really as dated as it sounds to me, how else does one describe that action without sounding hoplessly unhip?) and his wheel went flying off and he crashed down with all his weight on his head and neck. He just lay there. Traffic stopped. We were a block down but Miguel rushed down, with several other people. I didn't. I hovered, paralyzed by the laws of appropriateness and commitment. Was I really involved by virtue of being one of maybe thirty people in the general vicinity, but not immediately next to the action. By the time it clicked (I saw M. dialing 911) that I should get the police and I was walking towards the foot patrol, another girl raced by me. I was floating, suspended in inaction. The police didn't seem to move very quickly either. Several people had just laughed and pointed and been on their way, others of us, me not being the only hesitant samaritan, felt the need to hover until the boy's neck had been secured and he strapped carefully to the rescue/restraining boards that they force you onto if they suspect spinal injury (last time I was on that board we had been smushed almost completely in a mid-afternoon car wreck, and Isabella was crying for me, and I couldn't reach her, she was not even a year old yet).
It never ceases to amaze me the range of human reaction. There are some people who are just naturally committed, involved. They go right to the source and make a difference. There are those cynical souls who experience Shaudenfreude (sp?) (new concept learned today, had to be included), and then there are those of us who are too trapped in the thinking to begin the doing. I include myself in this last group, pained by other's suffering, but seemingly incapable (or horrors - unwilling?) to become involved because of what it might imply.
I tell myself that if I had been more proximally situated I would have responded more immediately, instead of assuming that someone else was taking care of the situation.
In fact, this morning in front of my classroom door there was a student from the previous class who had apparently collapsed and vomited on herself, and I did indeed, inquire as to her well-being and I made sure that someone was coming for her before leaving her behind and teaching, but there is this thing that nags, asking me why I didn't stop and hold her hand and say "fuck class this person isin need"... But she seemed alright enough and I am helplessly tied to meaningless responsibility.
I must meditate on this and respond with more compassion in the future.
In other news, I witnessed (tangentially, really the aftermath - Miguel was the one who saw it happen while we were out to lunch) a terrible bike accident today. A guy tried to pop a wheelie (oh god is that really as dated as it sounds to me, how else does one describe that action without sounding hoplessly unhip?) and his wheel went flying off and he crashed down with all his weight on his head and neck. He just lay there. Traffic stopped. We were a block down but Miguel rushed down, with several other people. I didn't. I hovered, paralyzed by the laws of appropriateness and commitment. Was I really involved by virtue of being one of maybe thirty people in the general vicinity, but not immediately next to the action. By the time it clicked (I saw M. dialing 911) that I should get the police and I was walking towards the foot patrol, another girl raced by me. I was floating, suspended in inaction. The police didn't seem to move very quickly either. Several people had just laughed and pointed and been on their way, others of us, me not being the only hesitant samaritan, felt the need to hover until the boy's neck had been secured and he strapped carefully to the rescue/restraining boards that they force you onto if they suspect spinal injury (last time I was on that board we had been smushed almost completely in a mid-afternoon car wreck, and Isabella was crying for me, and I couldn't reach her, she was not even a year old yet).
It never ceases to amaze me the range of human reaction. There are some people who are just naturally committed, involved. They go right to the source and make a difference. There are those cynical souls who experience Shaudenfreude (sp?) (new concept learned today, had to be included), and then there are those of us who are too trapped in the thinking to begin the doing. I include myself in this last group, pained by other's suffering, but seemingly incapable (or horrors - unwilling?) to become involved because of what it might imply.
I tell myself that if I had been more proximally situated I would have responded more immediately, instead of assuming that someone else was taking care of the situation.
In fact, this morning in front of my classroom door there was a student from the previous class who had apparently collapsed and vomited on herself, and I did indeed, inquire as to her well-being and I made sure that someone was coming for her before leaving her behind and teaching, but there is this thing that nags, asking me why I didn't stop and hold her hand and say "fuck class this person isin need"... But she seemed alright enough and I am helplessly tied to meaningless responsibility.
I must meditate on this and respond with more compassion in the future.
posted by ilana at 10:37 p.m.
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