Even after the new addition to the Button family
had had his hair cut short and then dyed to a thin unnatural black, had had his
face shaved so close that it glistened, and had been attired in small-boy
clothes made to order by an amazed tailor, it was impossible for Button to
ignore the fact that his son was a poor excuse for a first family baby. Despite
his aged inclination, Benjamin Button—for it was by this name they called him
instead of by the appropriate but unpleasant Methuselah—was five feet eight
inches tall. His clothes did not conceal this, nor did the clipping and dyeing
of his eyebrows disguise the fact that the eyes under—were pale and watery and
tired. In fact, the baby-nurse who had been engaged in advance left the house after
one look, in a state of considerable indignation.
But Mr. Button persisted in his firm purpose.
Benjamin was a baby, and a baby he should remain. At first he declared that if
Benjamin didn't like warm milk he could go without food altogether, but he was
finally prevailed upon to allow his son bread and butter, and even oatmeal by
way of a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle and, giving it to
Benjamin, insisted in no uncertain terms that he should "play with
it," whereupon the old man took it with—a tired expression and could be
heard jingling it obediently at intervals throughout the day.
There can be no doubt, though, that the rattle
bored him, and that he found other and more peaceful amusements when he was
left alone. For instance, Mr. Button discovered one day that during the
preceding week he had smoked more cigars than ever before—a phenomenon, which
was explained a few days later when, entering the nursery unexpectedly, he
found the room full of slight blue vapor and Benjamin, with a guilty expression
on his face, trying to conceal the butt of a dark Havana. This, of course,
called for a severe spanking, but Mr. Button found that he could not bring
himself to administer it. He merely warned his son that he would "inhibit
his growth."
 |
| The Battle Monument, Baltimore, 1923. Wikipedia |
Nevertheless he persisted in his attitude. He
brought home lead soldiers, he brought toy trains, he brought large pleasant
animals made of cotton, and, to perfect the illusion which he was creating—for
himself at least—he passionately demanded of the clerk in the toy-store whether
"the paint would come oft the pink duck if the baby put it in his
mouth." But, despite all his father's efforts, Benjamin refused to be
interested. He would steal down the back stairs and return to the nursery with
a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, over which he would pore through an
afternoon, while his cotton cows and his Noah's ark were left neglected on the
floor. Against such a stubbornness Mr. Button's efforts were of little benefit.
The sensation created in Baltimore was, at first,
prodigious. What the mishap would have cost the Buttons and their relatives
socially cannot be determined, for the outbreak of the Civil War drew the city's attention to
other things. A few people who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for
compliments to give to the parents—and finally hit upon the ingenious device of
declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather, a fact which, due to the
standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied. Mr.
and Mrs. Roger Button were not pleased, and Benjamin's grandfather was
furiously insulted.
Benjamin, once he left the hospital, took life as
he found it. Several small boys were brought to see him, and he spent a
stiff-jointed afternoon trying to work up an interest in tops and marbles—he
even managed, quite accidentally, to break a kitchen window with a stone from a
sling shot, a feat which secretly delighted his father.
Thereafter Benjamin contrived to break something
every day, but he did these things only because they were expected of him, and
because he was by nature obliging.
When his grandfather's initial antagonism wore off,
Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's company.
They would sit for hours, these two, so far apart in age and experience, and,
like old friends, discuss with tireless monotony the slow events of the day.
Benjamin felt more at ease in his grandfather's presence than in his
parents'—they seemed always somewhat in awe of him and, despite the dictatorial
authority they exercised over him, frequently addressed him as "Mr."
He was as puzzled as any one else at the apparently
advanced age of his mind and body at birth. He read up on it in the medical
journal, but found that no such case had been previously recorded. At his
father's urging he made an honest attempt to play with other boys, and
frequently he joined in the milder games—football shook him up too much, and he
feared that in case of a fracture his ancient bones would refuse to knit.
When he was five he was sent to kindergarten, where
he initiated into the art of pasting green paper on orange paper, of weaving
coloured maps and manufacturing eternal cardboard necklaces. He was inclined to
drowse off to sleep in the middle of these tasks, a habit which both irritated
and frightened his young teacher. To his relief she complained to his parents,
and he was removed from the school. The Roger Buttons told their friends that
they felt he was too young.
By the time he was twelve years old his parents had
grown used to him. Indeed, so strong is the force of custom that they no longer
felt that he was different from any other child—except when some curious
anomaly reminded them of the fact. But one day a few weeks after his twelfth
birthday, while looking in the mirror, Benjamin made, or thought he made, an
astonishing discovery. Did his eyes deceive him, or had his hair turned in the
dozen years of his life from white to iron-gray under its concealing dye? Was
the network of wrinkles on his face becoming less pronounced? Was his skin
healthier and firmer, with even a touch of ruddy winter colour? He could not
tell. He knew that he no longer stooped, and that his physical condition had
improved since the early days of his life.
"Can it be——?" he thought to himself, or,
rather, scarcely dared to think.
He went to his father. "I am grown," he
announced determinedly. "I want to put on long trousers."
His father hesitated. "Well," he said
finally, "I don't know. Fourteen is the age for putting on long
trousers—and you are only twelve."
"But you'll have to admit," protested
Benjamin, "that I'm big for my age."
His father looked at him with illusory speculation.
"Oh, I'm not so sure of that," he said. "I was as big as you
when I was twelve."
This was not true-it was all part of Roger Button's
silent agreement with himself to believe in his son's normality.
Finally a compromise was reached. Benjamin was to
continue to dye his hair. He was to make a better attempt to play with boys of
his own age. He was not to wear his spectacles or carry a cane in the street.
In return for these concessions he was allowed his first suit of long
trousers…. (inglés más fácil)
Vocabulario
Civil War: guerra civil en Estados Unidos entre 1861 y 1865, luego de
que varios estados esclavistas del sur declararan su secesión y formaran los
Estados Confederados
Anteriormente
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