A Bamboo Bridge over Rapids – Seksa

A Bamboo Bridge over Rapids – Seksan Prasertkul
Some stories seem to be buried stubbornly in our memory. They usually come back to haunt us on nights of loneliness, at moments when we let our mind drift with the whisper of the sea or the sighs of the breeze. They return time and time again like whirling waters and form a sad melody of life, intruding faintly, regardless of place, whenever we are engrossed in the present.
On the last day of September 1980, my eight friends and I were walking down a high ridge and, a little before noon, we reached the upper course of the Kha Khaeng stream. Monsoon rains had been falling for days on end and at times it poured down persistently, and at other times melting in a fine drizzle that lasted from dawn to dusk. Even when the rain stopped, the whole jungle was still as dim and damp as a deserted theatre. The smell of old leaves and soggy rotting logs had filled our nostrils along the way.
Taking the ravine near the source of the Khwae Yai River as our starting point, we had walked for five full days in the rain, up and down steep mountain slopes. We were coming from the west, cutting across the common borders of Uthai Thani, Tak and Kanchanaburi provinces in order to reach the jungle’s edge at a place called Sap Fa Pha. Another day and we would reach our destination, provided we could safely cross the Kha Khaeng rapids. It was the end of the rainy season, and the water was at its highest level. The stream- rough like a sea of boiling mud, had overflowed its banks and spread wide. All along its course we could see a scattering of half-submerged bushes, which swayed about like drowning men struggling wildly as they called out for help. Whole trees – roots, trunks and all – drifted down, and some got stuck on bushes which the current hadn’t yet torn up.
On the opposite bank, a little beyond our route, a large monitor lizard had been swept onto a branch, to which it clung, bobbing up and down under the thrashing of the current; it was unable to climb up the bank and unable to let go, as it would be whisked away by the rapids. What a pathetic sight!
It was a fully grown lizard which must have gone through a lot before being caught in the stream…
Before deciding to leave the mountains at the end of September 1980, I’d spent more than five years of my life in the jungle. It hadn’t been easy for someone who happened to be born and lived for nearly two decades in a village by the sea, and all the more so for someone who had always been conscious that his parents had hoped he would provide for the family once he had graduated from university.
I was able to get rid of the first burden within a fairly short time: it took me no longer than two rainy seasons to feel at home in the jungle and mountains. But the second burden was different. During those five years, I shouldered it every step of the way, day and night, from high rocky ridges through to meandering brooks.
I still vividly remember the day I had to leave. I had travelled to Bang Pakong, my birthplace, to bid farewell to my parents. Father was the only one at home that day. Mother had gone to a neighboring province to buy fruit she’d sell at the market. As I sat waiting for her to return home, I thought about the days of my childhood, when we still lived together. The more I brooded, the more I felt she was an angel heaven had punished by making her the mother of someone like me.

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 2:

A Bamboo Bridge over Rapids - Seksan Prasertkul.
Mostly Stories SEEM to be Buried stubbornly in our memory. They usually come back to haunt us on nights of loneliness, at moments when we let our mind drift with the whisper of the sea or the sighs of the breeze. They Return time and time Again like Whirling Waters and Form a Sad Melody of Life, intruding faintly, regardless of Place, Whenever we are engrossed in The Present.
On The Last Day of September 1,980, My Eight friends and I were Walking down a High. ridge and, a little before noon, we reached the upper course of the Kha Khaeng stream. Monsoon rains had been falling for days on end and at times it poured down persistently, and at other times melting in a fine drizzle that lasted from dawn to dusk. Even when the rain stopped, the whole jungle was still as dim and damp as a deserted theatre. The Smell of Old leaves and Soggy Rotting logs had filled our nostrils Along The Way.
Taking The Ravine near The Source of The Khwae Yai River As our Starting Point, we had walked for Five full days in The rain, up and down STEEP Mountain slopes. . We were coming from the west, cutting across the common borders of Uthai Thani, Tak and Kanchanaburi provinces in order to reach the jungle's edge at a place called Sap Fa Pha. Another day and we would reach our destination, provided we could safely cross the Kha Khaeng rapids. It was the end of the rainy season, and the water was at its highest level. The stream- rough like a sea of boiling mud, had overflowed its banks and spread wide. All along its course we could see a scattering of half-submerged bushes, which swayed about like drowning men struggling wildly as they called out for help. Whole Trees - Roots, trunks and all - drifted down, and some Got stuck on bushes which had The current Not yet torn up.
On The Opposite Bank, a Little Beyond our route, a Large Monitor Lizard had been swept onto a branch,. to which it clung, bobbing up and down under the thrashing of the current; it was unable to climb up the bank and unable to let go, as it would be whisked away by the rapids. What a pathetic Sight!
It was a Fully Grown Lizard which must Have Gone Through a Lot Before being caught in The Stream ...
Before deciding to leave The Mountains at The End of September the 1,980th, I'd spent more than Five years of My Life in. the jungle. It had not been easy for someone who happened to be born and lived for nearly two decades in a village by the sea, and all the more so for someone who had always been conscious that his parents had hoped he would provide for the family once. He had graduated from University.
I was Able to Get RID of The First Fairly burden Within a short time: it took ME no Longer than Two Rainy Seasons to Feel at Home in The Jungle and Mountains. But the second burden was different. Five During those years, I shouldered it Every Step of The Way, Day and Night, from High Rocky ridges Through to meandering brooks.
I Still vividly remember The Day I had to leave. I had travelled to Bang Pakong, my birthplace, to bid farewell to my parents. Father was the only one at home that day. Mother had gone to a neighboring province to buy fruit she'd sell at the market. As I sat waiting for her to return home, I thought about the days of my childhood, when we still lived together. The more I brooded, the more I felt she was an angel heaven had punished by making her the mother of someone like me.

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 3:

A Bamboo Bridge over Rapids - Seksan Prasertkul
Some stories seem to be buried stubbornly in our memory. They usually come. Back to haunt us on nights of loneliness at moments, when we let our mind drift with the whisper of the sea or the sighs. Of the breeze. They return time and time again like whirling waters and form a sad melody of life intruding faintly regardless,,, Of, placeWhenever we are engrossed in the present.
On the last day of, September 1980 my eight friends and I were walking down. A high, ridge and a little before noon we reached, the upper course of the Kha Khaeng stream. Monsoon rains had been falling. For days on end and at times it poured, down persistently and at other times melting in a fine drizzle that lasted from. Dawn to dusk.Even when the, rain stopped the whole jungle was still as dim and damp as a deserted theatre. The smell of old leaves. And soggy rotting logs had filled our nostrils along the way.
Taking the ravine near the source of the Khwae Yai River as. Our starting point we had, walked for five full days in the rain up and, down steep mountain slopes. We were coming from. The, WestCutting across the common borders of Uthai Thani Tak and, Kanchanaburi provinces in order to reach the jungle s edge at. ' A place called Sap Fa Pha. Another day and we would reach our destination provided we, could safely cross the Kha Khaeng. Rapids. It was the end of the, rainy season and the water was at its highest level. The stream - rough like a sea of boiling. Mud.Had overflowed its banks and spread wide. All along its course we could see a scattering of, half-submerged bushes which. Swayed about like drowning men struggling wildly as they called out for help. Whole trees - roots trunks and, all - drifted. Down and some, got stuck on bushes which the current hadn 't yet torn up.
On the, opposite bank a little beyond, our routeA large monitor lizard had been swept onto a branch to which, it clung bobbing up, and down under the thrashing of the. Current; it was unable to climb up the bank and unable to let go as it, would be whisked away by the rapids. What a pathetic. Sight!
It was a fully grown lizard which must have gone through a lot before being caught in the stream...
.Before deciding to leave the mountains at the end of September 1980 I ', D spent more than five years of my life in the, jungle. It hadn 't been easy for someone who happened to be born and lived for nearly two decades in a village by, the seaAnd all the more so for someone who had always been conscious that his parents had hoped he would provide for the family. Once he had graduated from university.
I was able to get rid of the first burden within a fairly short time: it took me. No longer than two rainy seasons to feel at home in the jungle and mountains. But the second burden was different. During. Those, five yearsI shouldered it every step of the way day night, and, high from rocky ridges through to meandering Brooks.
I still vividly. Remember the day I had to leave. I had travelled to Bang Pakong my birthplace, to bid, farewell to my parents. Father was. The only one at home that day. Mother had gone to a neighboring province to buy fruit she 'd sell at the market. As I sat. Waiting for her to, return homeI thought about the days of, my childhood when we still lived together. The more, I brooded the more I felt she was an. Angel heaven had punished by making her the mother of someone like me.
.