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Texto del Guión Gráfico

  • As we rowed on, and nearer to the mainland,at one end of the bay, we saw a cavernyawning above the water, screened with laurel,and many rams and goats about the placeinside a sheepfold—made from slabs of stoneearthfast between tall trunks of pine and ruggedtowering oak trees.
  • We beached there, and I told the crew to stand by and keep watch over the ship;as for myself I took my twelve best fightersand went ahead.
  • When all these chores were done, he poked the fire,heaping on brushwood. In the glare he saw us. ‘Strangers,’ he said, ‘who are you? And where from?What brings you here by sea ways—a fair traffic?Or are you wandering rogues, who cast your liveslike dice, and ravage other folk by sea?’
  • I got the longest boathook out and stood fending us off, with furious nods to all to put their backs into a racing stroke— row, row, or perish. So the long oars bent kicking the foam sternward, making head until we drew away, and twice as far. Now when I cupped my hands I heard the crew in low voices protesting:
  • Neither reply nor pity came from him,but in one stride he clutched at my companionsand caught two in his hands like squirming puppiesto beat their brains out, spattering the floor.Then he dismembered them and made his meal,gaping and crunching like a mountain lion—everything: innards, flesh, and marrow bones.
  • I drew it from the coals and my four fellowsgave me a hand, lugging it near the Cyclopsas more than natural force nerved them; straightforward they sprinted, lifted it, and rammed it deep in his crater eye, and I leaned on itturning it as a shipwright turns a drillin planking, having men below to swingthe two-handled strap that spins it in the groove.
  • ‘If I could take your life I would and takeyour time away, and hurl you down to hell!The god of earthquake could not heal you there!’
  • ‘Godsake, Captain!Why bait the beast again? Let him alone!’
  • ‘O hear me, lord, blue girdler of the islands, if I am thine indeed, and thou art father:grant that Odysseus, raider of cities, never see his home: Laertes’ son, I mean, who kept his hall on Ithaca. Should destinyintend that he shall see his roof again among his family in his father land, far be that day, and dark the years between. Let him lose all companions, and returnunder strange sail to bitter days at home.’
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