Pro překladatele je proto důležité, aby repliky postav zněly přirozeně, "vešly se do pusy," a zároveň odpovídaly typu postavy.
Dáleje nutno pečlivě kontrolovat interpunkci - zmatek v uvozovkách znamená zmatek v tom, kdo právě mluví.
V přiložené ukázce se domlouvají postavu víceméně stejného odborného i sociálního zázemí, ovšem jiných národností - i toto specifikum je součástí jejich řečového projevu.
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CHAPTER 52
The Sprawling 185-acre estate of Château Villette was located
twenty-five minutes northwest of Paris in the environs of Versailles. Designed
by François Mansart in 1668 for the Count of Aufflay, it was one of Paris's
most significant historical châteaux. Complete with two rectangular lakes and
gardens designed by Le Nôtre, Château Villette was more of a modest castle than
a mansion. The estate fondly had become known as la Petite Versailles.
Langdon brought the armored truck to a shuddering stop at
the foot of the mile-long driveway. Beyond the imposing security gate, Sir
Leigh Teabing's residence rose on a meadow in the distance. The sign on the
gate was in English: PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING.
As if to proclaim his home a British Isle unto itself,
Teabing had not only posted his signs in English, but he had installed his
gate's intercom entry system on the right-hand side of the truck-the
passenger's side everywhere in Europe except England.
Sophie gave the misplaced intercom an odd look. "And if
someone arrives without a passenger?"
„Don't ask.“ Langdon
had already been through that with Teabing. "He prefers things the way
they are at home."
Sophie rolled down her window. "Robert, you'd better do
the talking."
Langdon shifted his position, leaning out across Sophie to
press the intercom button. As he did, an alluring whiff of Sophie's perfume
filled his nostrils, and he realized how close they were. He waited there,
awkwardly prone, while a telephone began ringing over the small speaker.
Finally, the intercom crackled and an irritated French accent
spoke. "Château Villette. Who is calling?"
„This is Robert Langdon,“ Langdon called out, sprawled across
Sophie's lap. "I'm a friend of Sir Leigh Teabing. I need his help."
"My master is sleeping. As was I. What is your business
with him?"
„It is a private matter. One of great interest to him.“
"Then I'm sure he will be pleased to receive you in the
morning."
Langdon shifted his weight. "It's quite
important."
"As is Sir Leigh's sleep. If you are a friend, then you
are aware he is in poor health."
Sir Leigh Teabing had suffered from polio as a child and now
wore leg braces and walked with crutches, but Langdon had found him such a
lively and colorful man on his last visit that it hardly seemed an infirmity.
"If you would, please tell him I have uncovered new information about the
Grail. Information that cannot wait until morning."
There was a long pause.
Langdon and Sophie waited, the truck idling loudly.
A full minute passed.
Finally, someone spoke. "My good man, I daresay you are
still on Harvard Standard Time." The voice was crisp and light.
Langdon grinned, recognizing the thick British accent. "Leigh,
my apologies for waking you at this obscene hour."
"My manservant tells me that not only are you in Paris,
but you speak of the Grail."
„I thought that might get you out of bed.“
„And so it has.“
„Any chance you'd open the gate for an old friend?"
"Those who seek the truth are more than friends. They are
brothers."
Langdon rolled his eyes at Sophie, well accustomed to Teabing's
predilection for dramatic antics.
„Indeed I will open the gate,“ Teabing proclaimed, "but
first I must confirm your heart is true. A test of your honor. You will answer
three questions."
Langdon groaned, whispering at Sophie. "Bear with me here.
As I mentioned, he's something of a character."
Your first question, Teabing declared, his tone Herculean. „Shall
I serve you coffee, or tea?“
Langdon knew Teabing's feelings about the American phenomenon
of coffee. "Tea," he replied. "Earl Grey."
„Excellent. Your second question. Milk or sugar?“
Langdon hesitated.
„Milk,“ Sophie whispered in his ear. "I think the
British take milk."
„Milk,“ Langdon said.
Silence.
„Sugar?“
Teabing made no reply.
Wait! Langdon now recalled the bitter beverage he had been
served on his last visit and realized this question was a trick.
"Lemon!" he declared. "Earl Grey with lemon."
„Indeed.“ Teabing sounded deeply amused now. "And finally,
I must make the most grave of inquiries." Teabing paused and then spoke in
a solemn tone. "In which year did a Harvard sculler last outrow an Oxford
man at Henley?"
Langdon had no idea, but he could imagine only one reason
the question had been asked. "Surely such a travesty has never
occurred."
The gate clicked open. "Your heart is true, my friend. You
may pass."
