YOU don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece—all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round—more than a body could tell what to do with.

The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn’t stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.
The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn’t do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When you got to the table you couldn’t go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn’t really anything the matter with them,—that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.
After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn’t care no more about him, because I don’t take no stock in dead people.
Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But she wouldn’t. She said it was a mean practice and wasn’t clean, and I must try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don’t know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself.
Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then the widow made her ease up. I couldn’t stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, “Don’t put your feet up there, Huckleberry;” and “Don’t scrunch up like that, Huckleberry—set up straight;” and pretty soon she would say, “Don’t gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry—why don’t you try to behave">Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn’t think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.
Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn’t no use. I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn’t make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that’s on its mind and can’t make itself understood, and so can’t rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving. I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didn’t need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But I hadn’t no confidence. You do that when you’ve lost a horseshoe that you’ve found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn’t ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you’d killed a spider.
I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn’t know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could just barely hear a “me-yow! me-yow!” down there. That was good! Says I, “me-yow! me-yow!” as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.

No sabris quin soy yo si no habis ledo un libro titulado Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer, pero no importa. Ese libro lo escribi el seor Mark Twain y cont la verdad, casi siempre. Algunas cosas las exager, pero casi siempre dijo la verdad. Eso no es nada. Nunca he visto a nadie que no mintiese alguna vez, menos la ta Polly, o la viuda, o quiz Mary. De la ta Polly ––es la ta Polly de Tom–– y de Mary y de la viuda Douglas se cuenta todo en ese libro, que es verdad en casi todo, con algunas exageraciones, como he dicho antes.

Bueno, el libro termina as: Tom y yo encontramos el dinero que los ladrones haban escondido en la cueva y nos hicimos ricos. Nos tocaron seis mil dlares a cada uno: todo en oro. La verdad es que impresionaba ver todo aquel dinero amontonado. Bueno, el juez Thatcher se encarg de l y lo coloc a inters y nos daba un dlar al da, y todo el ao: tanto que no sabra uno en qu gastrselo.

La viuda Douglas me adopt como hijo y dijo que me iba a cevilizar, pero resultaba difcil vivir en la casa todo el tiempo, porque la viuda era horriblemente normal y respetable en todo lo que haca, as que cuando yo ya no lo pude aguantar ms, volv a ponerme la ropa vieja y me llev mi pellejo de azcar y me sent libre y contento. Pero Tom Sawyer me fue a buscar y dijo que iba a organizar una banda de ladrones y que yo poda ingresar si volva con la viuda y era respetable. As que volv.

La viuda se puso a llorar al verme y me dijo que era un pobre corderito y tambin me llam otro montn de cosas, pero sin mala intencin. Me volvi a poner la ropa nueva y yo no poda hacer ms que sudar y sudar y sentirme apretado con ella. Entonces volvi a pasar lo mismo que antes. La viuda tocaba una campanilla a la hora de la cena y haba que llegar a tiempo. Al llegar a la mesa no se poda poner uno a comer, sino que haba que esperar a que la viuda bajara la cabeza y rezongase algo encima de la comida, aunque no tena nada de malo; bueno, slo que todo estaba cocinado por separado. Cuando se pone todo junto, las cosas se mezclan y los jugos se juntan y las cosas saben mejor.

Despus de cenar sacaba el libro y me contaba la historia de Moiss y los juncos, y yo tena ganas de enterarme de toda aquella historia, pero con el tiempo se le escap que Moiss llevaba muerto muchsimos aos, as que ya no me import, porque a m los muertos no me interesan.

En seguida me daban ganas de fumar y le peda permiso a la viuda. Pero no me lo daba. Deca que era una costumbre fea y sucia y que tena que tratar de dejarlo. Eso es lo que le pasa a algunos. Le tienen mana a cosas de las que no saben nada. Lo que es ella bien que se interesaba por Moiss, que no era ni siquiera pariente suyo, y que maldito lo que le vala a nadie porque ya se haba muerto, no?, pero le pareca muy mal que yo hiciera algo que me gustaba. Y adems ella tomaba rap; claro que eso le pareca bien porque era ella quien se lo tomaba.

Su hermana, la seorita Watson, era una solterona ms bien flaca, que llevaba gafas, acababa de ir a vivir con ella, y se le haba metido en la cabeza ensearme las letras. Me haca trabajar bastante una hora y despus la viuda le deca que ya bastaba. Yo ya no poda aguantar ms. Entonces pasaba una hora mortalmente aburrida y yo me pona nervioso. La seorita Watson deca: No pongas los pies ah, Huckleberry y No te pongas as de encogido, Huckleberry; sintate derecho, y despus deca: No bosteces y te estires as, Huckleberry; por qu no tratas de comportarte? Despus me contaba todos los detalles del lugar malo y deca que ojal estuviera yo en l. Era porque se enfadaba, pero yo no quera ofender. Lo nico que quera yo era ir a alguna parte, cambiar de aires. No me importaba adnde. Deca que lo que yo deca era malo; deca que ella no lo dira por nada del mundo; ella iba a vivir para ir al sitio bueno. Bueno, yo no vea ninguna ventaja en ir adonde estuviera ella, as que decid ni intentarlo. Pero nunca lo dije porque no hara ms que crear problemas y no valdra de nada.
Entonces ella se lanzaba a contarme todo lo del sitio bueno. Deca que lo nico que se haca all era pasarse el da cantando con un arpa, siempre lo mismo. As que no me pareci gran cosa. Pero no dije nada. Le pregunt si crea que Tom Sawyer ira all y dijo que ni muchsimo menos, y yo me alegr, porque quera estar en el mismo sitio que l.

Un da la seorita Watson no paraba de meterse conmigo, y yo empec a cansarme y a sentirme solo. Despus llamaron a los negros para decir las oraciones y todo el mundo se fue a la cama. Yo me fui a mi habitacin con un trozo de vela y lo puse en la mesa. Despus me sent en una silla junto a la ventana y trat de pensar en algo animado, pero era intil. Me senta tan solo que casi me daban ganas de morirme. Las estrellas brillaban y las hojas de los rboles se rozaban con un ruido muy triste; all lejos se oa un bho que ululaba porque se haba muerto alguien y un chotacabras y un perro que gritaban que se iba a morir alguien ms, y el viento trataba de decirme algo y yo no entenda lo que era, de forma que me daban calofros. Despus, all en el bosque, o ese ruido que hacen los fantasmas cuando quieren decir algo que estn pensando y no pueden hacerse entender, de forma que no pueden descansar en la tumba y tienen que pasarse toda la noche velando. Me sent tan desanimado y con tanto miedo que tuve ganas de compaa. Luego se me subi una araa por el hombro y me la quit de encima y se cay en la vela, y antes de que pudiera yo alargar la mano, ya estaba toda quemada. No haca falta que me dijera nadie que aquello era de muy mal fario y que me iba a traer mala suerte, as que tuve miedo y casi me quit la ropa de golpe. Me levant y di tres vueltas santigundome a cada vez, y despus me at un rizo del pelo con un hilo para que no se me acercaran las brujas. Pero no estaba nada seguro. Eso es lo que se hace cuando ha perdido uno una herradura que se ha encontrado, en vez de clavarla encima de la puerta, pero nunca le haba odo decir a nadie que fuese la forma de que no llegara la mala suerte cuando se haba matado a una araa.