JuniorJones
TR.N Staff Member
Chapter 1
Coup de Theatre Utah, September 1913, A rainy day.
?Junior, pack your bags. We leave for New York. ?
This announcement had the effect of a cold effect of a shower on the young Indiana Jones.
?What! ... But Dad, we?re back at school! "
Professor Jones, still in his dressing gown, swept the objection out of hand.
?I am invited to the inauguration of the south wing of the Metropolitan Museum, "he explained, waving a crumpled letter." Edwards, the curator, wants to thank me for my contribution to it's collection of medieval art. I cannot refuse."
Indy pouted. He had lived a rather hectic summer. In Egypt, he had to face an evil germ by narrowly escaped the bubonic plague. A few weeks later, in Georgia, he had snatched Princess Tamar from the jaws of her many enemies.
Dr. Jones seemed to forget it was a lot for one boy!
Take the opportunity to study an illuminated manuscript of the tenth century to the Pierpont Morgan Library read the letter. A manuscript of the tenth century! ?You realize you, Junior? It has been years that I have awaited the opportunity to decipher.
As if he could not be convinced of this windfall he re-read the famous letter for the twentieth time.
?Who is the Pierpont Morgan?? Indy asked, feigning interest in his father?s project.
?A wise financier?, said Professor solemnly. ?An exceptional man, who was able to use his wealth to preserve some of the greatest treasures of this world, nothing to do with the sharks on Wall Street ?
?But they do not live in a paradise! " emphasised the professor." I predict that one day not so long away, they will suffer a resounding crash and lose everything! Do you hear me? Everything?
Satisfied with this words, Professor Jones sank into his chair glossy, unworthy of even that in the local museum. For several minutes later, the tom-tom of the drops on the windows had been amplified. At three inches from Indy?s nose, his father was waving a piece of paper in frenzy.
In the garden, Indiana barked hopelessly: he had been left outside all the night and they had forgotten to give him his BREAKFAST to him. However, the weather was good.In short, the day began badly. Indy wondered if he was not going through a waking nightmare.
"... But Dad?, the Indy insisted, stunned. ?Usually, you do not want me to go with you. You do not take me that if you cannot do otherwise. So why?
"Why? Why?" raged the professor. "Always questions! Always reproach! I thought that you would be content, Junior. You always want to accompany me??
Again, Henry Jones lost his cool in the presence of his son. Yet he vowed to be patient, to show kindness. But nothing was done: before the inquisitive eyes of Indy, he lost his means. To win, he raised his voice.
He was always so since the death of his wife, Anna, a year earlier. Eyes hidden behind his glasses, Henry Jones looked at the son who was for him the greatest of mysteries. He who was able to decipher old manuscripts of ten centuries, but was unable to understand what was going on in the head of his own son!
"Well, Junior ... um ... um ... it's just that ...", he stammered.
Experiencing a profound embarrassment, the Professor did not finish his sentence. It was Indy's inquisitive glance that stopped him.
"It's just ... What, Dad?"
Henry Jones hung his head.
For a few seconds, nothing was heard in the office other than the din of raindrops and the barking of Indiana.
Gathering all his courage to father, the professor chose to confess: "Well, it's just that. . . I would have liked to see me by your side during your adventure in Georgia. I think you've behaved like a true hero. Meanwhile, I studied a dusty manuscript in Armenia. "
He paused, giving him time to wipe his fogged up glasses.
"Look, Junior, I sometimes wonder if you have no more sense than me. Yes ... um ... more sense."
Flabbergasted, Indy shook to make sure he was not dreaming. Was it his father who addressed him in these terms? He who often regarded with contempt had no interest in reprimanding him?
One that has persisted to call him " unior" a nickname he hated? Is this the same father who was before him?
"But ... Dad, it's just that ..."
"It?s just ... what, Junior?"
"Well, um ... I'm a little tired after all these adventures. Egypt, Georgia, I have not stopped a second! "
The Professor opened his round eyes.
"But you are young, damn it!? he cried. ?Ah, if I was your age, I would have otherwise spend my days with my nose poring over tomes! I ... I ...?
"What would you do, Dad?" interrupted Indy with a touch of insolence in his voice. Unable to answer this question, Henry's Jones drew a pirouette.
"Since you do not want to accompany me I will go alone in New York!" He declaimed in a theatrical tone. Then he turned on his heel and left leaving the kitchen door open where Indiana, who had been stubbornly waiting, claimed his breakfast.
Coup de Theatre Utah, September 1913, A rainy day.
?Junior, pack your bags. We leave for New York. ?
This announcement had the effect of a cold effect of a shower on the young Indiana Jones.
?What! ... But Dad, we?re back at school! "
Professor Jones, still in his dressing gown, swept the objection out of hand.
?I am invited to the inauguration of the south wing of the Metropolitan Museum, "he explained, waving a crumpled letter." Edwards, the curator, wants to thank me for my contribution to it's collection of medieval art. I cannot refuse."
Indy pouted. He had lived a rather hectic summer. In Egypt, he had to face an evil germ by narrowly escaped the bubonic plague. A few weeks later, in Georgia, he had snatched Princess Tamar from the jaws of her many enemies.
Dr. Jones seemed to forget it was a lot for one boy!
Take the opportunity to study an illuminated manuscript of the tenth century to the Pierpont Morgan Library read the letter. A manuscript of the tenth century! ?You realize you, Junior? It has been years that I have awaited the opportunity to decipher.
As if he could not be convinced of this windfall he re-read the famous letter for the twentieth time.
?Who is the Pierpont Morgan?? Indy asked, feigning interest in his father?s project.
?A wise financier?, said Professor solemnly. ?An exceptional man, who was able to use his wealth to preserve some of the greatest treasures of this world, nothing to do with the sharks on Wall Street ?
?But they do not live in a paradise! " emphasised the professor." I predict that one day not so long away, they will suffer a resounding crash and lose everything! Do you hear me? Everything?
Satisfied with this words, Professor Jones sank into his chair glossy, unworthy of even that in the local museum. For several minutes later, the tom-tom of the drops on the windows had been amplified. At three inches from Indy?s nose, his father was waving a piece of paper in frenzy.
In the garden, Indiana barked hopelessly: he had been left outside all the night and they had forgotten to give him his BREAKFAST to him. However, the weather was good.In short, the day began badly. Indy wondered if he was not going through a waking nightmare.
"... But Dad?, the Indy insisted, stunned. ?Usually, you do not want me to go with you. You do not take me that if you cannot do otherwise. So why?
"Why? Why?" raged the professor. "Always questions! Always reproach! I thought that you would be content, Junior. You always want to accompany me??
Again, Henry Jones lost his cool in the presence of his son. Yet he vowed to be patient, to show kindness. But nothing was done: before the inquisitive eyes of Indy, he lost his means. To win, he raised his voice.
He was always so since the death of his wife, Anna, a year earlier. Eyes hidden behind his glasses, Henry Jones looked at the son who was for him the greatest of mysteries. He who was able to decipher old manuscripts of ten centuries, but was unable to understand what was going on in the head of his own son!
"Well, Junior ... um ... um ... it's just that ...", he stammered.
Experiencing a profound embarrassment, the Professor did not finish his sentence. It was Indy's inquisitive glance that stopped him.
"It's just ... What, Dad?"
Henry Jones hung his head.
For a few seconds, nothing was heard in the office other than the din of raindrops and the barking of Indiana.
Gathering all his courage to father, the professor chose to confess: "Well, it's just that. . . I would have liked to see me by your side during your adventure in Georgia. I think you've behaved like a true hero. Meanwhile, I studied a dusty manuscript in Armenia. "
He paused, giving him time to wipe his fogged up glasses.
"Look, Junior, I sometimes wonder if you have no more sense than me. Yes ... um ... more sense."
Flabbergasted, Indy shook to make sure he was not dreaming. Was it his father who addressed him in these terms? He who often regarded with contempt had no interest in reprimanding him?
One that has persisted to call him " unior" a nickname he hated? Is this the same father who was before him?
"But ... Dad, it's just that ..."
"It?s just ... what, Junior?"
"Well, um ... I'm a little tired after all these adventures. Egypt, Georgia, I have not stopped a second! "
The Professor opened his round eyes.
"But you are young, damn it!? he cried. ?Ah, if I was your age, I would have otherwise spend my days with my nose poring over tomes! I ... I ...?
"What would you do, Dad?" interrupted Indy with a touch of insolence in his voice. Unable to answer this question, Henry's Jones drew a pirouette.
"Since you do not want to accompany me I will go alone in New York!" He declaimed in a theatrical tone. Then he turned on his heel and left leaving the kitchen door open where Indiana, who had been stubbornly waiting, claimed his breakfast.
Nice to see this thread but I was planning on translating this one after I finished with the "Grimoire Maudit" comic.
