De rustigste aller doden is Mr. Bru

De rustigste aller doden is Mr. Brunswick. Hij ligt in zijn kist alsof hij een middagslaapje doet. Zijn oude boerengezicht heeft nog steeds het blozende van een lang buitenleven en als ik niet zeker wist dat hij een hartaanval heeft gehad en niet meer tot de levenden behoort, zou ik zweren dat hij op het hoogtepunt van de bijeenkomst, wanneer iedereen zijn tweede glas heeft geleegd, op zou staan en aan de bar een jenever zou bestellen.
Als je hem bekijkt, valt zijn tevreden uiterlijk op. De dood lijkt hem te bevallen. Misschien komt het door de eenzaamheid waaraan hij gewend is geraakt. Ik heb geen familieleden kunnen ontdekken tussen de deelnemers van het afscheid in deze toch ietwat ongewone ambiance. Van de drie is hij verreweg de oudste. Hoe ouder je wordt hoe minder mensen nog om je zullen rouwen.
Van rouwen gesproken: ik heb er geen tijd voor. De tapkraan staat constant open, het bier is niet aan te slepen. Miss Bliss krijgt zweetplekken onder haar oksels.
Langzamerhand verdwijnen de mensen naar een andere saloon of gaan naar huis. De kisten staan er nu alleen voor, als decoratiestukken in een toneelstuk.
Als de laatste gasten vertrokken zijn laadt Mr. Sondergard de kisten in zijn lijkwagen. De sheriff en zijn helper helpen hem daarbij.
"Ik heb een telegram naar de sheriff in de wijde omtrek gezonden met het verzoek uit te kijken naar een voortvluchtige man, maar tot nu toe heeft niemand geantwoord," zegt de ordehandhaver met een spijtig handgebaar.

Resultaten (Engels) 1:

The quietest of all killing is Mr. Brunswick. He lies in his coffin as if he were a afternoon nap. His old farmers face still Ruddy from a long outdoor life and if I not sure knew he had a heart attack and no longer belongs to the living, I would swear that he at the peak of the meeting, when everyone his second glass has emptied, on would stand and would order a gin at the bar.If you are satisfied by him, seems to please him. the death. Maybe it's the solitude to which he is accustomed. I have no family members can discover between the participants of the farewell in this still somewhat unusual atmosphere. Of the three, he is by far the oldest. The older you get the less people will you still mourn. By mourning spoken: I have no time for. The faucet is constantly open, the beer is not to drag. Miss Bliss gets sweat spots under her armpits.The people gradually disappear to another saloon or go home. The crates are now just for decoration, as in a play. As the last guests left Mr. Sondergard loads boxes in his hearse. The sheriff and his helper help him."I have a telegram sent to the sheriff for miles around with the request to look for a fugitive man, but so far no one has replied," says the riot policeman with a regrettable gesture.

Resultaten (Engels) 2:

The quietest of all deaths is Mr. Brunswick. He lies in his coffin if he does a nap. His old farmer's face still has the blushing a long outdoor life and if I was not sure that he had a heart attack and no longer belongs to the living, I'd swear he was on the high point of the meeting, where everyone has his second glass emptied, would stand and would order a gin at the bar.
If you look at it, is satisfied by. Death seems to like him. Maybe it's the solitude to which he is accustomed. I have no relatives able to discover among the participants of the farewell in this still somewhat unusual ambience. Of the three, he is by far the oldest. The older you get, the less people are around you will mourn.
Speaking of mourning: I have no time for. The faucet is constantly open, the beer is not dragging. Miss Bliss getting sweat stains under her armpits.
Gradually the people disappear to another saloon or go home. The boxes are now only as decoration pieces in a play.
When the last guests left his charge Mr. Søndergård the boxes in his hearse. The sheriff and his assistant to help him.
"I sent a telegram to the sheriff miles around to look out the request for a fugitive, but no one has responded so far," said the law enforcement with an unfortunate gesture.

Resultaten (Engels) 3:

the calmest of all deaths is mr. brunswick. he is in his chest like a nap. his old boerengezicht still blushing a long outdoors and if i didn"t know that he had a heart attack and no longer belongs to the living, i"d swear he at the height of the meeting, when everybody"s second glass emptied, the bar would have a gin order.if you look at him, is satisfied by. death seems to like him. maybe it"s the loneliness which he has grown accustomed to. i have no relatives can discover between the participants of the parting in this somewhat unusual ambiance. of the three, he is by far the oldest. the older you get, the less people will mourn for you.in mourning: i have no time. open the spigot is constant, the beer is not to drag. miss bliss is sweat stains under her armpits.the people gradually disappear to another saloon or go home. the boxes alone now, if decoratiestukken in a play.if the last guests left is mr. sondergard the boxes in his coffin. the sheriff and his helper to help him do it."i have a telegram to the sheriff in the county with the request sent to watch a fugitive husband, but no one answered," says the law with a bad hand.