The three of them, always the three of them! Rosa, Pinín, and ‘Lamb’. Somonte meadow was a triangular parcel of green velvet spread out like. English Version of Adios Cordera by Jenibd in Topics > Books – Fiction, English, By Leopoldo Alas English Version They were three-always the same three-. According to Baquero Goyanes, “¡Adiós, Cordera!” is generally recognized as one of Leopoldo Alas’ best know works by critics and layman alike (El cuento ).
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The three of them, always the three of them! Somonte meadow was a triangular parcel of green velvet spread out like a drapery at the base of a small hill. But he never managed to touch the porcelain at the top, which reminded him of the small cups he had seen at the parish house in Puao. Seeing himself so close to a sacred mystery brought on a feeling of panic and he slid fast down the pole until his feet touched the ground.
Rosa, less audacious but more taken with the idea of the unknown, was content to bring an ear close to the telegraph pole. She would listen for minutes on end, even entire quarter hours, to the formidable metallic sounds the wind extracted from the fibres of the dry pine where they came in contact with the wires.
What did it matter to her? She had lived through a great deal. On all fours for hours upon hours, an expert in pastures, she knew how to make use of her time.
She meditated more than she ate and enjoyed living in peace beneath the grey, tranquil sky of her country, as if she was succouring her soul — something that even the brutes of this world possess. Like a grandmother, she took part in the games of the shepherd boys given the task of taking her to pasture.
To graze a little from time to time, but every day a little bit less, without bothering to lift her head out of idle curiosity, choosing the choicest mouthfuls; afterwards, to rest on her hindquarters with delight, contemplate life, and enjoy the pleasure of not suffering; anything else would be a dangerous adventure.
She could not remember when a fly had last bitten her. The bull, the crazy leaps through the fields … all that was a distant memory. Her peace had only been disturbed on the inauguration of the railway.
Her fright lasted days, returning with more or less the same intensity every time a train appeared on the line. Little by little she grew accustomed to the innocuous racket. When she managed to convince herself that the danger always passed, that the threatened catastrophe never came to be, she took no more precaution than to rise on all fours and gaze straight ahead, her head raised, at the formidable monster; later, she did no more than look at it, without rising, with antipathy and distrust.
Eventually, she reached the point of not bothering to gaze at the train. If, at the start, it was a crazy kind of happiness, mixed with superstitious fear, a form of nervous excitement that brought on shouts, gestures, and wild pantomimes, later it was peaceful and gentle recreation, renewed several times a day. It took a long time to expend the emotion of watching the giddying transit, accompanied by the wind, of the great iron snake that carried with it so much noise and the faces of so many unknown, strange people.
However, the telegraph, the railway — all this really amounted to a momentary accident that drowned in the sea of solitude surrounding Somonte meadow. No human dwelling could be seen from there and the only sound that could be heard from the outside world was that of the passing train. On endless mornings, beneath the occasional rays of the sun, among the buzzing insects, the cow and the children awaited the onset of midday and the return to the house that followed.
And later, the eternal afternoons of sweet, sad silence in the same field, until night fell, its evening brilliance silent witness at the heights. In this silence, this calm undisturbed by activity, there was love. The twins loved each other like two halves of a ripe fruit, united by the same life, with scant consciousness of what made them distinct from one another or of what separated them. The creature, blind and as if crazed, bumping against everything, ran to the shelter of the mother, who lodged him under her belly and turned her grateful, diligent head, saying in her way: Whenever she found herself paired with a companion, attached to the yoke, she bowed her will to what was alien to her, and hour after hour found her with neck bent, head twisted, in an uncomfortable position, on her feet while her yokemate slept on the ground.
She died debilitated by hunger and work. The children sought it now in the warmth of the cow, in the shed, and in the field. He did not have to say a word to the children about the need to sell the cow.
Other days he had to practically whip them awake. On this day he left them alone.
Their father said nothing though the children guessed the danger. He had not made the sale because nobody agreed to the price he asked. It was excessive; his affection for the beast clouded his reason. He asked so much for the cow to ensure nobody would dare take her away. He bid higher and higher, torn between greed and the whim of owing the cow. He was another villager from the same parish, a short-tempered man, known for his cruelty toward tenants who fell behind in their payments.
The landlord would not wait longer. It was either that or the streets. The child looked horrified at the meat dealers, who were the tyrants of the place.
A man from Castile bought the Lamb for a just price. She inclined her head at the caresses just as she did when they submitted her leppoldo the yoke. Cprdera is a beast, but his children had no other mother or grandmother!
They gazed with rancour at the passing trains, the wires of the telegraph pole. When it grew dark on Friday, it was time for the goodbye. An agent of the new owner came for the animal. He was in a highly excited state. The weight of the money in his pocket further enlivened his spirits. He wanted to blind himself.
He spoke a lot, singing the praises of the cow. Who cared if the cow provided so much milk? That she was noble in the yoke, strong when heavily burdened? So what, if in a cordea of days she was going to be turned into chops and other delicious cuts?
At the last moment, they threw themselves on top of their friend; kisses, embraces, everything. They could not release her.
He folded his arms and entered the darkened yard. The high hedges along the darkened, narrow lane appeared black, practically forming a vault. In a moment there remained nothing of her but the slow tinkle of the bell, a sound that faded little by little in the distance among the sad creaks of countless cicadas.
For them, the solitude encountered there had never been sad. Suddenly, the locomotive whistled, smoke appeared, and then the train. In a closed wagon, in narrow, high windows or air vents, the twins glimpsed the heads of cows that peered, bewildered, through the openings.
The tearful boy, more conscious than his sister of the villainy of the world, cried out: The third Carlist war raged.
¡Adiós, Cordera! – Wikipedia
It carried with it her only love, her brother. The locomotive whistled in the distance and then the train passed along the cutting in a flash. Rosa, nearly caught up in the wheels, saw for an instant in a third-class coach the heads of numerous poor conscripts, crying out and gesticulating, greeting the trees, the soil, the fields, and everything about their mother country that was familiar to them, their local areas, everything left behind to go and die in the fratricidal conflicts of the country as a whole, in the service of a king and ideas they had no knowledge of.
Rosa heard the clear voice of her brother among the noise of the wheels and the shouts of the recruits.
cofdera He sobbed, exclaiming, as though prey to adioz distant memory of pain: He goes into the world. Beef for the gluttons, for those who return rich from America.
Now, yes, now Somonte meadow resembled a desert. That was the world, the unknown, which swallowed everything. And without realising what she was doing, Rosa leaned her head against the pole that stood like a banner at the extremity of the Somonte. The wind sang its metallic song in the entrails of the dry pine.
It was a tearful refrain, of abandonment, of solitude, of death. In the rapid vibrations, like moans, she thought she heard, very far off, the voice that sobbed on the adio ahead of her: You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email.
Translation of Adios, Cordera! About owenlindsayboyd I am a follower of the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda – author of Autobiography of a Yogi. I begin and end each day with meditation, a spiritual base from qlas all else proceeds.
I am a personal carer, writer and traveller, among other things, originally from just outside Melbourne in Australia.
I lived in my hometown untilobtaining a degree in Arts, with majors cprdera sociology aeios communication studies, in I have spent a considerable amount of time since the late eighties living and working in a wide range of communities in many different parts of the world.
I have lived and worked with homeless people, disabled people and refugees. As a writer, I am principally a novelist though I also write shorter pieces, both fiction and non-fiction and have published and self-published poetry, articles, short stories, memoirs and novels.
In addition, I write screenplays leopooldo have made a number of low-budget film productions. In recent years I self-published a trilogy of novels dealing, principally, with the themes of healing and reconciliation.
It is distributed on smashwords. Later in I plan to publish a book of stories. This entry was posted in Translated work, Spanish to English.
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