Sendero de ausencia (Spanish Edition)

Senderos para Ausencias 22
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I found what I knew I was going to find: Absurdly, I brandished this last item and weighed it in my hand to give myself some courage. I vaguely believed that a pistol shot could be heard from very far off. In ten minutes my plan was fully ready.

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The phonebook gave me the name of the only person capable of conveying the news. He lived in a suburb of Fenton, at least a half-hour away by train. Now I say it, now that I have carried out a plan that no one would categorize as risky. I know that his execution was horrible. But I did not do it for Germany.

A barbaric country which has forced upon me the abasement of being a spy cannot matter. Moreover, I know of a man from England — a modest man — who for me is no meaner than Goethe. For more than an hour I did not speak to him, but for that hour he was Goethe I did it because I felt the boss had a bit of those of my race — of the innumerable antecedents which flow in unison into me.

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Buy Sendero de ausencia (Spanish Edition): Read Kindle Store Reviews - Esta es la voz del desespero, de quien se entrega al delirio provocado por la ausencia de alguien a quien amó, su intento por recuperar ese amor aunque sea .

I wanted to see whether a yellow man could save his armies. Moreover, I wanted to escape from the captain. His hands and his voice could pound at my door at any moment.

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I dressed noiselessly, bid farewell to the mirror, went downstairs, looked closely at the tranquil street and went out. The station was not far from the house, but I thought it preferable to take a car. I deduced that in this way I would incur less danger of being recognized; the fact is that in the deserted street I felt visible and vulnerable, infinitely so. I remember that I told the driver to stop a bit before the main entrance. I got out with willful and almost laborious slowness; I was going to the town of Ashgrove but I took a route to the more distant station.

The train was leaving in a few minutes, at eight-fifty. I hurried; the next one would leave at nine-thirty. There was practically no one on the platform. I went past the train cars: I remember some manual workers, a woman in mourning, a young man who was avidly reading the Annals of Tacitus, and a wounded, happy soldier. The cars set off at the end. A man I recognized was running in vain to the end of the platform. It was Captain Richard Madden. Annihilated, trembling, I cowered at the other end of the seat, far from the timid window pane.

I said to myself that my duel was already determined and that I had won the first round by mocking, if for but forty minutes, if only for a pleasantry of fortune, the attack of my adversary. I deduced that this minimal victory prefigured a complete one. I deduced that it was not minimal at all, since without this precious difference in the trains' departure schedule I would be in jail or be dead.

I deduced in no less sophisticated a manner that my cowardly happiness proved that I was a man capable of crowning an adventure with success. From this weakness I summoned forces that did not abandon me. Thus I proceeded while my eyes of an already dead man registered the flow of that day which perhaps was the last, and then the diffusion of the night.

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The train rolled along softly between ash trees. It stopped almost in the middle of the field. No one shouted the name of the station. One of them asked me: Above the rough, plain earth crowded webs of branches, and a low, round moon seemed to be accompanying me.

Very soon I understood that this was impossible.


The advice to keep turning left reminded me that this was a procedure commonly used to discover the central clearing of certain labyrinths. Three years he devoted to these heterogeneous travails but was slain by the hand of a foreigner; his novel was silly and no one found the labyrinth. Below the English trees I pondered this lost labyrinth.

I imagined it inviolate and perfect in the secret summit of a mountain; I imagined it erased by paddies or underwater; I imagined it infinite, without those octagonal kiosks or turning paths, but with rivers, provinces, and kingdoms I thought about the labyrinth of labyrinths, about a sinuous, growing labyrinth which spanned the past and the future and which in some way involved the stars. Absorbed by these illusory images I forgot my destiny as quarry. For an indeterminate time I felt like the abstract perceiver of the world. The lazy and alive field, the moon, the remains of the day, all of them acted within me; the decline likewise eliminated any possibility of fatigue. Sendero de ausencia (Spanish Edition) eBook: Ingrid Deiar: Kindle Store

The evening was intimate, infinite. The road descended and forked between the confused meadows. A sharp and almost syllabic music was approaching and then fading on the to-and-fro of the wind, blemished only by the leaves and the distance. I thought that a man could be the enemy to other men, to other moments belonging to other men, but not to a country: Please enter recipient e-mail address es. The E-mail Address es you entered is are not in a valid format.

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Moreover, I wanted to escape from the captain. Categories and months of Deeblog. I did not see his face because I was blinded by the light. Please select Ok if you would like to proceed with this request anyway. There's a problem loading this menu right now. Annihilated, trembling, I cowered at the other end of the seat, far from the timid window pane.