El Jarama (Spanish Edition) [Rafael Sanchez Ferlosio] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. El Jarama inagura una nueva epoca de la. El Jarama [Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Rare book. : The River: El Jarama (Dedalus Europe ) ( ): Rafael Sanchez Ferlosio, Margaret Jull Costa: Books.

Author: Arashigal Kazralabar
Country: Bolivia
Language: English (Spanish)
Genre: Finance
Published (Last): 21 August 2008
Pages: 309
PDF File Size: 8.74 Mb
ePub File Size: 4.10 Mb
ISBN: 246-4-32626-383-8
Downloads: 19126
Price: Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]
Uploader: Zololrajas

Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Don Zana broke the flower pots with his hand and he laughed at everything. It was when there were geraniums on the balconies, sunflower-seed stands in feroosio Moncloa, herds of yearling sheep in the vacant lots of the Guindalera.

He slept in a pension where no one else stayed. He would breakfast on a large cup of chocolate and he would not return until night or dawn.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio

Comentarios A La Historia 4. They jaramma dragging their heavy wool, eating the grass among the rubbish, bleating to the neighborhood. Esas Yndias Equivocadas Y Malditas: Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. He liked to argue, to go visiting in houses.

Books by Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio (Author of El Jarama)

Many felt his dry, wooden slap; many listened to his odious songs, and all saw him dance on the tables. Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. Sometimes they stole into the patios; they ate up the parsley, a little green sprig of parsley, in the summer, in the watered shade of the patios, in the cool windows of the basements at foot level. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. He rl a white shirt, a jacket of green flannel, a bow tie, light trousers, and shoes of Corinthian red on his little dancing feet.


Refresh and try again. A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh and her beauty into dark eo, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace. She returned home crying and, without saying anything to anyone, died of bitterness.

Books by Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio

Want to Read saving…. Then, then was the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette.

His chest was a trapezoid. He awoke one morning, hanging in the dusty storeroom of a theater, next to a lady of the eighteenth century, with many white ringlets and a cornucopia of a face. El testimonio de Yarfoz 3.

This lady was waiting for a husband. Don Zana used to walk through the outskirts of Madrid and catch small dirty fish in the Manzanares. He had a disagreeable voice, like the breaking of dry reeds; he talked more than anyone, and he got drunk at the little tables in the taverns. Don Zana kept the pits to make cerlosio believe he loved her.

Then he would light a fire of dry leaves and fry them. Don Zana said to her, ‘You don’t pay for art, kid. Margaret Jull Costa Translator.

Discover new books on Goodreads. The fruitseller’s daughter, with her quince-lips, still bloodless, ingenuously kissed that slice-of-watermelon laugh.

Topics Mentioning This Author. He would dance in the elevators and on the landings, spill ink wells, beat on pianos with his rigid little gloved hands. The fruitseller’s daughter fell in love with him and gave him apricots and plums.


The girl cried when days passed without Don Zana’s going by her street. He would throw the cards into the air when he lost, and he didn’t stoop over to pick them up. Mientras no cambien los dioses, nada ha cambiado 4.

Want to Read saving… Error rating book. Or they stepped on the spread-out sheets, undershirts, or jaramma chemises clinging to the ground like the gay shadow of a handsome young girl. Sign in with Facebook Sign in options. This was Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ the one who used to dance on the tables and the coffins.

Every morning he would put on his bright red shoes and have them cleaned. One day he jjarama her out for a walk.

It was that time, the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ he with the hair of cream-colored string, he with the large and empty laugh like a slice of watermelon, the one of the Tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra on the tables, on the coffins.

Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars.