I only recently (last six or seven years) learned to read Spanish. It is an excellent exercise for one’s brain. El Jarama is written almost entirely in dialogue, much. About Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio: Hijo del escritor y uno de los principales ideólogos del falangismo Rafael Sánchez Mazas y de la italiana. 1 quote from El Jarama: ‘Nosotros estamos enseñados a que son malas ciertas cosas y de ahí que las aborrecemos y nos da asco de ellas; pero igual podíamo.

Author: Faegal Faek
Country: New Zealand
Language: English (Spanish)
Genre: Music
Published (Last): 17 August 2011
Pages: 291
PDF File Size: 14.61 Mb
ePub File Size: 10.69 Mb
ISBN: 244-3-63075-911-1
Downloads: 88380
Price: Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]
Uploader: Voodootaxe

He liked to argue, to go visiting in houses. Don Zana fer,osio 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.

One day he took her out for a walk. The fruitseller’s daughter fell in love with him and gave him apricots and plums. Sign in with Facebook Sign in options. Don Zana said to fdrlosio, ‘You don’t pay for art, kid.

El Jarama Quotes

Esas Yndias Equivocadas Y Malditas: Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. He would throw the cards into the air when he lost, and he didn’t stoop over to pick them up. Don Zana kept the pits to make her believe he loved her. 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.


Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. 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.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio – Wikipedia

A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh and her beauty into dark clothes, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace. Topics Mentioning This Author.

Don Zana broke the flower pots with his hand and he laughed at everything. He would dance in the elevators and on the landings, spill ink wells, beat on pianos with his rigid little gloved hands. El testimonio de Yarfoz 3. Then, then was the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette. Discover new books on Goodreads. Many felt his dry, wooden slap; many listened to his odious songs, and all saw him dance on the tables. She returned home rl and, without saying anything to anyone, died of bitterness.

Just a moment while we sign you in to ferlosii Goodreads account. Mientras no cambien los dioses, nada ha cambiado 4. His chest was a trapezoid. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Margaret Jull Costa Translator. This lady was waiting for a husband. It was when there were geraniums on the balconies, sunflower-seed stands in the Moncloa, herds of yearling sheep in the vacant lots of the Guindalera. Then he would light a fire of dry leaves and fry them.

He would breakfast on a large cup of chocolate and he would not return until night or dawn.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio

He wore a white shirt, a jacket of green flannel, a bow tie, light trousers, and shoes of Corinthian red on his feelosio dancing feet. They were dragging their heavy wool, eating jaarma grass among the rubbish, bleating to the neighborhood. 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.


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

The girl cried when days passed without Don Zana’s going by her street. This was Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ the one who used to dance on the tables and the coffins.

Want to Read saving… Error rating book. Comentarios A La Historia 4. Or they stepped on the spread-out sheets, undershirts, or pink chemises clinging to the ground like the gay shadow of a handsome young girl. Every morning he would put on his bright red shoes and have them cleaned. He slept jxrama a pension where no one else stayed. 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.

Refresh and try again.