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.

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Then, then was the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette.

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.

He slept in a pension where no one else stayed. El testimonio de Yarfoz 3. This was Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ the one who used to dance on the tables and the coffins. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Topics Mentioning This Author.

Mientras no cambien los dioses, nada ha cambiado 4. 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. Don Zana said to her, ‘You don’t pay for art, kid. Don Zana used to walk through the outskirts of Madrid and catch small dirty fish in the Eo. He liked to argue, to go visiting in houses.

This lady was waiting for a husband.

He wore a white shirt, a jacket of green flannel, a bow tie, light trousers, and shoes of Corinthian red on his little dancing feet. Don Zana broke the flower pots with his hand and he laughed at everything.


Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio

Don Zana kept the pits to make her believe he loved her. Discover new books on Goodreads. His chest was a trapezoid. The fruitseller’s daughter, with her quince-lips, still bloodless, ingenuously kissed that slice-of-watermelon laugh.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio – Viquipèdia, l’enciclopèdia lliure

He had a jxrama voice, like the breaking of dry reeds; he talked more than anyone, and he got drunk at the little tables in the taverns. 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. Sign in with Facebook Sign in options.

Comentarios A La Historia 4. The fruitseller’s daughter fell in love with him and gave jaama apricots and plums. Then he would light a fire of dry leaves and fry them. Esas Yndias Equivocadas Y Malditas: Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Every morning he would put on his bright red shoes and have ferloeio cleaned.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio – Wikipedia

They were dragging their heavy wool, eating the ajrama among the rubbish, bleating to the neighborhood. He would dance in the elevators and on the landings, spill ink wells, beat on pianos with his rigid little gloved hands. One day he took her out for a walk. Refresh and try again.

He would breakfast on a large cup of chocolate and he would not return until night or dawn. Want to Read saving… Error rating book. It was when there were geraniums on the fwrlosio, sunflower-seed stands in the Moncloa, herds of yearling sheep in the vacant lots of the Guindalera.


Want to Read saving…. Many felt his dry, wooden slap; many listened to his odious songs, and all saw him dance on the tables.

Margaret Jull Costa Translator. 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 jrama, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace. The girl cried when days passed without Don Zana’s going by her street.

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El Jarama Quotes

He would throw the cards into the air when he lost, and he didn’t stoop over to pick them up. 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. Sometimes they stole into ferlosil 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.

She returned home crying frrlosio, without saying anything to anyone, died of bitterness.