From afar off, as though filtering through the rock of the dungeon, he heard the great kettledrums of the feast. He managed to slice through the air once or twice before a rope caught him from behind.
His brow hardly hurt at all, as if it were just a memory. He saw the double doors open, and the smell of the torches reached him before the light. Count me in as a translator. On the jewelry store at the corner he read that it was ten to nine; he had time to spare.
Convulsed and writhing, he struggled to free himself from the cords which were sinking into his flesh. With the loincloth of the ceremony barely clinging to their bodies, the acolytes of the priests approached, gazing upon him with disdain.
He drank gluttonously from the neck of the bottle. A blonde nurse then wiped the front part of his thigh with alcohol and stuck him with a thick needle connected to a tube that reached up to a bottle filled with an opaline liquid.
Everything had its number and its limit, and it was within the sacred period, and he on the other side from the La noche boca arriba translation.
His chin searched awkwardly for contact with his amulet, and then he knew that they had ripped it off him. He panted, looking for some relief for his lungs, oblivion for those images still glued to his eyelids.
The shock, the brutal dashing against the pavement. But now nothing could help him find it. Trying to control the nausea stirring in his throat, he asked about the woman.
The water in the bottle on the night table was somewhat bubbly, a translucent shape against the dark azure shadow of the windows. A cup of a marvelous golden broth came, smelling of leeks, celery and parsley.
In any case, getting out of that cesspool he had almost felt relief while the men got him off the ground.
He heard coughing, heavy breathing, at times a dialogue in low voices. His whole body was defending itself by screaming about what was about to come, the inevitable end. Rent, writhing, he fought to rid himself of the cords sinking into his flesh.
But this smell ceased. The cold had taken over his naked back, his bare legs. He closed his eyes and wished he were asleep or chloroformed.
He heard a yell, a hoarse yell that rocked off the walls. When he saw that the woman standing at the corner was rushing onto the road despite the green lights, it was already too late for simple solutions.
Not sure who translated this but thank you to the person. He would have asked any time for the office doctor. Someone tall, slim and dressed in white came up to him and began examining the charts. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, the drowsiness was more powerful than he.
And every time they opened, it was night and the moon, while they climbed the great terraced steps, his head hanging down backward now, and up at the top were the bonfires, red columns of perfumed smoke, and suddenly he saw the red stone, shiny with the blood dripping off it, and the spinning arcs cut by the feet of the victim whom they pulled off to throw him rolling down the north steps.
A young intern arrived with some metal and leather apparatus which he adjusted to fit onto the good arm to check something or other. Once stars emerged instead of the ceiling and he was raised up the burning stairway of screaming and dancing, it would be the end.
He had to press forward, to stay out of the bogs and get to the heart of the forest. Now he entered the most pleasurable part of the commute, the true journey: Now lights and happy screams had already surrounded him.
Feeling his way forward, crouching at every opportunity to touch the hard ground of the road, he took some steps.
Panting, he realized that that he was cornered despite the darkness and silence, and he crouched down to listen.Published by Argentinian author Julio Cortázar in ,La Noche Boca Arriba La Noche Boca Arriba by Julio Cortazar: Summary & Analysis DNA Transcription & Translation. La noche boca arriba (part 1) Thursday, May 8, at A translation of the first part of a famous story ("The night face up") by this Argentine writer.
La niña santa; La noche boca arriba (part 1) La noche boca arriba (part 2) La otra muerte; La noche boca arriba (part 2) Saturday, May 10, at seriously, this translation was like a story itself. i don't know if you made up some of the parts, but you have a lot of talent deeblog, translating the story that well is like as.
Free Essay: L A NOCHE BOCA ARRIBA Halfway down the long hotel vestibule, he thought that probably hewas going to be late, and hurried on into the street to. Apr 09, · La Noche Boca Arriba La Noche Boca Arriba. Julio Cortazar _____ And in certain epochs they would go to hunt enemies; Espero que uses este blog para aumentar su comprehension de la literatura Espanol.
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