Anais Lispecfor — La mujer del velo — Galeria fotografica — Links a mas cuento. Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Julio Cortazar — Historia Veridica — Links. Ruben Dario — Aguafuerte — Links a mas Cuento.

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Amor y lo que conlleva: los celos. Y ni sombra de agua. Tras reunirla en la boca ardiente, se la tragaba lentamente, una y otra vez. Era templada, sin embargo, la saliva, y no le quitaba la sed. La vida era completamente nueva, era otra, descubierta con sobresalto. Clarice Lispector, El primer beso. Clarice Lispector O primeiro beijo Os dois mais murmuravam que conversavam: havia pouco iniciara-se o namoro e ambos andavam tontos, era o amor.

O jeito era juntar saliva, e foi o que fez. Depois de reunida na boca ardente engulia-a lentamente, outra vez e mais outra. E se fechasse as narinas e respirasse um pouco menos daquele vento de deserto?

Tentou por instantes mas logo sufocava. O jeito era mesmo esperar, esperar. Talvez minutos apenas, talvez horas, enquanto sua sede era de anos. Agora podia abrir os olhos. A vida havia jorrado dessa boca, de uma boca para outra. Ele a havia beijado.

A vida era inteiramente nova, era outra, descoberta com sobressalto. Ele se tornara homem. Clarice Lispector, O primeiro beijo. Clarice Lispector First Kiss. The two of them murmured more than talked: the relationship had begun just a little while before and they were both giddy, it was love. Love and what comes with it: jealousy. But tell me the truth, only the truth: you never kissed a woman before you kissed me?

The tour bus slowly climbed the mountain range. He, a kid surrounded by noisy kids, let the cool breeze hit his face and pass through his hair with its long fingers, fine and weightless like those of a mother. At times he remained quiet, without quite thinking, and only feeling — it felt so good. Concentrating on feeling was difficult in the midst of the uproar of his friends. And the thirst really had begun: to joke with the guys, to speak loudly, louder than the growl of the motor, to laugh, to shout, to think, to feel, gosh!

And not a hint of water. The solution was to collect saliva, and that was what he did. After filling his burning mouth he swallowed it slowly, then again and once again. An enormous thirst larger than he himself, which now took over his whole body.

The fine breeze, before so pleasant, now in the midday sun had become hot and dry and on entering the nose dried up the little saliva that he had patiently collected. And if he closed his nostrils and breathed a little less of that desert wind? He tried for a few seconds but then suffocated. The solution was really to wait, to wait. Perhaps only a few minutes, perhaps hours, meanwhile his thirst was of years. The bus stopped, everyone was thirsty but he managed to be the first to get to the stone fountain, before anyone.

With his eyes closed he opened his lips and attached them fiercely to the opening from which the water gushed. The first swallow went down cool, flowing though his chest to his stomach. It was life returning, and with this he drenched his whole sandy interior until he was sated. Now he could open his eyes. He opened them and he saw right next to his face two eyes of the statue staring at him and he saw that it was a statue of a woman and it was from the mouth of the woman that the water came.

He remembered that in fact at the first swallow he had felt a freezing contact with his lips, colder than that of the water. And then he knew that he had attached his mouth to the mouth of the stone statue of the woman. Life had sprung forth from that mouth, from one mouth to another. He looked at the naked statue. He had kissed her.

He experienced a tremor unseen from the outside and which started deep inside him and took hold of his whole body bursting through his face like a burning ember. He took a step backward or forward, he no longer knew what he was doing.

Disturbed, astonished, he realized that a part of his body, always relaxed before, now had an aggressive tension, and this had never happened to him. He was standing, sweetly aggressive, alone in the midst of the others, his heart beating deeply, the beats spaced out, feeling the world being transformed. Life was totally new, it was something other, discovered with a start.

Perplexed, in a fragile equilibrium. Until, springing from the depths of his being, the truth gushed from a hidden source within him. Which at once filled him with fear and then also with a pride he had never felt before: he. He had become a man. Clarice Lispector, First Kiss.


Clarice Lispector, “El primer beso”



El primer beso. Por Clarice Lispector


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