Read Ariadne in the Grotesque Labyrinth (Catalan Literature) for Free Online Page A

you so? Evangelized, » Trinquis, cutting in, said. « And I haven ’ t been able to erase it from my mind ever since. »
    « Glory is in the persistence of memory, » I offered.
    « What?, » Trinquis said.
    « Nothing, » I murmured. « And tell me: this was the most exalted moment of your life? »
    « If you say so, what choice do I have!, » Trinquis answered. « Anyway, it was an illustrious feeling of courteous behavior. Hey, it ’ s over, » she added. « You have no further right to my conversation, child. I ’ m leaving. »
    « Trinquis!, » I called out to her.
    But she was already gone.
    III
    « Yes, » Bassot said to me. « You weren ’ t born yet. I don ’ t know why that waste interests you so much. As little kids, we chased her, throwing stones. It ’ s what ’ s done. She went from one place to another all frayed. She got drunk a lot. She sang “ en un taller, ” etc. She was very popular. Until Melera, the queen of caves, supplanted her. Imagine! And suddenly, she disappeared. One snowy day, she fell through a hole, a low point, on the train ’ s tracks. She ’ d walk around covered in sulfur. The snow got to her, and the next day we found her a breath away from the rancid wine, cold. »
    « And was it sunny that day? » I asked, distressed.
    « Which? The day after it snowed? Glorious weather; fitting for these countries. Why are you thinking of that now? »
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    1 A traditional Catalan dance performed by group in a circle. – RrP
    2 “ Mouth ” in Cal ó , commonly referred to as the language of gypsies, a mixed Romani and Romance language. – RrP
    3 As in Luigi Pirandello (1867-1936), Italian dramatist, novelist, and short-story writer. – RrP
    4 Possibly in reference to “ la professor ind í gena ” Aurembiaix Sorabis from another of Espriu ’ s prose works, Les roques i el mar, el blau . Espriu ’ s characters reappear frequently in his various works of poetry and prose. – RrP

First and Only Run-In with Zaraat
    « It is neither mockery nor pedantry. Above all, it is not pedantry, » assured the sensitive and cultured Miravitlles. « I do not know Hebrew either, and I hope that this unknown word does not frighten us: that is all I seek. How your indifferent laughter would freeze if you all knew it! However, in order to tell you the story of my run-in with Zaraat, I am counting on your ignorance as a strong ally. »
    « Ugh! » voices protested.
    The narrator continued:
    « A curious, stimulated person, were they to hurriedly consult any dictionary, would say, trembling: “ Zaraat in this day and age? Lie. We do not pay heed to medieval fantasies. ” There are specters so distant from, so foreign to our lives, that we arrive at morbid extremes in our desire to have contact with them, with their impossible presence. I, I myself forever longed to encounter Zaraat; I felt fascinated by his legend. Zaraat now suddenly spoke to me, through the mouth of that woman. Zaraat the banished, the ancient, the reviled, who delighted in infinite putrefactions. Yes, latent then as well: Zaraat, a step away. The ravenous Zaraat, one step away, waiting to pounce on me from the mouth of a miserable woman, and, wracked with agony from wanting to evade her, I cried out for help in the form of a feeble and useless science of pots and jars. Naked horror before the mirror that was Zaraat, where she celebrated, eyeing me the entire time. There is no emotion more steeped in the broth of literary ruins, I tell you, than my run-in with Zaraat. Strong, brutal, clear poetry. Zaraat, present there, and me before her, still, alone, abandoned, and good. Secundina Llopart, present there without making sense of its meaning, effusively, corporeally pitying, the luckless woman. She stopped her, kissed her, she did not know that she was speaking with Zaraat. How far away the Middle Ages, how far away the choice blasphemies of Joinville, 5 pardoned by a saint, a selection that our poorly-plugged, dainty, anemone-like