Search results
Loading… ... ...
- El Tunel (The Tunnel)
- II
- EVEN IF IS IS A SINGLE PERSON.
- III
- IV
- VI
- VII
- Technology Company
- VIII
- IX
- XI
- XII
- Maria
- XIII
- XIV
- XV
- XVI
- XVII
- XVIII
- XIX
- XX
- XXI
- XXII
- XXIII
- XXIV
- XXV
- XXVI
- XXVII
- XXVIII
- XXIX
- XXX
- XXXI
- XXXII
- XXXIII
- XXIV
- XXXV
- XXXVI
- XXXVII
- XXXVIII
- Allende’s face became mortally rigid.
- XXXIX
By Ernesto Sábato I It will be enough to say I am Juan Pablo Castel, the painter who killed Maria Iribarne; I assume that people will remember what I did, and that they do not need any further explanation of my personal character. Although not even the Devil knows what it is that people remember, or why they do. In reality, I have always tho...
As I said, my name is Juan Pablo Castel. One might wonder what it is that makes me want to tell the story of my crime (I don’t know if I said I was going to talk about my crime), and try to have it published. I know the human soul well enough to expect that some would assume it was vanity. They can think what they want; I don’t give a damn; for ...
“Why—someone might ask—such a weak hope if the story will be read by so many different people?” It is this type of questions that I consider useless. Nevertheless, you have to expect them, because people are constantly asking useless questions, questions where even the most superficial analysis would show that they were unnecessary. I could spea...
By now everyone knows that I killed Maria Iribarne Hunter. But no one knows how I met her, what kind of relations there were between us, or what made me want to kill her. will try to relay everything impartially because, although I suffered a lot because of her, do not have the foolish aspiration of being perfect. In the Salon de Primavera, i...
One afternoon, finally, I saw her in the street. She was walking resolvedly down the opposite sidewalk, like someone who has to get to a particular place at a particular time. II recognized her immediately. I could have recognized her in a crowd of people. I felt an indescribable emotion. I had thought about her so often during all those months...
When I saw her walking down the opposite sidewalk all of the different things I had thought about began to pop into my head. With confusion, I felt all of those complicated phrases I had experimented with surge into my mind: “Are you interested in art?” “Why did you only look at the window?”, and so forth. And even more insistent than any other,...
“In her office?” I asked myself suddenly in a loud voice, almost shouting, feeling like my legs were going to collapse again. And who told me she worked in an office there? Are people who work there the only ones who enter? The idea of loosing her for many months, or perhaps forever, made me feel dizzy, and now, without thinking, I started runni...
II figured that I should keep an eye on at least twenty meters of the front of the building, but that calculation just made me feel more upset. But now I didn’t have time to let myself be consumed by that anxiety; I would have to let it torture me later, with tranquility. At the moment I didn’t see any other solution except entering the building....
While I was going home feeling deeply depressed, I tried to think clearly. My mind was a whirlwind, but when I am nervous my ideas tend to move in a dizzy dance, in spite of which, or perhaps because of it, I have become accustomed to control and organize them rigorously. Without that, I would soon go mad. As I said, I went home feeling deeply...
Early the next morning I was already standing in front of the main entrance to the Technology Company. All of the employees had entered, but she never came. It was becoming clear that she must not work there, though there was still the weak possibility that she had become sick and would not return to her office for several days. But there was ...
I spent the night feeling very upset. I wasn’t able to draw or paint, though I tried many times to begin something. I went out to take a walk, and soon I found myself on Corrientes. Then something strange happened to me; I was looking at everyone with a feeling of sympathy. I think I said that I was going to tell this story in a very impartial ...
The next morning about ten o’clock I made a telephone call. The person who answered was the same woman as the day before. When I asked to speak with Maria Iribarne, she told me that just that morning she had left for the country. I felt distress. “To the country?” I asked. “Yes, sir. Are you Mr. Castel?” “Yes, I’m Castel.” “She left ...
When Allende heard me fold the paper, he said: “Nothing urgent, I suppose.” “No, nothing urgent.” II felt like some kind of monster, seeing that man smile as though he was looking at me with his eyes wide open. “That’s the way Maria is,” he said like he was talking to himself. "Many confuse her impulses with urgencies. Maria has a habit ...
II needed to clear things up and try to think calmly. I walked down Posadas to the side of Recoleta. My mind was in pandemonium: several different ideas, feelings of love and hate, questions, resentments, and memories, were all mixed together and kept on reappearing. For example, why on earth did she want me to go to her house to get a let...
The following days were hectic. In my haste I had not asked when Maria would return from the country farm. Later on the same day that I went to her home and spoke with Allende, I made another call to find out. When I spoke with the housemaid, she told me she didn’t know when Maria would return. So I asked her for the address of the farm. Tha...
In the days before the her letter arrived my thoughts resembled those of a lost explorer in a misty landscape; here and there, with great effort, he was able to make out the vague outlines of people and things, the vague silhouette of dangers and abysses. The arrival of the letter was like when the sun came out. But it was a black sun, a nocturnal...
II loved Maria desperately, and nevertheless the word love was never spoken between us. I anxiously awaited her return from the country so I could say it. But she didn’t return. While the days were passing, a strange sort of madness began to grow inside me. Then I wrote a second letter where I told her simply: “I love you, Maria, I love you, ...
For almost a month we saw each other almost every day. I don’t want to think about all the things that happened then that were both wonderful, and horrible. There were too many sad things, for me to want to think about them again. Maria started coming to my studio. The incident of the matches, with a few small variations, had reoccurred two...
My interrogations, which became more and more frequent and tortured, were caused by her silence, her looks, her puzzling words, a trip to the farm, and the things she loved. One time I asked her why she called herself “Miss Iribarne,” instead of “Mrs. Allende.” She smiled and said: “What a child you are. What importance could that have?” ...
Obviously, since she had married Allende, it was logical to think that once she must have felt something for that man. I should say that this problem, that we could call “the Allende problem,” was one that obsessed me the most. There were several enigmas that I wanted very much to clarify, but especially these two: had she loved him before?, and ...
Even before I said that phrase, I felt a little sorry. Behind the fact that I wanted to say it and feel a sort of perverse satisfaction, a purer, more tender self was resolved to take the initiative once the cruelty of these words took their effect and, in a way, I had already silently taken the part of Maria, even before I said those stupid, usel...
II went home, feeling totally alone. Usually, that feeling of being alone in the world came mixed with an arrogant feeling of superiority. I felt scorn for other people; I pictured them as filthy, ugly, incompetent, stupid, and mean. My solitude didn’t bother me, it felt practically Olympian. But at that moment, as in many other simila...
I woke up trying to shout and found myself standing on my feet in the middle of my studio. I had had a dream: I and several other persons had to go to the house of a man who had invited us. I arrived at his house which, from the outside, was like all the others and went inside. After I entered, I realized that it was different form all the other...
As I said, when I woke up I was on my feet in the middle of the room, bathed in cold sweat. I looked at the clock: it was ten o’clock in the morning. I ran to the telephone, and when someone answered they told me she had gone to the farm. I was stunned. I laid down on the bed and stayed there for a long time without knowing what to do, until I d...
The station where I arrived was one of those rural stations with a few country folks, a chief in shirtsleeves, a large wheel, and some jars of milk. Two things irritated me: the absence of Maria, and the presence of a driver. As soon as I stepped out, he came up and asked me: “Are you Mr. Castel?” “No,” I answered calmly. “I am not Mr...
II sat down at the table, and once again the foolish woman asked me which painters I preferred. I awkwardly mentioned a couple names: Van Gogh, el Greco. She looked at me with irony and said to herself: “Well.” Then she added: “I can’t stand people who are too great. I’ll tell you,” she went on, looking at Hunter, “that those fellows like ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
During these months of incarceration I have tried many times to figure out that last work of Allende, the word “stupid.” A great weariness, or perhaps some dark instinct, kept me from ever doing that. Some day perhaps I will be successful, and then I will also be able to understand the motives that Allende had to commit suicide. At least I am ...
Ernesto Sábato 92. El tunel. llegaba a tiempo o se olvidaba de este pobre ser encajonado, y entonces yo, con la cara apretada contra el muro de vidrio, la veía a lo lejos sonreír o bailar despreocupadamente o, lo que era peor, no la veía en absoluto y la imaginaba en lugares inaccesibles o torpes.
- 477KB
- 95
Feb 23, 2024 · Pdf_module_version 0.0.23 Ppi 360 Rcs_key 26737 Republisher_date 20231019164129 Republisher_operator associate-jobileeh-baguio@archive.org Republisher_time 119 Scandate 20231008161426 Scanner station04.cebu.archive.org Scanningcenter
Dec 4, 2012 · El tunel by Ernesto Sabato. Usage CC0 1.0 Universal Topics el, tunel, ernesto, sabato, literatura, argentina Collection ... PDF download. download 1 file ...
Page 3 of 65. El Túnel Ernesto Sábato 3 "...en todo caso, había un solo túnel, oscuro y solitario: el mío". A la amistad de Rogelio Frigerio que ha resistido todas las asperezas y
Puedes descargar este libro desde el siguiente enlace: Ver PDF. Labels américa latina ernesto sabato PDF. Ya se encuentra disponible en formato PDF la novela psicológica del argentino Ernesto Sabato para descargar completamente gratis.
![El túnel ePub, PDF [Gratis]](https://images.search.yahoo.com/search/images?p=ernesto+sabato+el+tunel+pdf&ei=UTF-8&age=1w&th=114.6&tw=72.4&imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fcaserodellibro.com%2Fimages%2Fel-tnel-book.jpg&rurl=https%3A%2F%2Fcaserodellibro.com%2Fel-tunel-ernesto-sabato%2F&size=15KB&name=El+t%C3%BAnel+ePub%2C+PDF+%5BGratis%5D&oid=2&h=475&w=300&turl=https%3A%2F%2Ftse1.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DOIP.WMPnyHub8wFlDb-48UbFcAAAAA%26pid%3DApi%26rs%3D1%26c%3D1%26qlt%3D95%26w%3D72%26h%3D114&tt=El+t%C3%BAnel+ePub%2C+PDF+%5BGratis%5D&sigr=EMMld0MraMhk&sigit=0Aha_WFHhxQC&sigi=JdNm6ddqAYRf&sign=_AoHWNUZKPpR&sigt=_AoHWNUZKPpR "El túnel ePub, PDF [Gratis]")
