M I good friend Roman was kind enough to send this text I play, the Latin American writer Otto Wolf. Unfortunately, there are very few data available to me by this author, except that, in addition to being short-story writer and essayist, is a sharp critic of art. The text in question is a tribute to Lolita, Nabokov's celebrated work. In this sense, I can not recall a similar short work due to the pen of no less celebrated and always controversial Salvador Dali, who once wrote a short story entitled "Dulit »..., it is the publication of this latter for later.
Karen
By Otto Wolf
A N ABOKOV
E STA is the story of Karen ...
Karen is a girl, you should now have eleven or twelve years ... He was nine when we met, was then when I fell in love ... what how many years I have ...? I'll meet twenty-seven ...
still have a letter I wrote. Saved from the pages of a book, that letter and a white ribbon in a drawer of my desk are the only memories I have left the girl. She may no longer remember me. But I often think about it ...
now is night as I write, and through my window, I see the rain fall. It was sweet to be at his side ... I used to narrate stories ...
- "There was once a poor Prince," he began, This however, was handsome and charming enough (it seemed to me)-added, as so he could marry (Karen laugh) ... and marriage was what he wanted. There were, of course, hundreds of princesses who delighted in life would have married him. The prince, however, had noticed the emperor's daughter, do you think that the emperor's daughter did so?, Okay?, Right?
"Then let's see ..."
This was one of our favorite stories ... I remember once I had to accompany her to a neighbor's house to keep message from your mom. Karen entered the house whose fence was open while I waited outside. I heard that the neighbor questioned. "What did he say?" He asked out. "He told me who you came," he answered. "Surely you answered that with a handsome prince," I replied. "You're not a handsome prince," she said. "Who could doubt it?" I said. "You're not a prince ... you're so stupid."
* * *
We were good friends: I wanted to be with me at all costs. Hube of displeasing when I said we could not be much time together as she would have wanted. It was a kind and loving girl. And so pretty, as only a child can be. I remember his face lit up when he saw me coming and I corresponded with a smile as she stroked her hair as a greeting. Once ... cried in my arms.
What, what is special about girls? ... Someone once wrote, that are made of sugar and cinnamon ... Yes, indeed: girls are "sugar and cinnamon '...
Go! I forgot: the same Cristina, on one occasion when we were alone, he said, "Did you know that my sister likes you?" I shrugged my shoulders, she would never know what I felt for Karen.
... Remember, Karen, that time you asked me a kiss? "Cristina was present, and were her friends. "Come on, Karen ... that bold!" (The words we hear.) I went to you and kissed your cheek you blush and smiled, then (alone) would have to become much more daring ...
And remember that other time when you give me a dead leaf? ... In few words she had written, probably before, that the sheet was dry and again, therefore, brittle. It was an affectionate phrase ... I kept that piece ... until it turned to dust ...
* * *
's sweet love a child, but also painful, is clinging to a love hopeless. And yet ... how not to love youth and laughter, unconsciousness and happiness? ...
Karen was beautiful, I do not think I emphasized that enough ... light brown, black hair like her sister, with a fringe on the forehead, black eyes too bright, liquid ...; the snub little nose , lips gently curved, white teeth ... he smiled, he did dimples ... It was, indeed, a delightful little girl ...
Overall, I think that almost all girls are lovely, or at least to me, so it seems . On the other hand, I welcome the girls: I tell fantastic stories, I make drawings, hug, kiss, silly songs taught them ... In short, I feel adored and fun. I indulged and petted a lot of my little friends rather than Karen. And, surely, cuddle and caress to many others after it. Still, this is the first time I encourage you to have written the story of a of my friends ... what, why do it? Well, this story had a sad ending ... but not get ahead ... What if I have not been in love with a woman? ... Oops ... I will not talk about it now ... I prefer to speak to Karen ... girls are so pretty! ...
Did Karen know that I liked? ... What if ...! At this point, my mind travels to a picture that I keep hidden in a folder in the company of many others. The piano was over, until I decided to hide it. (After all, it's safer: you never know). I took myself, a few months ago. This is another of my students: Ana María small (Eight years old). Take classes in my modest apartment. His mother is very confident. It's a pretty nice creature ...
One day, not recently, as we took a short break, I said while stroking his face, "You know, Ana Maria, who are the most beautiful of my students ?...» "Why ?...» teacher says" Because it's true. "" Tell a story ... 'And the lesson ?...» "Oh, the lesson later ..."
I spoke to you: "Tell me a story," he said. "Humm ... in As the class ends, I tell ...; better we will play that piece of Bach ... and you learned the minuet? ... "
Ah, Karen !..., and think that I will not see ! ... I remember once I came to your house. Your mother told me I was going to have to suspend the class: I was invited to a party. She had tried in vain to reach me by phone to cancel the visit. "In any case, talk to her," he said and disappeared. At that time you came down the stairs, carrying a white dress and shoes the same color, wore their hair in a bun. I waved and smiled, obviously satisfied, that I saw you so well composed and arranged. I could not help me and I took her by the waist to kiss alzándote on edge: ... were so beautiful! ... I deposited on the floor, feeling your waist slip under my hands: they touched your chest, ah, Karen! ...
Then it would end. It could, of course, continue making in these pages my wistful memories, but ... why go? ...
happened one evening when, as usual, we were together. Although actually, I should of it coming from long ago.
... Since that time, when trying to caress as he always did, I turned it down abruptly. "Leave me alone, why you're always patting me?" Such were the words you told me. Never have I felt so hurt. It took a few weeks, and neither you nor I felt comfortable in the presence of each other. One day I said that they no longer wanted me, wanted a cessation of classes. I could not say anything. I talked to your mother about it, I told him I was tired of taking the lessons, on the other hand, had long since your sister had abandoned and I claimed some chores. That's what I said. Never again, from that moment, see you again. Some time later, was to meet with Cristina on the street. He approached me, as usual in it: mocking, provocative ... I said to myself: 'Do you know what you did to my sister? "" What do you mean? "I said. "My sister does not stop talking about you, in love, die for you" "What nonsense!" I replied. "She asked me not to return to your home." "I know," replied Craig. "My sister does not want to see you anymore. Says you're an old man and can not marry ... and, if so, she would prefer not to see you again ... "
Cristina would not see it either, those were his words ... Outside, the rain continues to fall ... I know tonight go to sleep.
__________
Image: author's archives.
Karen was beautiful, I do not think I emphasized that enough ... light brown, black hair like her sister, with a fringe on the forehead, black eyes too bright, liquid ...; the snub little nose , lips gently curved, white teeth ... he smiled, he did dimples ... It was, indeed, a delightful little girl ...
Overall, I think that almost all girls are lovely, or at least to me, so it seems . On the other hand, I welcome the girls: I tell fantastic stories, I make drawings, hug, kiss, silly songs taught them ... In short, I feel adored and fun. I indulged and petted a lot of my little friends rather than Karen. And, surely, cuddle and caress to many others after it. Still, this is the first time I encourage you to have written the story of a of my friends ... what, why do it? Well, this story had a sad ending ... but not get ahead ... What if I have not been in love with a woman? ... Oops ... I will not talk about it now ... I prefer to speak to Karen ... girls are so pretty! ...
Did Karen know that I liked? ... What if ...! At this point, my mind travels to a picture that I keep hidden in a folder in the company of many others. The piano was over, until I decided to hide it. (After all, it's safer: you never know). I took myself, a few months ago. This is another of my students: Ana María small (Eight years old). Take classes in my modest apartment. His mother is very confident. It's a pretty nice creature ...
One day, not recently, as we took a short break, I said while stroking his face, "You know, Ana Maria, who are the most beautiful of my students ?...» "Why ?...» teacher says" Because it's true. "" Tell a story ... 'And the lesson ?...» "Oh, the lesson later ..."
* * * Karen
I spoke to you: "Tell me a story," he said. "Humm ... in As the class ends, I tell ...; better we will play that piece of Bach ... and you learned the minuet? ... "
Ah, Karen !..., and think that I will not see ! ... I remember once I came to your house. Your mother told me I was going to have to suspend the class: I was invited to a party. She had tried in vain to reach me by phone to cancel the visit. "In any case, talk to her," he said and disappeared. At that time you came down the stairs, carrying a white dress and shoes the same color, wore their hair in a bun. I waved and smiled, obviously satisfied, that I saw you so well composed and arranged. I could not help me and I took her by the waist to kiss alzándote on edge: ... were so beautiful! ... I deposited on the floor, feeling your waist slip under my hands: they touched your chest, ah, Karen! ...
* * *
Then it would end. It could, of course, continue making in these pages my wistful memories, but ... why go? ...
happened one evening when, as usual, we were together. Although actually, I should of it coming from long ago.
... Since that time, when trying to caress as he always did, I turned it down abruptly. "Leave me alone, why you're always patting me?" Such were the words you told me. Never have I felt so hurt. It took a few weeks, and neither you nor I felt comfortable in the presence of each other. One day I said that they no longer wanted me, wanted a cessation of classes. I could not say anything. I talked to your mother about it, I told him I was tired of taking the lessons, on the other hand, had long since your sister had abandoned and I claimed some chores. That's what I said. Never again, from that moment, see you again. Some time later, was to meet with Cristina on the street. He approached me, as usual in it: mocking, provocative ... I said to myself: 'Do you know what you did to my sister? "" What do you mean? "I said. "My sister does not stop talking about you, in love, die for you" "What nonsense!" I replied. "She asked me not to return to your home." "I know," replied Craig. "My sister does not want to see you anymore. Says you're an old man and can not marry ... and, if so, she would prefer not to see you again ... "
Cristina would not see it either, those were his words ... Outside, the rain continues to fall ... I know tonight go to sleep.
__________
Image: author's archives.
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