So many dreams then.The only thing I've got leftis my son's love.My husband, no, not him. She'd lefta diary and a collection of verses. How far away that girl isnow, how very far!She put the two photos together.Anna had died young, TB. Iwas blonder shewas the one who was going to succeed. The bow, tied behind her, hung down over her skirt. The white gauze dress with the red velvet belt. She was wearing a gauze dress, white, with awide velvet belt. Odessa, 1916." One was her when she was eigh teen. Trustme." She folded the letterslowly and kissed it.But then thewar with Russia had begun, and she had stayed on alone, isolated, inLimoges, where she had settled after fleeingParis. Martha Tennent isthe translator, most recently, of Merce Rodoreda's gothic fable Deaf/?inSpring(2009) and Emili Rosales's historical novelThe Invisible City (2009). She is regarded as the most important Catalan fictionwriter of the twentieth century (see WLT, May 2007, 12-15).
Deaf/7 in Spring, 2009 see review on page 66 of this issue). A Broken Mirror, 2006), and La mort i la primavera, (1986 Eng. A prolificwriter of stories, she also published several novels, including La placa delDiamant (1962 Eng.The Time of the Doves, 1981), Mirall trencat (1974 Eng. She lived first in France and then inSwitzerland, returning to Spain in 1972. Idon't want you tohave to make such a long journey ifit'sgoing Barcelona-born Merce Rodoreda (1909-83) went into exile in 1939, when the Spanish CivilWar ended. I hope the trainswill soon be running properly. Once we're settled inMinsk, you can come. She picked up the letterfromher son and started reading it for the hundredth time. It looks like themouth of a corpse, a friendof hers had once said. The corners of hermouth were pale, slightly purple in the center, and her teethwere yellow, with large spaces between them. It's allmine, but itseems like italready belongs to someone else. She took itout fromunder thebed and put iton top.
She set the cup on the littletable in frontof the window and stood awhile, not surewhere tostart all thework shewanted todo but perhaps wouldn't. Closed thedoor and slowly turned the key. "Do you still have some sugar?" "There's a bit left." "Then I'll take sugar this evening." She picked up the steaming cup, said goodnight, and went intoher room.
"No!" She stopped thehand with an abrupt gesture. WHERE ARE THE LOVERS? Madame Letard picked up two saccharin tablets,put one inher cup, and was about toput theother inher subtenant Lisa Sperling's. The Fate of Lisa Sperling A storyby Merce Rodoreda. In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:
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