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184 pages, Paperback
First published December 24, 1957
It was ten years or more since Misiá Elisa had last left her room, and these days she hardly ever got out of bed, even on the only occasions when she received visitors – her birthday and her saint’s day. Not that she had many visitors nowadays, even on these important occasions. In fact, except for Dr. Gros, the nonagenarian’s personal physician, and a few old ladies who dropped in uninvited with their sticks and cameos, the only people who came into the house were the delivery boys who brought the groceries by bicycle…
Perhaps having someone young near her might help to alleviate his grandmother’s anguish, that smoldering hate, that diabolical force which drove her to spit obscene, gutter insults at everyone. Luckily the poor woman was not always in such a state.
Estela was too primitive a being, her ego was still quite amorphous. But she would benefit from innumerable advantages, simple country girl that she was.
His eyes were moist with a sudden joy. He had at last succeeded in breaking the mold that imprisoned him. He stopped under a street light. His body, enveloped by the chilly mist, glowed with a new and wonderful warmth.
But why? Why?
His imagination had only to stretch up to pluck the answer – he wanted Estela.
Everything was beautiful. But not to everyone. In a second-floor room Misiá Elisa continued to mock at death, and as her life dragged on, it was destroying valuable lives around her.
[...]Andrés supo que no había viaje que valiera, que la única realidad que le iba a ser posible conocer, la única experiencia vital a que podía aspirar era la experiencia de la muerte (p.95).