One afternoon, the usual doctor appeared, accompanied by a new doctor, and they carried him off to a sanitarium on the Calle Ecuador, for it was necessary to X-ray him. A week, eight days passed, and they were like eight centuries. Friends and relatives paid him visits and, with exaggerated smiles, assured him that they thought he looked fine.ĭahlmann listened to them with a kind of feeble stupor and he marveled at their not knowing that he was in hell. Fever wasted him and the pictures in The Thousand and One Nights served to illustrate nightmares. The edge of a recently painted door which someone had forgotten to close had caused this wound.ĭahlmann was able to fall asleep, but from the moment he awoke at dawn the savor of all things was atrociously poignant. On the face of the woman who opened the door to him he saw horror engraved, and the hand he wiped across his face came away red with blood. In the obscurity, something brushed by his forehead: a bat, a bird? Avid to examine this find, he did not wait for the elevator but hurried up the stairs. Dahlmann had succeeded in acquiring, on that very afternoon, an imperfect copy of Weil's edition of The Thousand and One Nights. Blind to all fault, destiny can be ruthless at one's slightest distraction. Late in February, 1939, something happened to him. Summer after summer he contented himself with the abstract idea of possession and with the certitude that his ranch was waiting for him on a precise site in the middle of the plain. His duties, perhaps even indolence, kept him in the city. Converter free for windowsprofundamente sua de sylvia day em pdf to excel. At the cost of numerous small privations, Dahlmann had managed to save the empty shell of a ranch in the South which had belonged to the Flores family he continually recalled the image of the balsamic eucalyptus trees and the great rose-colored house which had once been crimson.ĭescargar El Sur De Jorge Luis Borges Pdf File. His maternal grandfather had been that Francisco Flores, of the Second Line-Infantry Division, who had died on the frontier of Buenos Aires, run through with a lance by Indians from Catriel in the discord inherent betweeh his two lines of descent, Juan Dahlmann (perhaps driven to it by his Germanic blood) chose the line represented by his romantic ancestor, his ancestor of the romantic death.Īn old sword, a leather frame containing the daguerreotype of a blank-faced man with a beard, the dash and grace of certin music, the familiar strophes of Martin Fierro, the passing years, boredom and solitude, all went to foster this voluntary, but never ostentatioous nationalism. In 1939, one of his grandchlidren, Juan Dahlmann, was secretary of a municipal library on Calle Cordoba, and he considered himself profoundly Argentinian. The man who landed in Buenos Aires in 1871 bore the name of Johannes Dahlmann and he was a minister in the Evangelical Church.
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