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.All mine.—Simply lines, Paquirri, just lines, but not life, not that.—Where do we find lines in nature? I see only light and dark bodies, advancing and receding planes, reliefs and concavities …—And what about those bodies that approach, Don Paco, and the ones that recede, what about them?—Where’s the body of Elisia Rodríguez?—She died young.She was thirty.—And what did you give her, Goya?—What she didn’t have: age.I painted her wrinkled, toothless, wasted, absurdly persisting in using unguents, vapors, pomades, and powders to rejuvenate herself.—Until death!—Surrounded by monkeys and lapdogs and gossips and ridiculous fops; the final few spectators of her faded glory …—Wait till you’ve been anointed!—But La Privada escaped from me, she died young …—Her final fainting, Paco.—La Privada who denied you the pleasure of seeing her dazed in your arms when you made love …—Oh, listen, listen to this, everyone, window to window: Elisia Rodríguez never fainted with Don Paco de Goya, with everyone else, yes …—Shut up, damn it …—Hey, Don Paco, don’t get worked up, here in Cádiz we laugh at everything …—Nothing between us …—I gave you everythin’, but you, nothin’.—And that’s the way it was!—No, the reason La Privada didn’t faint for me was that she had to stay wide awake to tell me things about our people, she wanted me to know them; listen, her fainting was just a pretext so she could sleep anyway, and not be bothered, once she had got what she …—And did they let her sleep in peace?—Except for a few dense fellows who would shake her by the neck trying to wake her …—Poor La Privada: how many times was she doused with cold water to wake her from her trance!—How many pinches on the arm!—How many slaps on the rear!—How many times did she get her feet tickled!—But not with me.With me she always stayed awake to tell me things.She told me about a little dog she loved that fell in a well where no one could get it, he couldn’t grab the ropes they lowered, bulls have horns but dogs have only the eyes of sad and defenseless men, which call to us and ask our help, and we can’t give it …—Elisia Rodríguez told you that?—As if to a deaf man, shouting in my ear, that’s the way she told me her stories [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]