The neighbors of main right. Enrique Jardiel Poncela

The neighbors of main right is a small history of Enrique Jardiel Poncela. Recently publishing King Lear has published a compilation of stories that goes for title: Window of current stories.

THE NEIGHBORS OF MAIN RIGHT

 On having come to my homeland, on return from the Argentina, I did what there usually does everything the one that is in my case: I settled in a hotel and devoted myself to look for a vacant apartment.

For a man with money, to find a vacant apartment is an easy thing. I was bringing a lot of money of America and I found quickly what he needed.

America had been bountiful for me. It is true that for twelve years I worked angrily. But also it is true that after twelve years of incessant work, I was without laying and without money: How to return to my homeland failed? One evening it was walking along Palermo thinking this sad thing when I stumbled over a thick portfolio of black leather. I opened it; the portfolio was containing a sachet with diamonds and $ 150.000 in tickets. Also it was containing a few cards and an identity card with the name and the signs of its proprietor, but as from the first moment the portfolio had decided to have left me, I broke the cards and the certificate and tried to forget the name of that gentleman, what I achieved at once, because I have a fatal memory.

This way I became rich in America. And the fact is that in America everything the one that works very much finishes, for doing fortune.

The quarter that I rented on having come to my homeland was beautiful. I decorated everything to my taste and began to live through a life without worries, full of softness and of refinement. Occasionally he was inviting any girl without commitment to spend a few days in my company, and when I was feeling full of its way of laughing or from its gesture after the pyjama to put himself it was replacing it with other one. This procedure of the love pleases, as if it was a crank piano, is one of the bases in which for years the calmness of the bachelors has been sustained.

But one evening, at this romantic and humid hour of the twilight, was alone at home, because I was in a moment of transition between the past piano and the future piano.

Someone made to dream the stamp and, like a waterspout, there me got at home a lady noisily perfumed with “putrid gardenias”, of Lelong.

The lady crossed the living-room, popped in in my office and was dropped in one of the armchairs with the fixed sight in the soil, the gathered eyebrows and bitting lightly the low lip.

I contemplated it. It was bringing the head destocada and was wrapped in a negligee of charmeuse and velvet. It was taking a few earrings of opal and a few slippers tumbleweed with the red, equal heels to those of the courtiers of Luis XV. It was fair-haired; of a frantic blond.

I did not want to break the silence because, precisely, on having sat down in the armchair, the negligee had wrinkled and was leaving to the overdraft two legs of the lady in a sufficient extension to deprive of the speech a famous orator; the more to me, who spoke poquísimo. Interesting detail: the averages that were wrapping those prodigious legs were of gauze, color “laugh of deaf person”.

But similar situation could not extend. The lady lifted suddenly its head and said to me:

— gentleman: you excuse this interfering. I am the neighbor of main right. I have had a fierce grief with my husband and, ride of the anger, have gone away of house. When I have wanted to react I was in the stairs. Adónde to go this way? And it happened to me to call in its apartment. If it seems to you, we will chat a little bit, until I calm down.

— and it is possible that you manage to calm down, lady who will not be able to calm down it is me who will be while you persist in showing entirely the region of its leagues.

The lady rectified the creases of its negligee and asked suddenly this unusual question to me:

— What do you think about the love?

— I believe — I restored to help it in its intention of taking tension from him to our interview — that the love is a species of hydraulic elevator; he can be required to work well for five years; during ten; during fifteen; but there comes a moment in which it gets damaged and refuses to work.

— And then?

— then, lady, it is necessary to change elevator or to rise on foot; it is inevitable.

The lady smiled with this exclusive luminous smile of the intelligent persons.

Then he inclined towards me, surrounded my neck with its arms and murmured this alone word:

Oh!

When a woman sighs while it surrounds with its arms the neck of a man, it owes one to be considered well-informed that the lady wants to sigh.

— he is you capably of maddening any woman, my friend; nevertheless, our love is impossible. I suspect it: impossible, yes!

And two twisted a finger, then; later, three; and, in the end, all the fingers of the hand.

Of that time they rang at the doorbell.

— My husband!

— Do you believe?

I went to open and, in effect, the husband entered. It had a sad air.

— gentleman — he said to me—. You do not explain anything to me. You are not guilty. It has been the one that has come here! …: My god, what shame!

It started to cry, requested me a water glass, and for three times I took him brandy, lime tree and orange blossom.

On having returned, I to the office was always the husband being walked excited, increpando to its wife, and this one knocked down in its chair, looking at the street with indifferent gesture.

Finally, at eight o'clock in the night, after I carried out, bringing water, an exhausting work of camel of the desert, they decided to turn to its house.

Already in the door, the husband pressed energetically the hands hard to me while he was saying to me:

— thank you, thank you … I will never forget this; I will never forget it.

And they went away.

Half an hour later I was raising quickly the stairs and was calling in main right. Nobody answered my rings. Then the doorman, appearing to the hollow of the elevator, warned me that in main nobody was living through right, since the quarter was vacated from hacía six weeks.

This news produced a big mishap to me. Because right needed to speak again with the neighbors of main to ask them if they had seen by chance, a sachet with brilliant that I was keeping in the bargueño of my office and that had lacked to the moment of the marriage left my house.

 ————

Jardiel Poncela was defined also:

 SELF-PORTRAIT
I was born arming the proper fuss of these scenes;
the Church baptized me with Enrique's name,
and Aragon and Castile circulate along my veins,
without it having still found nobody who explains to me
to whom do I owe my laughs and to whom my sorrow;
so, really, it is not easy to solve the mystery
of which of these regions does it weigh in my heart;
perhaps it weighs Castile when I become serious,
and when I am happy, perhaps it weighs Aragon.

Valladolid, of a side, on the maternal part;
Saragossa, of other, for paternal route,
I take inside the eternal geographical extract
that unified in Spain an imperial wedding.

 (You can keep on reading its self-portrait in the blog of the grandchildren of author http://jardielponcela.blogspot.com / The photo is extracted hence)

Enrique Jardiel Poncela (Madrid, October 15, 1901 – February 18, 1952) was a writer and Spanish playwright. Teacher of the humor, its beginnings were in the journalistic area, but soon it went on to the novel. Stylistically it belonged to the so called “improbable generation” (that of humorists, another generation of 27, between which Miguel Mihura was also). It had many followers thing that did not happen with the leaders of the epoch. Of them it did not obtain any approval. During the Republic its works were censured by the stamp “too much of rights”. With the pro-Franco government its works had the same destination and the paródico was that they were censured for “too much of lefts”. Aggressive and critical, it never left its individualism.

He died in Madrid plunged in the poverty and without a fully deserved recognition of its work. In its grave be recorded the following epitaph: "If you want the biggest praises, die”.

Luisjo


Bookmark

Filed file: General

Did he like this article? Subscribe to my RSS feed and to obtain more discharges!

Get Adobe Flash player
The neighbors of main right. Enrique Jardiel Poncela | Magazine Atticus

The neighbors of main right. Enrique Jardiel Poncela

The neighbors of main right is a small history of Enrique Jardiel Poncela. Recently publishing King Lear has published a compilation of stories that goes for title: Window of current stories.

THE NEIGHBORS OF MAIN RIGHT

 On having come to my homeland, on return from the Argentina, I did what there usually does everything the one that is in my case: I settled in a hotel and devoted myself to look for a vacant apartment.

For a man with money, to find a vacant apartment is an easy thing. I was bringing a lot of money of America and I found quickly what he needed.

America had been bountiful for me. It is true that for twelve years I worked angrily. But also it is true that after twelve years of incessant work, I was without laying and without money: How to return to my homeland failed? One evening it was walking along Palermo thinking this sad thing when I stumbled over a thick portfolio of black leather. I opened it; the portfolio was containing a sachet with diamonds and $ 150.000 in tickets. Also it was containing a few cards and an identity card with the name and the signs of its proprietor, but as from the first moment the portfolio had decided to have left me, I broke the cards and the certificate and tried to forget the name of that gentleman, what I achieved at once, because I have a fatal memory.

This way I became rich in America. And the fact is that in America everything the one that works very much finishes, for doing fortune.

The quarter that I rented on having come to my homeland was beautiful. I decorated everything to my taste and began to live through a life without worries, full of softness and of refinement. Occasionally he was inviting any girl without commitment to spend a few days in my company, and when I was feeling full of its way of laughing or from its gesture after the pyjama to put himself it was replacing it with other one. This procedure of the love pleases, as if it was a crank piano, is one of the bases in which for years the calmness of the bachelors has been sustained.

But one evening, at this romantic and humid hour of the twilight, was alone at home, because I was in a moment of transition between the past piano and the future piano.

Someone made to dream the stamp and, like a waterspout, there me got at home a lady noisily perfumed with “putrid gardenias”, of Lelong.

The lady crossed the living-room, popped in in my office and was dropped in one of the armchairs with the fixed sight in the soil, the gathered eyebrows and bitting lightly the low lip.

I contemplated it. It was bringing the head destocada and was wrapped in a negligee of charmeuse and velvet. It was taking a few earrings of opal and a few slippers tumbleweed with the red, equal heels to those of the courtiers of Luis XV. It was fair-haired; of a frantic blond.

I did not want to break the silence because, precisely, on having sat down in the armchair, the negligee had wrinkled and was leaving to the overdraft two legs of the lady in a sufficient extension to deprive of the speech a famous orator; the more to me, who spoke poquísimo. Interesting detail: the averages that were wrapping those prodigious legs were of gauze, color “laugh of deaf person”.

But similar situation could not extend. The lady lifted suddenly its head and said to me:

— gentleman: you excuse this interfering. I am the neighbor of main right. I have had a fierce grief with my husband and, ride of the anger, have gone away of house. When I have wanted to react I was in the stairs. Adónde to go this way? And it happened to me to call in its apartment. If it seems to you, we will chat a little bit, until I calm down.

— and it is possible that you manage to calm down, lady who will not be able to calm down it is me who will be while you persist in showing entirely the region of its leagues.

The lady rectified the creases of its negligee and asked suddenly this unusual question to me:

— What do you think about the love?

— I believe — I restored to help it in its intention of taking tension from him to our interview — that the love is a species of hydraulic elevator; he can be required to work well for five years; during ten; during fifteen; but there comes a moment in which it gets damaged and refuses to work.

— And then?

— then, lady, it is necessary to change elevator or to rise on foot; it is inevitable.

The lady smiled with this exclusive luminous smile of the intelligent persons.

Then he inclined towards me, surrounded my neck with its arms and murmured this alone word:

Oh!

When a woman sighs while it surrounds with its arms the neck of a man, it owes one to be considered well-informed that the lady wants to sigh.

— he is you capably of maddening any woman, my friend; nevertheless, our love is impossible. I suspect it: impossible, yes!

And two twisted a finger, then; later, three; and, in the end, all the fingers of the hand.

Of that time they rang at the doorbell.

— My husband!

— Do you believe?

I went to open and, in effect, the husband entered. It had a sad air.

— gentleman — he said to me—. You do not explain anything to me. You are not guilty. It has been the one that has come here! …: My god, what shame!

It started to cry, requested me a water glass, and for three times I took him brandy, lime tree and orange blossom.

On having returned, I to the office was always the husband being walked excited, increpando to its wife, and this one knocked down in its chair, looking at the street with indifferent gesture.

Finally, at eight o'clock in the night, after I carried out, bringing water, an exhausting work of camel of the desert, they decided to turn to its house.

Already in the door, the husband pressed energetically the hands hard to me while he was saying to me:

— thank you, thank you … I will never forget this; I will never forget it.

And they went away.

Half an hour later I was raising quickly the stairs and was calling in main right. Nobody answered my rings. Then the doorman, appearing to the hollow of the elevator, warned me that in main nobody was living through right, since the quarter was vacated from hacía six weeks.

This news produced a big mishap to me. Because right needed to speak again with the neighbors of main to ask them if they had seen by chance, a sachet with brilliant that I was keeping in the bargueño of my office and that had lacked to the moment of the marriage left my house.

 ————

Jardiel Poncela was defined also:

 SELF-PORTRAIT
I was born arming the proper fuss of these scenes;
the Church baptized me with Enrique's name,
and Aragon and Castile circulate along my veins,
without it having still found nobody who explains to me
to whom do I owe my laughs and to whom my sorrow;
so, really, it is not easy to solve the mystery
of which of these regions does it weigh in my heart;
perhaps it weighs Castile when I become serious,
and when I am happy, perhaps it weighs Aragon.

Valladolid, of a side, on the maternal part;
Saragossa, of other, for paternal route,
I take inside the eternal geographical extract
that unified in Spain an imperial wedding.

 (You can keep on reading its self-portrait in the blog of the grandchildren of author http://jardielponcela.blogspot.com / The photo is extracted hence)

Enrique Jardiel Poncela (Madrid, October 15, 1901 – February 18, 1952) was a writer and Spanish playwright. Teacher of the humor, its beginnings were in the journalistic area, but soon it went on to the novel. Stylistically it belonged to the so called “improbable generation” (that of humorists, another generation of 27, between which Miguel Mihura was also). It had many followers thing that did not happen with the leaders of the epoch. Of them it did not obtain any approval. During the Republic its works were censured by the stamp “too much of rights”. With the pro-Franco government its works had the same destination and the paródico was that they were censured for “too much of lefts”. Aggressive and critical, it never left its individualism.

He died in Madrid plunged in the poverty and without a fully deserved recognition of its work. In its grave be recorded the following epitaph: "If you want the biggest praises, die”.

Luisjo


Bookmark

Filed file: General

Did he like this article? Subscribe to my RSS feed and to obtain more discharges!

Get Adobe Flash player