BOOKS BURN BADLYTranslated from the Galician by Jonathan DunneManuel Rivas
Table of Contents
Authors Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thank the following:
The staff of Corua and the Archive of the Kingdom of Galicias libraries. Xan Carlos Agra, Xess Alonso Montero, Cleudene Arago, Mimina Arias, Pedro and Pepe Barrs, Manuel Bermdez Chao, Vicente Boquete Tito, Fermn Bouza, Manuel Bragado, Euan Cameron, Picco Carillo, Esther Casal, Xos Castro, Ramn Chao, Xos Chao Rego, Cheni, Antonio Conde, Juan Cruz, Isaac Daz Pardo, Pilar Diz, Antn Doiro, Jonathan Dunne, Amaya Elezcano, Xaime Enrquez, Guillermo Escrigas, Manuel Espia, Carlos Fernndez, Mara Estrela Fernndez and the family of the murdered Coruan book-collector Eirs, Benito Ferreiro (son), Xos A. Gacio, Vctor Garca de la Concha, Beatriz Gmez (from Silva), Benito Gonzlez, Xess Gonzlez Gmez, Henrique Harguindey, Juantxu Herguera, the tailor Mr Iglesias, Luis Lamela, Xurxo Lobato, Lola from Lume, Antn Lpez, Alberte Maceda, Santiago Macas, Bernardo Miz, Danilo Manera, Xos Lus Martnez, Carlos Martnez-Bujn, Xos Mato, Serge Mestre, Csar A. Molina, Enrique Molist, Xulio Montero, Eirn Moure, Serafn Mourelle, Xos Manuel Muiz, Antn Patio, Dionisio Pereira, Nonito Pereira, Carlos Pereira Martnez, Gabriel Plaza, Xulio Prada, Miguelanxo Prado, Xess Mara Reiriz, Manuel Rodrguez, Ana Romero, Josep Maria Joan Rosa, Andrs Salgueiro, Carme Salorio, Manuel Snchez Salorio, Antn de Santiago, Sito Sedes, Felipe Senn, Xavier Seoane, Xurxo Souto, Celia Torres Bouzas, Dolores Torres Pars, Olivia Tudela, Alberto Valn, Elvira Varela, nxel Vzquez de la Cruz, Mari Vega, Graa Videira, Manuel Vilario, Dolores Vilavedra, Elke Wehr, Manuel Zamora.
Iria, Gastn, Migueln, Csar Carlos Morn, the group Jarbanzo Negro and Rmulo Sanjurjo.
Pedro de Llano.
His uncle Francisco and aunts Manola and Pepita.
Paco, Sabela and Felicitas.
Sol and Martio.
Isa.
Also by Manuel Rivas
FICTION
The Carpenters Pencil
Butterflys Tongue
Vermeers Milkmaid
In the Wilderness
POETRY
From Unknown to Unknown
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Epub ISBN: 9781409089490
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Published by Harvill Secker 2010
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Copyright Manuel Rivas and Santillana Ediciones Generales, S.L. 2006
English translation copyright Jonathan Dunne 2010
Manuel Rivas has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published with the title Os libros arden mal in 2006 by Edicins Xerais de Galicia
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by
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For Antn Patio Regueira, naturalist and book-collector, in memoriam.
Burning of books by the Falangists, Corua Docks, 19 August 1936
The future is surely uncertain: who can say what will happen? But the past is also uncertain: who can say what happened?
Antonio de Machado, Juan de Mairena
The Water Marks
At first, he bothers me. Hes young. I dont know him. It happens sometimes. They get in the way. I was watching out for the tango singer who appeared on stage at the invitation of Pucho Boedo of the Oriental Orchestra. In a white suit and a red cravat. Please welcome a friend of mine who sings like the sea rocked to sleep by the lighthouse: Lus Terranova... A real looker. Even more so when he opened his mouth. All his childish features vanished and his bones stood out. It was Chessman, about someone whos been sentenced to death. Id never heard a tango sung like that. It was as if hed just composed it, was making it up. Its ten and the clock chimes as I take a step into Gods time. Would you believe the time was right? That was at the dance in San Pedro de Ns. I dont remember now, but I think even the musicians stopped playing. That summer, I went with Ana and Amalia to the different fairs, hoping to hear him again, but hed disappeared. I would sing the tango by the river My steps are books, the Lords passion; my rest a chair the world put there and with a bit of effort I finally managed to compose his figure in the water. I know its cheating. But I also have the right to evoke some images, not just to wait for those that turn up.
Like this one. This one came of its own accord.
Hes a soldier. At first, Im a little shocked. He seemed a bit of a monster. So young and in uniform. Smooth-faced. Baby-faced except for the lips, which are fleshy and more forward than his other features. Maybe the mouth hangs open like that when its in the water, against the current. He looks at me with curiosity. And a sad smile. He has a round face, like those in our family. Hes blond. The water is golden, not from the suns rays, but maybe because of his blondness. I enjoy the figures company, but I dont like it when they stare. I drop the garment Im washing in their direction, slowly, not to smash the image, but so that it fades away, lurks under a pebble, has a chance to hide in the reeds.
But this time I dont. This time, I let it be.
A baby-faced soldier with a mans look. A smooth-faced soldier. In a trenchcoat with big buttons and a stiff collar. Framed by a circle of water. His arms are crossed and he wears a badge on his left sleeve. A mans look, thats right. He looks at me without pride, but also without pity. Its what they do, the water figures, they come and see, look when you look.
I asked Mum about him.
I asked her about the young soldier.
She pretends not to hear me.
Slap, slap! Cloth on stone.
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