Author Archives: 100swallows

Luis and Pepe

Luis Luis was the strange case of a man who looked like a leader but was not one. Everyone who came to the shop for the first time walked straight to him. They thought he was the boss. Yet he … Continue reading

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My Poor Teachers

  Stonecutters in winter Angel, Luis, and Pepe were my best teachers. Angel Ángel was one of the estrellados. What I knew about him came from his pal Luis. Angel hardly spoke. Though once I heard him talk with deep … Continue reading

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¿Cómo eran los canteros?

Al día siguiente volví a la cantería de Fernando y trabajé allí durante tres años y medio, y ojalá hubieran sido diez. Herman Melville, el autor de Moby Dick, dijo que el ballenero había sido para él su Universidad de … Continue reading

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The Stonecutters

Whaleship I went back to Fernando’s stoneyard that next day and worked there for three and a half years, and I wish it had been ten. Herman Melville, who wrote Moby Dick, said the whaleship had been his Yale College … Continue reading

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La máquina de sacar puntos

Cuando Fernando volvió, me preguntó cómo iba a “hacer” mi torito. ¡Vaya pregunta! “Yo utilizaría la máquina,” dijo. “Es mucho más rápido.” ¡Una máquina! Yo no quería ninguna máquina. Quería tallar mis estatuas solo con las manos y los ojos. … Continue reading

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Viendo trabajar al escultor

Monumento al cantero en Baveno am Lago Maggiore (GNU Free Documentation License foto de Mbdortmund) El ángel rojo que yo había admirado aquella primera noche ya no se veía. Estaba tapado por unas viejas camisas de pana y resguardado en … Continue reading

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The Pointing Machine

Fernando finally came back and asked me how I was going to “do ” my bull. What kind of question was that? “I’d use the máquina,” he said. “It’s a lot quicker, you know.” A machine! I didn’t want to … Continue reading

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Watching a Sculptor

The red angel I had admired that first night was out of sight, draped for protection in old flannel shirts and put away in a corner. Most of the men were cutting stones for buildings—cornices and mouldings. Only one was … Continue reading

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First Morning in the Stoneyard

I had trouble finding the stoneyard that first Monday morning, in spite of Sanchez’s instructions. When I came out of the subway station—the last on the line—Madrid had ended. The buildings stopped and all you could see were bare fields. … Continue reading

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La primera mañana en el patio de cantería

A pesar de las indicaciones de Sánchez, me costó encontrar el taller aquella primera mañana. Cuando salí de la boca del metro, la última de la linea, Madrid había acabado. Ya no había edificios, solo el campo vacío. “Medio kilómetro … Continue reading

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