Vladimir Nabokov. El duende del bosque
Vladimir Nabokov. El duende del bosque
With a welcoming murmur I shook his light, cold hand, and touched the back of a shabby armchair. He perched like a crow on a tree stump, and began speaking hurriedly.
"It's so scary in the streets. So I dropped in. Dropped in to visit you. Do you recognize me? You and I, we used to romp together and halloo at each other for days at a time. Back in the old country. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
His voice literally blinded me. I felt dazzled and dizzy—I remembered the happiness, the echoing, endless, irreplaceable happiness....
No, it can't be: I'm alone.... It's only some capricious delirium. Yet there really was somebody sitting next to me, bony and im