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sábado, 28 de diciembre de 2013

Chimamanda Ngozi: Purple Hisbiscus

“What is he doing in my house? What is Anikwenwa doing in my house?” The enraged timber in Papa’s voice made my fingers cold at the tips. Se me quedaron heladas las puntas de mis dedos Jaja and I dashed to the window, and because we could see nothing, we dashed out to the verandah and stood by the pillars. Papa was standing in the front yard, near an orange tree, screaming at a wrinkled old man in a torn white singlet con una camiseta Blanca rasgada and a wrapper wound round his waist. A few other men stood around Papa. “What is Anikwenwa doing in my house? What is a worshiper of idols un adorador de ídolos doing in my house? Leave my house!” “Do you know that I am in your father’s age group, gbo?” the old man asked. The finger he waved in the air was meant for Papa’s face, but but it only hovered around his chest.permanecía en su pecho “Do you know that I sucked my mother’s breast when your father sucked his mother’s?” “Leave my house!” Papa pointed at the gate. Two men slowly ushered Anikwenwa out of the compound. dos hombres acompañaron a Anikwerwa fuera del recinto He did not resist; he was too old to, anyway. But he kept looking back and throwing words at Papa. “Ifukwa gi! You are like a fly blindly following a corpse into the grave!Eres como una mosca siguiendo ciégamente un cadaver hasta la tumba. I followed the old man’s unsteady gait el inestable paso del viejo until he walked out through the gates. 40
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