Cuentos en ingles

Así dicen algunos, que es mejor leer algún cuento interesante en inglés, para practicar, ampliar vocabulario, conocer sobre la cultura inglesa y mejorar en inglés. Me parece que algo de razón tienen. Como sea, con la idea de leer algo en mis horas libres elegí dos cuentos que me parecieron dignos de leer entre ayudar en la cocina, cortar el pasto del jardín y renegar contra los políticos corruptos. Uno de ellos fue The Blue Hotel, de Stephen Crane, y el otro A Little Cloud, de James Joyce.

 

Ya el nombre de ambos escritores es garantía de que al menos van a merecer un aprobado. Son dos grandes autores anglosajones que lograron éxitos en sus historias y las establecieron como clásicos. Stephen Crane es muy conocido por The Red Badge of Courage y Maggi, a Girl of the Streets; y James Joyce por Ulysses, Dubliners y A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

 

¿Qué encontré en The Blue Hotel? Una historia bastante original que llama la atención por sus elementos del más allá, por así decir. Tiene lugar en el viejo oeste norteamericano donde un hotelero recibe a algunos huéspedes y trata de hacerlos sentir cómodos. Los huéspedes juegan una mano de cartas y uno de ellos, un sueco, acusa al hijo del dueño de hacer trampas. Se desencadena una pelea y el sueco no quiere seguir en el hotel, terminando en un bar donde quiere brindar con los clientes. Les voy a dejar el final abierto para que no pierda la gracia por si deciden leerlo, no es muy largo y es bastante entretenido. Hay partes donde el autor trata de reflejar el lenguaje del lugar. Leí la obra en inglés, y no encontré demasiadas dificultades con el lenguaje.

The Blue Hotel, en Collier´s

... THE Palace Hotel at Fort Romper was painted a light blue, a shade that is on the legs of a kind of heron, causing the bird to declare its position against any background. The Palace Hotel, then, was always screaming and howling in a way that made the dazzling winter landscape of Nebraska seem only a gray swampish hush. It stood alone on the prairie, and when the snow was falling the town two hundred yards away was not visible. But when the traveler alighted at the railway station he was obliged to pass the Palace Hotel before he could come upon the company of low clap-board houses which composed Fort Romper, and it was not to be thought that any traveler could pass the Palace Hotel without looking at it. Pat Scully, the proprietor, had proved himself a master of strategy when he chose his paints. It is true that on clear days, when the great trans-continental expresses, long lines of swaying Pullmans, swept through Fort Romper, passengers were overcome at the sight, and the cult that knows the brown-reds and the subdivisions of the dark greens of the East expressed shame, pity, horror, in a laugh. But to the citizens of this prairie town, and to the people who would naturally stop there, Pat Scully had performed a feat. With this opulence and splendor, these creeds, classes, egotisms, that streamed through Romper on the rails day after day, they had no color in common.

As if the displayed delights of such a blue hotel were not sufficiently enticing, it was Scully's habit to go every morning and evening to meet the leisurely trains that stopped at Romper and work his seductions upon any man that he might see wavering, gripsack in hand…

 

A Little Cloud me impresionó por su temática, algo que es muy del siglo 21; la del hombre que trata de triunfar con la ayuda de otro y su carácter le impide dar algunos pasos necesarios, y siente que la vida le juega malas pasadas. Un poco como provincianos, recordando el pasado en el interior, que tratan de sobrevivir en la gran capital.

A Little Cloud forma parte de Dubliners, junto a otros cuentos más conocidos de Joyce.

... Eight years before he had seen his friend off at the North Wall and wished him godspeed. Gallaher had got on. You could tell that at once by his travelled air, his well-cut tweed suit, and fearless accent. Few fellows had talents like his and fewer still could remain unspoiled by such success. Gallaher’s heart was in the right place and he had deserved to win. It was something to have a friend like that.

Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s invitation and of the great city London where Gallaher lived. He was called Little Chandler because, though he was but slightly under the average stature, he gave one the idea of being a little man. His hands were white and small, his frame was fragile, his voice was quiet and his manners were refined. He took the greatest care of his fair silken hair and moustache and used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief. The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth…

 

Para leer algo corto, e interesante, estas dos historias son especiales. A disfrutarlas.

 

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Resources

The Blue Hotel, the story online.

A Little Cloud, to read the story in English.

 

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