{"id":15669,"date":"2022-09-30T06:31:00","date_gmt":"2022-09-30T04:31:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/erb.ambition4clients.nl\/madman-s-tale\/"},"modified":"2024-08-23T10:20:33","modified_gmt":"2024-08-23T10:20:33","slug":"madman-s-tale","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/europeanreviewofbooks.com\/ar\/madman-s-tale\/","title":{"rendered":"A Madman\u2019s Tale"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\n

\u00ab I guess it all began, \u00bb he said, \u00ab because of that weak-headedness my father sometimes had. It just rubbed me the wrong way. \u00bb<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Enric Valor with his wife Merc\u00e8<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Who was Enric Valor?<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n

Enric Valor<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Enric Valor (1911-2000) is one of the most important Valencian authors of the 20th century. He is primarily known as a novelist and grammarian. At a time when the Catalan language (of which Valencian is a regional variant) was under threat from the cultural bulldozer of the Franco regime, which condemned the use of anything but Castilian Spanish in public communication, he went to great lengths to disseminate knowledge of the language through writing grammars and linguistic studies (as well as teaching it to fellow inmates when he was imprisoned by the regime for his cultural activities). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Apart from his extensive labors as defender and disseminator of Valencian, he is the author of five significant novels, including The Cassana Cycle<\/em>, a trilogy depicting the life and landscape of his times and homeland (Castalla, in Alicante). He also wrote 36 Rondalles Valencianes <\/em>(Valencian Folktales), which he collected from locals in towns and villages of Alicante and modified into elegant literary versions set in the specific locations and landscapes of his homeland. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A translated selection of these tales is forthcoming with Routledge under the title Valencian Folktales<\/em>, introducing his stories to an English-speaking audience for the first time. The book is edited by Valor\u2019s granddaughter, linguist Maria-Llu\u00efsa Gea-Valor, together with Paul Scott Derrick, and includes a study of Valor and his work. In the collection’s introduction, she writes about her grandfather, who grew up in a rich and culturally refined family in the countryside: Landowners who went bankrupt and then became part of the struggle of the working class in the city they had to move to. Valor soon turned to political and cultural activism, like many other Catalans in the time of the Republic and under the threat of Franco’s fascism. In the civil war Valor fought on the losing side of the Republicans, and was witness to the war\u2019s horrors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 1936, the train that sent the only copy of the manuscript of Valor\u2019s first novel (El misteri del Canadian<\/em> or The mystery of the Canadian<\/em>) to his publishing house in Barcelona was bombarded, and the manuscript was never recovered. The regime made victims of books, too. Luckily we have his later work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
Close<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

The old fellow sat there, calm and resigned. His beady blue eyes shone with a glow of melancholy glee. The doctor had told him that I could be trusted and that he could tell me everything. He talked as though we had been lifelong friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were seated in front of the lovely asylum, surrounded by groves of lemon trees and palms. Not far away, the sea murmured gently over the pebbles on the beach. It was a bright, sunny day in March; the sweet-smelling air was still. What that old man told me was a strange, fantastic and subjective reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I guess it all began, \u00bb he said, \u00ab because of that weak-headedness my father sometimes had. It just rubbed me the wrong way. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Not much of a sin, is it? \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Well, everything started with that sin. What happened? Why did that one small defect, so natural for someone in his seventies, irritate and disgust me instead of making me feel sympathy and love? I think it must have been the Devil\u2019s work. That\u2019s right. No, don\u2019t laugh. The Devil\u2019s work. Do you really believe he isn\u2019t just as real as you and I? And that he doesn\u2019t roam through the mountains, where there are souls to tempt like everywhere else?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I used to take my animals out to pasture on the farm I had up on the Onil range. And whenever I\u2019d try to see if my neighbor\u2019s goats were gnawing on a pine tree, or if my wife was spending too much money, or if my boy wasn\u2019t doing as I said, who\u2019s to say that \u2018he\u2019 wasn\u2019t lurking in the vicinity?  Sometimes, when there wasn\u2019t a hint of wind, I could clearly see the branches of a pine tree moving. Now wouldn\u2019t that be the Enemy rubbing against them?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab One day, when my father was sitting out in the sun by the front door, he asked me some silly question: was it Wednesday, or was I going to put the goats in the corral; and I blew my top!… I raised my hand and I slapped his thin, bony cheek. Yes sir. That I did. Don\u2019t you just know the Evil One was jumping for joy somewhere nearby, while my heart was pounding with senseless rage? It was my selfishness, my ugly temper. Did it bother me that my father was getting on, or did I maybe resent the food I gave him? I looked at my dad and saw a mark where I had hit him. A few big tears ran down his cheeks. But my heart was hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I yelled in his ear, \u2018I don\u2019t want any nut cases in this household!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab It all upset my wife. She was fond of her father-in-law; so she helped me take him to my brother\u2019s place, over in the town of Ibi. It took us five long hours to get there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Well, the years went by and my poor old father died without ever seeing me again. Somewhere in his mixed-up mind he was afraid of me. Whenever he heard my name, he looked at the door and started to tremble. At least, that\u2019s what they told me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Then, when I grew older, I began to be afraid that the Lord would punish me. Maybe, I often thought, I\u2019ll get senile myself, and it won\u2019t be long in coming. But not a chance. Just look!… What do you think about this? In this place where I am now, I have to put up with a heap of folks that are a lot crazier than my poor old father ever was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab This is how it came about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I was sixty years old. That was ten years ago. I was out walking in the fields around my farmhouse one morning. My goats were nibbling the rosemary and the thyme that were then in bloom. I was strolling through the pinewood up toward the Visatabella spring, above Fontalbres, high up, close to the clouds, when the whole herd lifted their ears and the billy goats puffed out their cheeks. The way they were jumping all about I didn\u2019t know if they had seen a big snake or a wolf\u2014there are some in the Patir\u00e1s pine forest\u2014or what they might have scented.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Hey there! Hey goats!\u2019 I shouted, spreading out my arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab But they didn\u2019t want to move. The nanny goats sniffed the ground and jumped up and strained backwards, and of course they pulled the rest of the herd. And all of those animals crowded around me… Ha, ha! There I was, surrounded by the innocent, like I was Jesus! And me with the Devil in my heart!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab But where was I? I raise my staff and open a path through the herd and go over to where the nanny goats were sniffing the ground and I see a few drops of blood on the rocks. Those drops formed a trail that I followed, with the goats behind me, all frightened like, and then I came on some flattened rosemary bushes, and then the bent branches of some young pines… and then I had a terrible fright…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Somebody\u2019s been killed here and they dragged \u2019em to some high boulder!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I was just about to go back, but my curiosity got the better of me. If I found a dead body, why should I be blamed? What had I done? But you know, my conscience was always gnawing at me… I go on farther and come to a clearing in the woods and there I see… What do you think? A dog! It was lying there, still, like it was dead, but its round wet eyes were open and its head was covered with bloody wounds. All around it there were big blood-stained stones that somebody must\u2019ve wanted to kill it with. I could see right away it was a real good whippet. I know a lot about those things. I brought it some water from the spring, lifted up its head and let it drink. Later I carried it home like it was a lamb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab But I didn\u2019t do that out of love. I did it for the same reason I did everything: out of avarice. It was a beautiful dog, a fine breed, worth lots of money… That\u2019s the reason I acted the way I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I nursed it back to health and I tied it to the door on a long chain. But I begrudged everything, so I fed it very little, and one day it broke the chain and got into the henhouse and killed three of my best hens. I went to Castalla to sell it to a hunter. But three days later it was back at the farm. The hunter soon showed up and I had to give him back his money. I took the dog to Alcoi and set it loose in the town square. But it didn\u2019t get lost; it crossed the mountains and reached the farm before I did. The damn thing was grateful that I had saved its life and didn\u2019t want to leave me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab But then, when it looked like I couldn\u2019t make any money off of it, I started in to despise it. I tied it to the door and gave it one beating after another. \u2018You\u2019ll pay for all the food you eat!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Don\u2019t do it! Don\u2019t make it suffer!\u2019 shouted my wife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Didn\u2019t its other master try to kill it with those stones?\u2019 I answered. \u2018This here cur must be a jinx.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Maybe its master was selfish and resented the food it ate,\u2019 said my son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab And I just got madder and madder, because anger is what I had in my heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab My wife and son really felt bad for that dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab So I decided to kill it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab One night after supper I took off the chain and I tied a short halter around its neck. It licked my hands! I felt a flash of remorse, of pity; but no, my heart was much harder than kind! I went ahead! I took it to the Quitranera ravine. There\u2019s a high cliff there. That\u2019s where I\u2019d get rid of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I took a rough trail, along a crest with no trees. The moon looked like a tremendous pie plate rising above the cliff, and the few scattered pine trees there seemed to be nestled inside its breast. The whippet followed me tamely; I didn\u2019t even have to pull on the cord.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I\u2019d left my wife and son at the farmhouse door, tearful and crying out, \u2018Please don\u2019t kill it! Is this what you saved it for?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab The moon shone on the house, but I was too far away to see them clearly. I could still hear them shouting though, \u2018Please come back!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Soon I heard footsteps behind me. It was my wife! She didn\u2019t utter a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018What do you want?\u2019 I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018I\u2019m afraid you might fall.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Her voice sounded strange, as though she had died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab We reached the edge of the cliff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab The moonlight fell on the dog. That beast wasn\u2019t at all sad. I untied the halter, took the animal in my arms and threw it over the cliff. But that dog didn\u2019t tumble down to the ground as I expected; it just stayed up there in the air, moving its four legs like it was swimming in a pond, and it began to walk on the evening sky toward the moon, and it let out a blood-curdling belly laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Did you see that?\u2019 I asked my wife, stupefied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab But when I turned around it wasn\u2019t her; it was my father, poor thing, grey-haired and pale! Just like that day… He still had the bruise on his face, after all those years! And the tears were still on his sunken cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Father!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab \u2018Always doing evil deeds, son!\u2019 he said in a sad voice. But he was looking at me with love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Then I saw that his feet weren\u2019t touching the ground, and I fell to my knees as though he were Jesus Christ, and I felt dizzy and I closed my eyes and stars were shining inside of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab My wife and son found me the next morning and I told them how the dog had walked on the air and the laughter came out of the sky and the moon had the pine trees in its breast and, above all, what my father said and the stars he left inside me to guard me in my sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I told the story, day after day\u2014one day, the next and the next… and no one believed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab I think if I had confessed when I slapped my father, and had been told the kind of serious things that make you weep and repent, God wouldn\u2019t have plunged me into all of this confusion… \u00bb<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00ab I guess it all began, \u00bb he said, \u00ab because of that weak-headedness my father sometimes had. 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