Under the Volcano

by Malcolm Lowry

Su salud estará a salvo no escupiendo en el interior de este vehículo: these words, over the windscreen,

beyond the woods, and see nobody, save a few fishermen, whose

Ceasing to participate altogether, it was no longer difficult to ride, and after one ponderous circuit of the arena, headed straight back for its pen which, opened by the pressure of the crowd on the fences, it’d doubtless been secretly longing for all the time, trotting back into it with suddenly positive, twinkling innocent hooves. Everyone

Nothing. Veo que la tierra anda; estoy esperando que pase mi casa por aquí para meterme en ella,”

carrying their fathers and philosophers weeping in the dust. America perhaps, Don Quixote—” he was still brandishing the sword, it was that sabre really, he thought, in María’s room—”if only you’d stop interfering, stop walking in your sleep, stop sleeping with my wife, only the beggars and the accursed.” The machete fell with a rattle. The Consul felt himself stumbling backwards until he fell over a tussock of grass. “You stole that horse,” he repeated. The Chief of Rostrums was looking down at him. Sanabria