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- Famous Short Stories 51: "Eyes of a Blue Dog" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- Dreams of the Unreachable: Thoughts on Gabriel García Márquez’s Eyes of a Blue Dog
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- Toni Morrison
- Eyes of a Blue Dog - Summary Summary & Analysis
- Alan Dershowitz’s long, controversial career—and the accusations against him.
- The eyes of a blue dog summary of the book
Eyes of a Blue Dog. T hen she looked at me.
Asafetida bags are used to hold
I thought that she was looking at me for the first time. But then, when she turned around behind the lamp and I kept feeling her slippery and oily look in back of me, over my shoulder, I understood that it was I who was looking at her for the first time.
I lit a cigarette. I took a drag on the harsh, strong smoke, before spinning in the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. After that I saw her there, as if she'd been standing beside the lamp looking at me every night. For a few brief minutes that's all we did: look at each other. I looked from the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. She stood, with a long and quiet hand on the lamp, looking at me. I saw her eyelids lighted up as on every night.
It was then that I remembered the usual thing, when I said to her: "Eyes of a blue dog. We'll never forget that. I've written it everywhere. I saw her walk over to the dressing table.
Famous Short Stories 51: "Eyes of a Blue Dog" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets.
And she said: "You don't feel the cold. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. Maybe the sheet fell off. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her. Without seeing her, I knew what she was doing. I knew that she was sitting in front of the mirror again, seeing my back, which had had time to reach the depths of the mirror and be caught by her look, which had also had just enough time to reach the depths and return--before the hand had time to start the second turn--until her lips were anointed now with crimson , from the first turn of her hand in front of the mirror.
I saw, opposite me, the smooth wall, which was like another blind mirror in which I couldn't see her--sitting behind me--but could imagine her where she probably was as if a mirror had been hung in place of the wall.
And on the wall I saw what was as if she had raised her eyes and had seen me with my back turned toward her from the chair, in the depths of the mirror, my face turned toward the wall.
Dreams of the Unreachable: Thoughts on Gabriel García Márquez’s Eyes of a Blue Dog
Then I saw her lower her eyes again and remain with her eyes always on her brassiere, not talking. And I said to her again: "I see you. I asked her why. And she, with her eyes quiet and on her brassiere again: "Because your face is turned toward the wall.
I had the cigarette clenched in my mouth. When I stayed facing the mirror she was back by the lamp.
Alan Dershowitz, Devil’s Advocate
Now she had her hands open over the flame, like the two wings of a hen, toasting herself, and with her face shaded by her own fingers. And she began to get undressed, item by item, starting at the top with the brassiere. I told her: "I'm going to turn back to the wall. In any case, you'll see me the way you did when your back was turned.
The position of her hands over the flame varied slightly. I said: "Sometimes in other dreams, I've thought you were only a little bronze statue in the corner of some museum. Maybe that's why you're cold. Then, when the blood beats inside me, it's as if someone were calling by knocking on my stomach and I can feel my own copper sound in the bed.
It's like--what do you call it--laminated metal. And she said: "If we find each other sometime, put your ear to my ribs when I sleep on the left side and you'll hear me echoing.
I've always wanted you to do it sometime.
And she said that for years she'd done nothing different. Her life had been dedicated to finding me in reality, through that identifying phrase: "Eyes of a blue dog. Then she would write on the napkins and scratch on the varnish of the tables with a knife: "Eyes of a blue dog.
Then she went over to the clerk and said to him: "I always dream about a man who says to me: 'Eyes of a blue dog. She kept on seeing the clean tile and smelling the odor. And she opened her purse and on the tiles with her crimson lipstick, she wrote in red letters: "Eyes of a blue dog.
He told her: Madam, you have dirtied the tiles. Now, when she finished speaking, I remained in the corner, sitting, rocking in the chair. Still, I've always said the same thing and when I wake up I've always forgotten what the words I can find you with are. But I never remember the next morning. Her tightened teeth gleamed over the flame. She raised the face that had been looking at the light; she raised her look, burning, roasting, too, just like her, like her hands, and I felt that she saw me, in the corner where I was sitting, rocking in the chair.
From the other side of the lamp she asked for a cigarette. The butt had disappeared between my fingers. I'd forgotten I was smoking.
Eyes of a Blue Dog
She said: "I don't know why I can't remember where I wrote it. It's just that sometimes I think that I've dreamed that too. She was a little beyond, and I kept on walking with the cigarettes and matches in my hand, which would not go beyond the lamp. I held the cigarette out to her. She squeezed it between her lips and leaned over to reach the flame before I had time to light the match. Then she sucked in the smoke with the cigarette between her fingers and exclaimed: "This is something else now.
I'm warming up. Trembling beside a lamp. We had been seeing each other for several years. Sometimes, when we were already together, somebody would drop a spoon outside and we would wake up.
Little by little we'd been coming to understand that our friendship was subordinated to things, to the simplest of happenings. Our meetings always ended that way, with the fall of a spoon early in the morning.
Now, next to the lamp, she was looking at me. I remembered that she had also looked at me in that way in the past, from that remote dream where I made the chair spin on its back legs and remained facing a strange woman with ashen eyes. It was in that dream that I asked her for the first time: "Who are you?
Eyes of a Blue Dog - Summary Summary & Analysis
I'm beginning to remember now. It's certain that we've met in other dreams. She took two drags on the cigarette. I was still standing, facing the lamp, when suddenly I kept looking at her.
I looked her up and down and she was still copper; no longer hard and cold metal, but yellow, soft, malleable copper. And she said: "You'll ruin everything.
Alan Dershowitz’s long, controversial career—and the accusations against him.
All we have to do is turn the pillow in order to meet again. She didn't move. But when you wake up you'll have forgotten. She stayed behind, warming her hands over the flame. And I still wasn't beside the chair when I heard her say behind me: "When I wake up at midnight, I keep turning in bed, with the fringe of the pillow burning my knee, and repeating until dawn: 'Eyes of a blue dog.
Then I remained with my face toward the wall. When I had the knob in my hand, I heard her voice again, the same, invariable. I moved it a little and a cold, thin breeze brought me the fresh smell of vegetable earth, damp fields. She spoke again.
I gave the turn, still moving the door, mounted on silent hinges, and I told her: "I don't think there's any hallway outside here. I'm getting the smell of country. What's happening is that there's a woman outside dreaming about the country. She continued speaking: "It's that woman who always wanted to have a house in the country and was never able to leave the city.
The eyes of a blue dog summary of the book
And I said: "In any case, I have to leave here in order to wake up. Outside the wind fluttered for an instant, then remained quiet, and the breathing of someone sleeping who had just turned over in bed could be heard. The wind from the fields had ceased. There were no more smells. Front Page. All Rights Reserved.