The story he posted on my wall, translated from spanish to english using google translate ......The heroic city was taking a nap. The south wind, warm and lazy, pushing the white clouds that tore running north. On the streets there was no sound except the shrill sound of the swirling dust, rags, straw and papers ranging from stream stream of sidewalk curb from corner to corner and chase fluttering, like butterflies and flee and seek the air wrapped in its folds invisible. What crowds of urchins, those crumbs away, all those scraps gathered in a heap, like sleeping parábanse a moment and jumped back startled, scattering, climbing up the walls around the windows shaking of the lanterns, others to the bad paper posters stuck to the corners, and had pen reached the third floor, and grit that was embedded for days, or years, in the window of a shop window, holding onto a lead. Very old, the very noble and loyal city, cut into distant century, was the digestion of cooked and the rotten pot, and lay half asleep listening to the monotonous and familiar hum of the bell choir, echoed back in the top of the slender tower in the Holy Basilica. The tower of the cathedral, stone poem romantic, delicate hymn, sweet lines moving and enduring beauty, was the work of the sixteenth century, but first started, in Gothic style, but is true, moderated by an instinct of prudence and harmony amending the vulgar exaggerations of this architecture. The view is not tired for hours staring stone that index pointing to heaven was not one of those towers whose needle is broken in subtle, skinnier than slender, mannered, and ladies too corny to tighten the corset, it was solid without losing any of its spiritual greatness, and even their second runners, elegant balustrade, rose as a strong castle, jumping from there funny angle pyramid, inimitable in its measurements and proportions. As muscles and nerves beam curling stone on stone climbed up, balancing an acrobat in the air, and as juggling prodigy, a limestone peak remained, which magnet, a large ball of gilded bronze, and over a smaller one, and on this an iron cross that had a lightning rod. When on solemn occasions the council sent illuminate the tower with paper lanterns and colored glasses, looked well, standing in darkness, that romantic mole, but with these galas lost the ineffable elegance of your profile and took the outlines of a huge bottle of champagne. -Better to contemplate a clear moonlit night, highlighting a clear sky, surrounded by stars that seemed to her aura, doubled in folds of light and shadow, ghost giant watching over the town and blackish who slept at his feet. Bismarck, a rogue illustrious Vetusta, called by this nickname among his class, do not know why, grasped the string tied to the clapper kneaded formidable Wamba, the great bell choir called the very venerable canons, council Cathedral of preeminent qualities and privileges. Bismarck was front office diligence, was of the whip, as in Vetusta was called to his condition, but his interests led him to the bell, and by delegation of Celedonio, churchman, acolyte acting Ringer, but not owned, the illustrious diplomat whiplash enjoyed a few days the honor of awakening the venerable chapter of his blissful nap convocándole the prayers and songs of their particular business. The striker, usually playful, cheerful and naughty, ran the clapper of the Wamba with a seriousness of Scryer in good faith. When posing for the time of coronary and Bismarck was said, was in itself something of the dignity and responsibility of a clock. Celedonio-fitting black cassock, dirty and ragged, was looking out a window, a gentleman in it, and spat contemptuously and the tusk to the square, and fired on a whim about a rare passer pebbles that seemed the size and the importance of a mouse. That they rose up to head to the urchins and they inspired a profound contempt of earthly things. - Mia you, Breaker, which says more than I can! The altar boy said, almost spitting out the words and fired half baked potato and rotten to the street pointing to a canon, but sure not to touch him. - What has power! Bismarck replied that in the belfry Celedonio flattered and treated him in the street kicking and forcibly tore the keys to playing up the prayers. You toos after more than forwards, but me. 'Because you cast for the trip, mainate, and are greater ... Mia, boy, is that L'stoke Quies Mr. Master coming in now? The choir was over: the venerable canons left for the day met its duty to praise the Lord with yawn and yawn. One by one they entered the sacristy to the bored of any official who performs official positions mechanically, always in the same way, without believing in the utility's effort to win the daily bread. The mood of those honest priests was worn by the constant rubbing of the canonical songs, as most of the surplices, hoods and cloaks they stripped to recover his cloak. You could tell the council what is ordinary Vetusta in many corporations: some prebendaries gentlemen did not talk, others do not even greeted. But to an outsider it was not easy to meet this lack of harmony: prudence conceal such roughness, and reigned together the largest and most cheerful harmony. There were handshakes, pats on the shoulder, perennial jokes, jokes, laughter, secrets in his ear. Some, taciturn, soon said goodbye and left the temple, there were those who left without saying goodbye. When he entered the Master, the illustrious Senor Don Cayetano Ripamilán, Aragonese, Calatayud, put a hand on the marble table, because the elbow did not reach so great height, and cried after having repeatedly smelt like a dog that follows a Trace:-He has given me in the nose smell ... The presence of the Vicar held Mr. Archpriest, who, cutting the appointment, said: - It would seem that we had skirts around here, Mr. De Pas? And without waiting for a reply was polite ribald allusions, but a little green, to the splendid beauty of the widow. Cayetano was an old man of seventy-six, lively, cheerful, thin, dry, old leather-colored, wrinkled like a scroll into the fire, and all your little person remembered, no one knew why fixed point, the shape of a vulture-size, although, according to others, most like a magpie, or a shrunken and despeluznado thrush. Certainly had a lot of bird figure and gestures, and more, seen in its shadow. It was sharp and pointy hat wearing the old tile, long and narrow, wings very collected, to Don Basilio, and as he leaned his neck, seemed to have been on his head a telescope was myopic and corrected the defect mounted with gold spectacles on nose long and hooked. Behind the glass shone a restless little eyes, very black and very round. Terciaba his cloak to the student, used to put hands on hips, and if the conversation was subject theological or canonical, extended his right hand and was a telescope with the thumb and forefinger. As the speaker used to be higher, to see his face twisted Ripamilán head and looked with one eye, as do poultry often. Although it was Don Cayetano canon and had no less than the dignity of archpriest, who awarded him the honor of sitting in the choir to the right of the bishop, considerábase him worthy of respect and even admiration for these vulgar titles, or by the cross that made him illustrious, but for the priceless gift of epigrammatic poet and bucolic. Their gods were Garcilaso and Martial, his illustrious countryman. Also very fond of Meléndez Valdés and not a little to Inarco Celenio. He had come to Vetusta of benefit at age forty, thirty-six had attended that church and choir could be for as vetustense as the first. Many did not know it was from another province. Besides the mundane poetry had two passions: women and the shotgun. The latter had given up, not the first, still worshiping the same prudish and naive worship of thirty years. Not a single vetustense, even counting the freethinkers that in a restaurant eating meat on Good Friday, not one dared to question the chastity of Don Cayetano almost secular. It was not that. His devotion to the lady did not have anything to do with the demands of sex. The woman was the subject of poetry, as he said, as he prided himself as the poets speak of best centuries and used to call subject matter. I felt since his youth, urgent need to be gallant with the ladies, their treatment and make frequent subject of madrigals as innocent in intention, as full of mischief and pepper in the concept. There were times in the black council intransigence that Ripamilán pursued the hobby as if it were a crime, and talk of scandal, and to burn a book of poems published by the Archpriest at the expense of the Marquis de Corujedo, great protector of the letters. By this time was when he would excommunicate Don Guimarán Pompey, a character to be found later. Regent that afternoon and spoke the Master on the ride. The Archpriest sought to find and trust with the Regent facilitated the interview. Seldom had crossed the floor to the beautiful Lady and the vicar, and had never been the talk of commonplaces which requires social skills. Doña Ana Ozores was not in any guild. He paid a monthly fee in Sunday schools, but did not attend lessons or conferences; lived far from the circle in which the Vicar reigned. This visit some people who were unable or unwilling to serve in their advertising plans. When Don Victor Quintanar was Regent of Vetusta, the Master visited him in all solemnity that courtesy demanded that the customs of the people, these visits are paid to accuracy in these matters who used Mr. Quintanar, the most complete Knight of the city after Bermudez. The fulfillment of the Master were scarce, without knowing why, when he retired Don Victor, and finally stopped the visits. Don Victor and Don Fermin spoke sometimes in the street at the Ram, was always greeted with the utmost kindness. They felt each other. The slander slander that sought to de Pas had an insulator in Don Victor; through it not spread, and even took charge undo its pernicious influence. Doña Ana had never talked alone with the Master, and after the visits stopped just see him up close again. At least she did not remember. Don Cayetano, who knew this, did a mock presentation jocoserio diplomatic tone that never left. They, the Regent and the Master had said little, almost everything he had told others Ripamilán and Visitation, which accompanied the Quintanar. Doña Ana soon returned home. Was collected earlier that night. From the brief conversation in the afternoon did not remember more than this: that tomorrow, after the choir, the Master was waiting in his chapel. He had directed, even through indirect, convenient, to change his confessor, make a general confession. He had spoken with great bonhomie, mellifluous voice, but little, somewhat coldly, and apparently a little distracted. He had not seen the eyes. He had not seen the eyelids, loaded with white meat. Below the tabs sticking out a special flair. Near the bed, kneeling, prayed a few minutes the Regent. Then he sat in a rocking chair next to her dresser, in the cabinet, away from the bed to avoid falling into the temptation to lie down and read a quarter of an hour a devotional book that it was the sacrament of penance in questions and answers. It was turning the leaves. Stopped reading. His gaze was fixed on a word to say: If you eat meat ... Mentally and repeated machine as three voices, which she had lost all meaning, the repeated like a foreign language. Then, out of black hole did not know what your thinking, attended what he read. He put the book on the dresser and folded his hands on his knees. His thick hair, a brown not very dark, fell in waves over the back and reached the seat of the chair, covered her past lap between my fingers crossed some hair had become entangled. She shivered and was surprised with clenched teeth to cause a dull ache. He ran a hand across his forehead, took the pulse, and then put the fingers of both hands in front of the eyes. Was that your way to experience if he was going or not in sight. It was quiet. It was nothing. It would be best not to think about it. "General Confession!". Yes, this had implied that Mr. Priest. That book was good for both. Better to lie. The examination of conscience for their sins of the season he had done since the day before. The examination for general confession that could do it lying down. He entered the bedroom. It was large, high coffered, stuccoed. The one toilet separated intercolumniation elegant maroon satin hangings. The Regent vulgarísima sleeping on a golden bed, with white flags. On the carpet at the foot of the bed, had a tiger skin, authentic. There was nothing holy images that an ivory crucifix hanging over the head, leaning over the bed seemed to look through the tulle white flag. The family of Ozores was one of the oldest Vetusta. Such was the name of many counts and marquises, and few nobles had in the city that were not on one side or another, some relatives of such an illustrious lineage. Don Carlos, Anne's father, was the first son of a younger Count of Ozores. Don Carlos had two sisters, Annunciation and Agatha, whose father lived a long time the mansion of his ancestors. The main branch of the counts, lived years had emigrated. The eldest son of the second son wanted a career, to be more than the heir of some farmhouses, a few forums and a palace ailing leak. It was a military engineer. He behaved like a brave, in many battles showed great skill in the art of Vauban, built durable and strong willing on several shores, and soon became colonel of army corps commander. Tired of bunkers, curtains, parallel and castles, procurose a job at court and was losing its military hobbies, keeping only the scientific: he preferred physics, mathematics applications of these sciences, art, and every day was less warrior. But at the same time he indulged in the delights of Capua, and finally, after many affairs, had a serious love, a passion of sage (or something similar) that is no longer young. Fool for Love Don Carlos Ozores married at thirty-five years with a humble Italian fashion designer who lived in the midst of countless seductions, honest and poor. This was Anna's mother, at birth, was left without her. Thank goodness! '"Thought the sisters of Don Carlos back in his mansion in Eterna. Their marriage had resulted in the colonel a break with his family. He wrote two letters dry and there was no relationship. -If I lived my father thought of fixed-Ozores forgave this unequal marriage. - If I lived father die of disgust! They said the maids relentless. All the nobility vetustense approved the conduct of those ladies, who saw God's punishment in the unfortunate puerperium of Italian fashion designer, her sister unworthy. The palace of the Ozores was Don Carlos, her sisters said in another letter as cold and laconic: "They were ready to leave, if he demanded it, only asked him how he would think of keeping him so nobly precious rest» . The colonel replied, "that God and all the saints would continue living where they were born, he pleaded for the good of the estate, without them it would come to earth." The maids, no answer or compromise in marriage, they stayed in the palace to avoid collapse. A Don Carlos was very painful that even were to ask for his daughter. Vetustense nobility believed that the dog died of rabies to be over, that the providential death of the milliner was not sufficient to make peace with the infamous Don Carlos or to find out the fate of his daughter. Time had to protect the child, without impairing the dignity, if, as was likely, the crazy behavior of his father dragged him to poverty. In addition, Vetusta ran that Don Carlos had been a Mason, a Republican and therefore atheist. His sisters were dressed in black and in the great hall, on stage, receiving the entire aristocracy of Vetusta, as if they were visits of mourning. Miss Dona Annunciation Ozores had reached the forty-seven years without leaving Vetusta province. It was therefore a great nuisance, perhaps a danger, venture to go in twenty hours of care the coast road which reached Loreto. She was accompanied on his trip Ripamilán Cayetano, canon respected by his condition and his age, and a former servant of Ozores. Don Carlos had died suddenly, at night, without confession, without any sacrament. The doctor said that one stroke, a glass ... Pure materialism. Doña Announces saw the hand of God that punishes without stick or stone. This did not stop during the trip manifest of Ozores Miss, dressed in deep mourning, pain mitigated only by the Christian resignation. "Anne, the daughter of a dressmaker, had fallen into bed, she was alone, in the hands of servants, there was no choice but to go get her. Concluded that death before the family differences. " - "Dead Dog rabies is over," he had said one of the nobles of Vetusta. Donna and Don Cayetano Announces found the girl in danger. It was a nervous fever, a terrible crisis, he said the doctor, the illness had coincided with certain transformations of the age; own self, but in front of young ladies should not be explained with clarity and detail employed by the doctor. Don Cayetano could hear everything, but would have preferred Mrs. Announces metaphors and paraphrases. "The development content ',' criticism and mysterious metamorphosis," "the chrysalis breaks," all that was good, but the doctor added some details that Donna did not hesitate to qualify Announces rude. - "What people was my brother! '" He said rolling his eyes blank. Fifteen days had lived alone in the hands of servants that poor girl, orphaned and sick, for Dona Announces decided not to undertake the journey of twenty hours until he was asked this act of charity on behalf of his dying niece. Ana was already sick when overtaken by disaster. His disease was melancholy, sadness was not explained. The loss of his father more than the afflicted scared at first. It spent the day crying shivering in a populated drowsiness crazy thoughts. He felt a terrible selfishness remorseful. More than the death of his father hurt then its abandonment, which terrified. Worthless disappeared, he felt a slave to others. It was not enough strength to suffer in silence, nor take refuge in the interior life of the world needed, a nursing home. He knew he was very poor. His father, a few months before his death, had sold a little price to their sisters Vetusta Palace. That was the last remnant of his heritage. The product of such poor sales had been used to pay old debts. But there were others. The same fifth was mortgaged and its value could not bail out anyone. In the hands of the philosopher had only to go missing. - "I mean, I am almost destitute." Your rights of orphans, who told him that aid would be laughable, to nothing, take to collect them, who did not explain how and where requested. She was alone, all alone, what would become of her? The friends of the philosopher not avail. They knew not to argue about. The chaplain did not appear there, the sudden death of Don Carlos smelled faintly of sulfur. One day, three or four after burying his father, Anna wanted to get up and could not. The bed held her arms invisible. Last night she had slept with clenched teeth and shivering. He had wanted to write to their aunts Vetusta and could not coordinate the words, until he doubted his spelling. He had nightmares, and even made efforts to plead not sick, evil was stronger, the surrendered. The doctor spoke of fever, great care needed, and made him questions that she did not know or want to answer. She was alone and was absurd. The doctor said he had no one understood, he said terrible things about the carelessness of the servants. - "The will you die, my child." Ana began screaming, scared, he was a coward, crying and with hands crossed asked to call their aunts, two sisters from his father who lived in Vetusta and that he understood they were very good Christians.