I became aware that our love was doomed; love had turned into a love affair with a beginning and an end. I could name the very moment when it had begun, and one day I knew I should be able to name the final hour. When she left the house I couldn't settle to work. I would reconstruct what we had said to each other; I would fan myself into anger or remorse. And all the time I knew I was forcing the pace. I was pushing, pushing the only thing I loved out of my life. As long as I could make believe that love lasted I was happy; I think I was even good to live with, and so love did last. But if love had to die, I wanted it to die quickly. It was as though our love were a small creature caught in a trap and bleeding to death; I had to shut my eyes and wring its neck.
"Esta es, pues, una historia mucho más de odio que de amor", dice el protagonista de la novela de Greene, El fin de la aventura, cuyo título suena terrible en español. Digamos, pues, The end of the affair. De hecho, esa linea suena también mejor en inglés, "So this is a record of hate far more than love...", ¿promesa de un buen título? "Un registro del odio". No sé. Me gusta. He estado escuchando el audio-libro, leído por Colin Firth. Desde hace tiempo, desde leer Lo anterior de Rivera Garza, le tenía unas ganas terrible. Y ya: escuchándolo me descubro embobado con su cuidadosa exploración del celo y la culpa católica y burguesa de un trivial affair en las ruinas de la posguerra. Ando aun en los primeros capítulos. Pero ahí dejo dos citas, para darle algo de calor al blog.
It isn't. when you come to think of it a quite respectable trade, the detection of the innocent, for aren't lovers nearly always innocent? They have committed no crime, they are certain in their own minds that they have done no wrong, 'as long as no one but myself is hurt', the old tag is ready on their lips, and love, of course, excuses everything -- so they believe and so I used to believe in the days when I loved.
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