Luzmarina Montesinos-Lalli
This short short stories collection, ranging from realism to magical realism, from in-depth psychological study to mystery and ghost stories, is replete with surprise endings, plot twists, concerns with the supernatural and with philosophical ideas. There are twenty-seven stories in English, twenty-three in Spanish; nineteen of these are rendered by the author in both languages. Narrators and protagonists are quite varied – from children to seniors. Themes deal with life changing decisions, reactions to special circumstances, and in essence relationships. Are you willing to dabble in the surreal of lo cotidiano (daily life)? You will stimulate your thought, be entertained with humor and irony, and even teach yourself to enjoy another language. High school and college teachers may use these stories, which are short, but have literary quality and provoke discussion, for their classes.
Pérez Agustí who intended to publish four of the author’s stories said about these "...se ha resaltado la capacidad de evocación, la recreación de ambientes, el fino análisis psicológico de los personajes y la fluidez narrativa..." ("...what comes forth is the capacity of evocation, the creation of atmospheres, the fine psychological analysis of the characters and the fluidity of the narration...")
The author was born in Quito, Ecuador and left for New York when her father, a well-known writer in Ecuador, became an editor at the United Nations.
Luzmarina began her first "novel" at ten but stopped writing because she could not take the criticism.
She went to the City College of New York where one of her stories was accepted for publication.
Individual stories, in English and in Spanish, have been published.
She has a husband, Lou, a son, Louis, and a daughter, Luzmarina. Lots of originality!
She received her Ph.D. in Spanish from the City University of New York and is and teaches Spanish at the College of Mount Saint Vincent in New York City.
While Chuck continued with his impromptu monologue, I felt that I was sinking, sinking into a mud hole. The emotional separation, measured with his every word, was so very palpable to me.
My husband was not anything more than a stranger with good manners. Heat, passion, tenderness, has disappeared from my daily life. Now simple conversation converted into a girdle that was trapping and tightening around my insides with vengeance. I was not anyone’s wife. I didn’t mean anything to anyone. Loneliness comes to you when you have company. So it was. I was completely alone while I heard my husband’s words while he peeled the orange and when he attacked the fruit with the persistence that one time he had pursued the fruit of my being.
That pain for a boy of twelve that I didn’t even know, that incomprehensible pain, did not diminish the next day or the next week. Tears would roll down my face for him and for his mother. And it is not that death induces me into crying. I have often entered and left wakes and funerals tearless for people that I had known closely.
One month goes by and then another. The sadness for the dead boy and his mother surges forth at the least expected instance. Chuck has gone on three trips, I think. The trips are short, maybe three days long. But before he used to telephone. Now he has lost the habit of calling. Maybe Chuck is involved with another woman?
Gloria se permitió un día de vacaciones en cámara lenta. Mientras Juanita se ocupaba con los asuntos de la hacienda, Gloria se quedaba a unos metros, medio escuchando las conversaciones sobre el número de árboles, de vacas. Gloria se sonrió al mirar las flores tropicales que rodeaban el patio; se regocijaba con los colores vibrantes, con la amplitud de las dimensiones.
Ahora ya no se encuentra en el patio de una finca mediana en un país pobre, sino en un lugar lleno de plantas gigantes, en una selva tensa con misterio y sugestiones sensuales. Bien arriba observa el juego de dos monos que hacen una bulla increíble. Allí está el camión y aunque no ve al hombre, siente su presencia, su poder.
Gloria intentó llamar a Juanita o a algún empleado, pero no lo consiguió a tiempo. El camión había desaparecido. La pequeña perra de Juanita ladraba a los pies de Gloria.
Segundo día de ocio. Gloria tenía una paciencia desacostumbrada. Si Juanita debía negociar con el mayordomo, entonces Gloria se sumergía en los detalles del paisaje, en el pasto, en el riachuelo, en las piedras lisas.
Las piedras lisas le traen a un mundo donde ella, de la clase alta de su pueblo, es ahora de la clase baja y en vez de tener sirvientas y máquinas, ella es la trabajadora, la campesina. Ya no oye la voz de Juanita. Gloria baña sus pies en el río. Se siente aliviada del calorcito húmedo. Alza los ojos y mira la variedad de hojas anchas. Algunas plantas exhiben flores llamativas. Lava las ropas sencillas en las rocas, oliendo las fragancias y sintiendo el poder de las espaciosas plantas. Nada le inquieta.
