martes, 20 de mayo de 2008
lunes, 19 de mayo de 2008
My students' favourites.... phrasal verbs!!!
Here's a little something for you to enjoy and.... why not write another creative piece to share with us!!!
It's easy to understand the use of the word "up" in "sit up" or "stand up" or "get up", but why do we wake up? Why, in a discussion, is a topic brought up? Why do we speak up? Why are we up for election? And why is it up to the secretary to write up the minutes?
Frequently the word is not needed: thus we brighten up, freshen up, light up (though not so many of us these days), polish up the silver, fix up the car and lock up the house. Some people stir up trouble. We queue up for tickets, work up an appetite, think up an excuse, get held up in traffic and tied up at the office. To be dressed up is different from just being dressed. But we open up a drain if it is blocked up. We open up a shop in the morning and close it up at night, for closing down means something quite different. We appear to be thoroughly mixed up about the uses of "up".
If you want to be up on the proper use of up, look it up in the dictionary. In one dictionary it takes up half a page, the definitions adding up to around 40. If you feel up to it you might try making up a list of all the ways up is used. It will take up a lot of time and if your don't give up you might have to hurry up and make up after the bust up with your spouse for using up so much effort when you could be better employed washing up. So cheer up or you could wind up up the pole.
Anon.
It's UP to you!!
It's easy to understand the use of the word "up" in "sit up" or "stand up" or "get up", but why do we wake up? Why, in a discussion, is a topic brought up? Why do we speak up? Why are we up for election? And why is it up to the secretary to write up the minutes?
Frequently the word is not needed: thus we brighten up, freshen up, light up (though not so many of us these days), polish up the silver, fix up the car and lock up the house. Some people stir up trouble. We queue up for tickets, work up an appetite, think up an excuse, get held up in traffic and tied up at the office. To be dressed up is different from just being dressed. But we open up a drain if it is blocked up. We open up a shop in the morning and close it up at night, for closing down means something quite different. We appear to be thoroughly mixed up about the uses of "up".
If you want to be up on the proper use of up, look it up in the dictionary. In one dictionary it takes up half a page, the definitions adding up to around 40. If you feel up to it you might try making up a list of all the ways up is used. It will take up a lot of time and if your don't give up you might have to hurry up and make up after the bust up with your spouse for using up so much effort when you could be better employed washing up. So cheer up or you could wind up up the pole.
Anon.
domingo, 18 de mayo de 2008
Some information about the painters' lives.
Antonio Berni (1907 - 1981)
Nationality: ArgentineMovement: Modern Latin American School
Biography: Antonio Berni was first trained in Buenos Aires before studying under Othon Friesz and Andre Lhote in Paris. He helped form the Argentinean art group, the Grupo de Paris in the 1920’s and also became involved with the Surrealists. His other influences included the work of Georges De Chirico and the Italian 15th century muralists. Concerned with Marxism and the Spanish Civil War, Berni’s later work began to reflect social issues. In order to truly represent his disheartenment, he used coarse materials such as burlap and unique perspective.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Pierre-Auguste Renoir was born on 25 February 1841 in Limoges. In 1844 Renoir and his family moved to Paris where Léonard Renoir earned his living as a tailor.
In 1854 Renoir left school and begin his apprenticeship as a porcelain painter at the firm of Lévy frères. He attended the studio of Marc-Gabriel-Charles Gleyer,. At the same time Renoir enrolled at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. At Salon Renoir had his first success - the painting entitled Esmeralda Dancing with her Goat around a Fire Illuminating the Entire Crowd of Vagabonds, which he destroyed after the exhibition.
At the end of 1865 he was introduced to the seventeen-year-old Lise Tréhot who became his lover and model until her marriage in 1872. She posed for a number of works :Diana, Lise with a Parasol, Summer, Bather with Griffon and Woman of Algiers.
Three years before Odalisque won a place in the Salon, an annual government-sponsored exhibition in Paris, the Salon jury had rejected Renoir's Diana. The female nude masked as a mythological subject had offended conservative jurors. But Lise's turn in Odalisque--overtly eroticized even though fully clothed--met with their approval. Such exotic fantasy proved to be popular during the 1870s.
Renoir died on 3 December 1919 in Cagnes, aged 78. His sickness was not the immediate cause at his death. He had a heart attack.
http://www.renoir.org.yu/biography.asp
http://www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2004/artexchange/artexchange_ss22.shtm
Claude Monet
Born: November 14, 1840 - Paris, France
Died: December 5, 1926 (aged 86) -Giverny, France
Nationality: French Field: Painter
Movement: Impressionism
Claude Monet also known as Oscar-Claude Monet or Claude Oscar Monet was a founder of French impressionist painting, and the most consistent and prolific practitioner of the movement's philosophy of expressing one's perceptions before nature, especially as applied to plain-air landscape painting. The term Impressionism is derived from the title of his painting Impression, Sunrise.
Remedios Varo
Remedios was a Spanish-Mexican surrealist painter. She was born in Anglés Cataluña, Spain in 1908 and died from a heart-attack in Mexico City in 1963. During the Spanish Civil War she fled to Paris where she was largely influenced by the surrealist movement. She was forced into exile from Paris during the Nazi occupation of France and moved to Mexico City at the end of 1941. She initially considered Mexico a temporary haven, but would remain in Latin America for the rest of her life. She had an early abortion due to her economic realities of her life. Due to the abortion, she could not become pregnant again. In Mexico she met native artists such as Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. After 1949, Varo developed into her mature and remarkable style, which remains beautifully enigmatic and instantly recognizable. She died at the height of her career.
Nationality: ArgentineMovement: Modern Latin American School
Biography: Antonio Berni was first trained in Buenos Aires before studying under Othon Friesz and Andre Lhote in Paris. He helped form the Argentinean art group, the Grupo de Paris in the 1920’s and also became involved with the Surrealists. His other influences included the work of Georges De Chirico and the Italian 15th century muralists. Concerned with Marxism and the Spanish Civil War, Berni’s later work began to reflect social issues. In order to truly represent his disheartenment, he used coarse materials such as burlap and unique perspective.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Pierre-Auguste Renoir was born on 25 February 1841 in Limoges. In 1844 Renoir and his family moved to Paris where Léonard Renoir earned his living as a tailor.
In 1854 Renoir left school and begin his apprenticeship as a porcelain painter at the firm of Lévy frères. He attended the studio of Marc-Gabriel-Charles Gleyer,. At the same time Renoir enrolled at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. At Salon Renoir had his first success - the painting entitled Esmeralda Dancing with her Goat around a Fire Illuminating the Entire Crowd of Vagabonds, which he destroyed after the exhibition.
At the end of 1865 he was introduced to the seventeen-year-old Lise Tréhot who became his lover and model until her marriage in 1872. She posed for a number of works :Diana, Lise with a Parasol, Summer, Bather with Griffon and Woman of Algiers.
Three years before Odalisque won a place in the Salon, an annual government-sponsored exhibition in Paris, the Salon jury had rejected Renoir's Diana. The female nude masked as a mythological subject had offended conservative jurors. But Lise's turn in Odalisque--overtly eroticized even though fully clothed--met with their approval. Such exotic fantasy proved to be popular during the 1870s.
Renoir died on 3 December 1919 in Cagnes, aged 78. His sickness was not the immediate cause at his death. He had a heart attack.
http://www.renoir.org.yu/biography.asp
http://www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2004/artexchange/artexchange_ss22.shtm
Claude Monet
Born: November 14, 1840 - Paris, France
Died: December 5, 1926 (aged 86) -Giverny, France
Nationality: French Field: Painter
Movement: Impressionism
Claude Monet also known as Oscar-Claude Monet or Claude Oscar Monet was a founder of French impressionist painting, and the most consistent and prolific practitioner of the movement's philosophy of expressing one's perceptions before nature, especially as applied to plain-air landscape painting. The term Impressionism is derived from the title of his painting Impression, Sunrise.
Remedios Varo
Remedios was a Spanish-Mexican surrealist painter. She was born in Anglés Cataluña, Spain in 1908 and died from a heart-attack in Mexico City in 1963. During the Spanish Civil War she fled to Paris where she was largely influenced by the surrealist movement. She was forced into exile from Paris during the Nazi occupation of France and moved to Mexico City at the end of 1941. She initially considered Mexico a temporary haven, but would remain in Latin America for the rest of her life. She had an early abortion due to her economic realities of her life. Due to the abortion, she could not become pregnant again. In Mexico she met native artists such as Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. After 1949, Varo developed into her mature and remarkable style, which remains beautifully enigmatic and instantly recognizable. She died at the height of her career.
Remedios Vano's Armonía
My life in this song
(Lyrics by Sofía Galoppo and Virginia Cagliero. Sang to the tune of the song “I will survive”)
Once upon a time
I was a pop star
singing, dancing
money, women were all part of my life.
But so arrogant was I
that my fans forgot me
I lost my fame because of that.
As a result, I got depressed.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I want to have my fame again
I want to return to those days
I know it is hard
but I want to be a new good man.
One stormy night,
I was sent to prison
for being discovered consuming drugs
and I could not give my reasons.
I had to spend so many nights
In that nasty and ugly jail
I used to cry
because I felt a lot of pain.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I want to have my fame again
I want to be a free man
I know it is hard
but one day, I will be released from jail.
Some days have already passed
since I was liberated
I feel happy now, full of energy and exhilarated.
I have returned to my old house
I am at home again
I cannot believe my eyes
I am not in that ugly jail.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I am now a new man
I am now a free man
I will never be a conceited man
I promise you that
Once upon a time
I was a pop star
singing, dancing
money, women were all part of my life.
But so arrogant was I
that my fans forgot me
I lost my fame because of that.
As a result, I got depressed.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I want to have my fame again
I want to return to those days
I know it is hard
but I want to be a new good man.
One stormy night,
I was sent to prison
for being discovered consuming drugs
and I could not give my reasons.
I had to spend so many nights
In that nasty and ugly jail
I used to cry
because I felt a lot of pain.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I want to have my fame again
I want to be a free man
I know it is hard
but one day, I will be released from jail.
Some days have already passed
since I was liberated
I feel happy now, full of energy and exhilarated.
I have returned to my old house
I am at home again
I cannot believe my eyes
I am not in that ugly jail.
I will survive, I will survive
for there is nothing that can stop me
I am sure of that
I am now a new man
I am now a free man
I will never be a conceited man
I promise you that
Each wall of my house reveals
special moments
and through them I can remember
the wonderful world
I was the owner of.
Women, treasures, happy days
glory, money, all my dreams
it is hard to believe
they were still waiting for me.
I will survive, I will survive
I have all my things again
I am now a new man
I feel strong
I will survive.
Monet's Coming out of Saint Lazare Station
One way ticket
Caroline’s body seems to be that of a statue. She does neither move nor produce any sound. Her red blood-shot eyes gaze into space without blinking as opium smoke gets lazily out of her purplish lips. Another grey winter night she spends at the cold, deserted train station waiting for him to come.
The rhythmic sound of the engine announces the last train approaching the station. She feels it getting closer and closer. Tonight must be the night. Her accelerated heart beating and her muscles shaking show the excitement running through her veins. Fourteen years have passed since she last saw him. There is a dark figure hidden behind a column.
That who is spying on her decides to revel herself just as the train is arriving and firmly grabs Caroline’s arm. She is dragged over the dusty floorboards. Her mother, Ms Zulma, violently gets Caroline into the car, drives home and locks her in an empty room leaving her in pitch darkness.
After a few minutes, her eyes get used to the lack of light. The glow of the moon reveals her the shapes and shadows of her mother’s old untidy sewing room. Grief and guiltiness are the only things that are at the back of her mind. The rattle of the ancient windows being the only sound she hears, surrounds her in a deep feeling of loneliness. Her soul is in despair. A few steps from her, a shining surface calls her attention.
Caroline’s body seems to be that of a statue. She does neither move nor produce any sound. Her red blood-shot eyes gaze into space without blinking as opium smoke gets lazily out of her purplish lips. Another grey winter night she spends at the cold, deserted train station waiting for him to come.
The rhythmic sound of the engine announces the last train approaching the station. She feels it getting closer and closer. Tonight must be the night. Her accelerated heart beating and her muscles shaking show the excitement running through her veins. Fourteen years have passed since she last saw him. There is a dark figure hidden behind a column.
That who is spying on her decides to revel herself just as the train is arriving and firmly grabs Caroline’s arm. She is dragged over the dusty floorboards. Her mother, Ms Zulma, violently gets Caroline into the car, drives home and locks her in an empty room leaving her in pitch darkness.
After a few minutes, her eyes get used to the lack of light. The glow of the moon reveals her the shapes and shadows of her mother’s old untidy sewing room. Grief and guiltiness are the only things that are at the back of her mind. The rattle of the ancient windows being the only sound she hears, surrounds her in a deep feeling of loneliness. Her soul is in despair. A few steps from her, a shining surface calls her attention.
Suddenly, everything seems to make sense for her. She knows exactly what she has to do. For the very first time she feels she is the one who decides. Caroline walks slowly towards that which gleams; it’s the old pair of scissors, the only inheritance from that old woman whose wrinkled face trembled when she introduced herself as “grandma”. Some blood drops begin to splash on the floor covered in filth.
Zulma is lying on her bed half asleep. Images creep into her mind. Everything is becoming blurred. Nicholas appears unexpectedly in her dreams, his booming voice tells her:
“Why do you still blame Caroline for my accident? As I slipped on the rails, the train ran over me. However hard she tried to get me, there was nothing to be done, it was too late. You have already lost your son, and now you are just about to lose your daughter, she doesn’t have much time left. A second tragedy will strike this family unless you do something... NOW!!!”
Zulma jumps out of the bed and desperately rushes to the old sewing room. The stairs creak under her heavy steps. She unlocks the door and finds Caroline stabbing herself for the second time in the chest. She is already too weak to be saved. Again nothing can be done. Caroline sighes with relief, leaving her mother the curse of bearing that oppressing feeling of knowing that a life was in her hands, but she couldn't save it.
By Paola Magnarelli & María Sarasín
Zulma is lying on her bed half asleep. Images creep into her mind. Everything is becoming blurred. Nicholas appears unexpectedly in her dreams, his booming voice tells her:
“Why do you still blame Caroline for my accident? As I slipped on the rails, the train ran over me. However hard she tried to get me, there was nothing to be done, it was too late. You have already lost your son, and now you are just about to lose your daughter, she doesn’t have much time left. A second tragedy will strike this family unless you do something... NOW!!!”
Zulma jumps out of the bed and desperately rushes to the old sewing room. The stairs creak under her heavy steps. She unlocks the door and finds Caroline stabbing herself for the second time in the chest. She is already too weak to be saved. Again nothing can be done. Caroline sighes with relief, leaving her mother the curse of bearing that oppressing feeling of knowing that a life was in her hands, but she couldn't save it.
By Paola Magnarelli & María Sarasín
Renoir's The Odalisk
“The Whitechapel Murderer”
Mist was flooding the East London streets as every evening in that ill-fated autumn of 1888. Bohemians went out of their dens to seek for another adventure under the night’s ancient light. The best place in Whitechapel area to satisfy their deepest and most perverse pleasures was Satin.
The brothel had a sordid atmosphere. Red bulbs illuminated the walls’ peflaking paint and the ragged curtains that functioned as the rooms’ doors. Almost naked women wandered around the place, while strange personages murmured something to their ears. A thin, pallid/pale man sat at the piano playing the same dull melody over and over again while a group of drunk men kept on prattling.
However, beyond that fake joy, there was something else. Horror had entered their careless souls after hearing about the fifth murder committed by the infamous “Leather Apron”.
The front door opened slowly with a creaky noise. A burly figure stood firmly at the entrance. His defiant look paralyzed the habitués who could conspicuously perceive an evil aura around him. No sooner had he stepped into the room than Thelma, the procurer, grabbed his arm took him upstairs. He was one of Satin’s renowned clients. Thelma, praised for being the best belly dancer in London and, as such, known as The Odalisque, was to begin her vengeance.
She had spent months, more precisely since the 31st August, the day the first murder took place, watching cautiously and patiently this man’s moves. Her wrath had reached levels that were beyond description when she got to know about the horrid nature of the crimes. This had led her to cleverly plan every detail so as to wreak revenge on Jack the Ripper.
Once upstairs, she closed the door behind her.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she muttered, giving him a sharp look.
She handled him some opium to smoke and laid down on a thick with dust old sofa. Thelma stared at him suggestively while she sweet-talked him.
The odalisque started shaking her hips skilfully in a provoking way. Strangely, Jack began feeling dizzy although he had regularly smoked this herb before. Meanwhile, the odalisque continued with her vibrating and sinuous movements while he laid on a ramshackle bed with his feet too numb to run away, but still not sleeping.
When she realized his dizziness, she stopped dancing and, with a sudden movement, she clutched at a candelabrum and violently hit Jack the Ripper’s head making him fall off the bed. Blinded by anger, she kept beating the inert body screaming bloodcurdling curses at him until her strength abandoned her.
By: Gisela Cubilla & Melina Lasorella
Monet's The Walk. Woman with a Parasol
The Shadow of a Doubt.
“Am I imagining all this or did I really see him?,” she kept constantly asking while walking calmly down the prairie. The sun was shinning brightly on the never-ending field and the gentle breeze brought her the sweet smell of the lilies in blossom. All she could hear was the vivid twittering of birds.
Earlier that morning, she had woken up with a deep sense of loss. Silently, she had got dressed and, before leaving the room, she had kissed her husband softly. Going down the stairs, she had thought “Nothing in our happiness but this…” Once in the study room, with a hot cup of tea in her hands, gazing out of the window at the countryside, she had recalled the last time she had felt that unforgettable sensation.
Mrs. Robinson could not put her memories aside. Instead of going away with the fresh air, they remained vividly in her mind. She had been deeply affected by past situations although her husband had always tried to encourage her to never surrender. She knew she was the only one who had changed after the doctor had told her the appalling news. Her body had been showing signs of weakness and she would no longer be as healthy and lively as she used to be. Since then, she would never be what she desired most.
She realized she was not alone in the vast expanses of farmland. Someone was trying to hold her hand. Nervously, she turned around and, after a few seconds, which seemed to last forever, she recognized that innocent face. That little boy, only seven years old, was the one she had always dreamt of, the one she would never forget. She drew several deep breaths, feeling a faint aching just above her heart. With a lump in her throat she asked him “Who are you?”
She despaired of ever being a mother and asked herself “Why is it that life gives some what they will never appreciate while others, knowing it will never happen, keep waiting for it all their lives?” “Why is it that I cannot give up my illusion?” “Will I ever let the past go?”
By Antonela Falchini & Natalia Fito
“Am I imagining all this or did I really see him?,” she kept constantly asking while walking calmly down the prairie. The sun was shinning brightly on the never-ending field and the gentle breeze brought her the sweet smell of the lilies in blossom. All she could hear was the vivid twittering of birds.
Earlier that morning, she had woken up with a deep sense of loss. Silently, she had got dressed and, before leaving the room, she had kissed her husband softly. Going down the stairs, she had thought “Nothing in our happiness but this…” Once in the study room, with a hot cup of tea in her hands, gazing out of the window at the countryside, she had recalled the last time she had felt that unforgettable sensation.
Mrs. Robinson could not put her memories aside. Instead of going away with the fresh air, they remained vividly in her mind. She had been deeply affected by past situations although her husband had always tried to encourage her to never surrender. She knew she was the only one who had changed after the doctor had told her the appalling news. Her body had been showing signs of weakness and she would no longer be as healthy and lively as she used to be. Since then, she would never be what she desired most.
She realized she was not alone in the vast expanses of farmland. Someone was trying to hold her hand. Nervously, she turned around and, after a few seconds, which seemed to last forever, she recognized that innocent face. That little boy, only seven years old, was the one she had always dreamt of, the one she would never forget. She drew several deep breaths, feeling a faint aching just above her heart. With a lump in her throat she asked him “Who are you?”
She despaired of ever being a mother and asked herself “Why is it that life gives some what they will never appreciate while others, knowing it will never happen, keep waiting for it all their lives?” “Why is it that I cannot give up my illusion?” “Will I ever let the past go?”
By Antonela Falchini & Natalia Fito
Berni's Ramona and the Fortune-teller
On an early foggy morning in July, a young woman in pain, named Ramona, decides to visit a well-known old fortune-teller looking for a beacon of hope in her miserable life. Having arrived at the odd Gothic house, Ramona sees an ugly woman, dressed in black, mixing some strange substances.
Fortune-teller: (Staring at the girl because of the way she looks) Oh! Finally you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you for days!
Ramona: That’s great! I really need your help. I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.
F: Well, let’s sit down. We can’t waste our time.
(The old woman concentrates and stares at the crystal ball)
F: I see a future full of love in your life! You don’t have anything to worry about, kid.
R: Really?! I thought everything in my life was messed up. Well, tell me more, please. What can you see there?
F: There’s a wealthy gentleman… and you already know him!
R: Oh! Let me think (She thinks for a while) May be he is… No, It can’t be him (The girl murmurs) How is his personality? Is he a good man?
F: Oh! Yes! He is very popular with the local people.
R: Could he be my future husband?
F: Let me see… (Showing off) Yes, yes, I see a beautiful family living in the countryside.
(There is a sparkle of hope in Ramona’s eyes)
R: I can’t believe my ears! That’s everything I’ve ever wanted!
F: You must know who he is. Think Ramona! He asks for your services very frequently.
(Ramona is staggered)
R: Alfredo Manuel! So… my feelings are true! He has always been in love with me. I’ve finally found my significant other!
(The fortune-teller stares at the crystal ball wide-eyed)
F: Wait, wait, wait.
R: What happens? What can you see?
F: (Trying to be sympathetic) Oh dear, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s not as easy as it appears to be.
R: I don’t understand. What do you mean?
F: Well… this gentleman has a family.
(Ramona’s illusions fall apart)
R: B-b but (she stutters) you’ve told me he is the love of my life!
F: I know, I know, dear. Don’t despair! I think I have the solution to this inconvenient. Trust me, everything will be fine.
R: All right (hopeless).
(The fortune-teller moves towards the shelf behind her, takes a little phial and returns to her seat)
F: Now, listen to me. This is a love potion. The only thing you have to do is to give him fifteen drops of it and his family will immediately disappear.
R: But what about Alfredo? Won’t he be worried about his family?
F: Let me finish! (The woman interrupts her) He won’t have memories of his family. Alfredo’s heart and mind will be only yours.
R: Wow!
F: Now go. You should do this as soon as possible.
R: Yes! Thank you lady! You’ve been very helpful; I don’t know how to pay you back.
F: It’s all right dear. But don’t thank me before everything is done.
When Ramona goes back to her precarious house, the old woman approaches the shelf to continue the work she was doing before the girl’s arrival. It is on that precise moment when the fortune-teller realizes that the potion she gave Ramona is not a love one…it is the most dangerous poison that the old woman has ever made.
Fortune-teller: (Staring at the girl because of the way she looks) Oh! Finally you’re here! I’ve been waiting for you for days!
Ramona: That’s great! I really need your help. I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.
F: Well, let’s sit down. We can’t waste our time.
(The old woman concentrates and stares at the crystal ball)
F: I see a future full of love in your life! You don’t have anything to worry about, kid.
R: Really?! I thought everything in my life was messed up. Well, tell me more, please. What can you see there?
F: There’s a wealthy gentleman… and you already know him!
R: Oh! Let me think (She thinks for a while) May be he is… No, It can’t be him (The girl murmurs) How is his personality? Is he a good man?
F: Oh! Yes! He is very popular with the local people.
R: Could he be my future husband?
F: Let me see… (Showing off) Yes, yes, I see a beautiful family living in the countryside.
(There is a sparkle of hope in Ramona’s eyes)
R: I can’t believe my ears! That’s everything I’ve ever wanted!
F: You must know who he is. Think Ramona! He asks for your services very frequently.
(Ramona is staggered)
R: Alfredo Manuel! So… my feelings are true! He has always been in love with me. I’ve finally found my significant other!
(The fortune-teller stares at the crystal ball wide-eyed)
F: Wait, wait, wait.
R: What happens? What can you see?
F: (Trying to be sympathetic) Oh dear, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s not as easy as it appears to be.
R: I don’t understand. What do you mean?
F: Well… this gentleman has a family.
(Ramona’s illusions fall apart)
R: B-b but (she stutters) you’ve told me he is the love of my life!
F: I know, I know, dear. Don’t despair! I think I have the solution to this inconvenient. Trust me, everything will be fine.
R: All right (hopeless).
(The fortune-teller moves towards the shelf behind her, takes a little phial and returns to her seat)
F: Now, listen to me. This is a love potion. The only thing you have to do is to give him fifteen drops of it and his family will immediately disappear.
R: But what about Alfredo? Won’t he be worried about his family?
F: Let me finish! (The woman interrupts her) He won’t have memories of his family. Alfredo’s heart and mind will be only yours.
R: Wow!
F: Now go. You should do this as soon as possible.
R: Yes! Thank you lady! You’ve been very helpful; I don’t know how to pay you back.
F: It’s all right dear. But don’t thank me before everything is done.
When Ramona goes back to her precarious house, the old woman approaches the shelf to continue the work she was doing before the girl’s arrival. It is on that precise moment when the fortune-teller realizes that the potion she gave Ramona is not a love one…it is the most dangerous poison that the old woman has ever made.
By: Melina Marengo and María Florenica Gaitán.
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