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Overview
From internationally acclaimed poet and author Gioconda Belli comes a beguiling and soulfully rewarding novel—a parable that captures our own time and our own uncertain future.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780061673658 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | HarperCollins |
| Publication date: | 03/16/2010 |
| Pages: | 209 |
| Sales rank: | 645,875 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.20(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Nacida en Managua, Nicaragua, Gioconda Belli es autora de una importante obra poética de reconocido prestigio internacional. Es autora de La mujer habitada, Sofía de los presagios, Waslala, El taller de las mariposas y un libro de memorias titulado El país bajo mi piel. Publicada por las editoriales más prestigiosas del mundo, Gioconda Belli vive desde 1990 entre Estados Unidos y Nicaragua.
Read an Excerpt
Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand
Chapter One
And he was.
Suddenly. From not being to being conscious that he was. He opened his eyes.
He touched himself and knew he was a man, without knowing how he knew. He saw the garden and he felt someone watching him. He looked in every direction hoping to see another like himself.
As he was looking, air spilled into his throat and its coolness stirred his senses. He could smell. He took a deep breath. In his head he felt the confused whirling of images seeking a name. Words, sounds, surged up inside him, clean and clear, and settled on everything around him. He named, and saw what he named recognize itself. The breeze moved the branches of the trees. A bird sang. Long leaves opened their finely drawn hands. Where was he? he asked. Why didn't the one who was watching allow himself to be seen? Who was this Other?
He walked, unhurried, until he had completed the circle of the place where he had come to be. The greens, the forms and colors of the vegetation, filled the landscape and flowed into his gaze, and he felt a happiness in his chest. He named the stones, the streams, the rivers, the mountains, the cliffs, the caves, the volcanoes. He observed small things so as not to overlook them: the bee, moss, clover. At times, so much beauty left him dazed, unable to move: the butterfly, the lion, the giraffe. The steady beat of his heart accompanied him, independent of his wishing or knowing, a steady rhythm whose purpose was not his to divine. On his hands he experienced the warm breath of the horse, the coolness of water, the harshness of sand, the slippery scales of the fish, the soft fur of thecat. From time to time he looked up suddenly, hoping to surprise the Other, whose presence was softer than the wind though similar to it. The intensity of his gaze, however, was unequivocal. He sensed it on his skin, just as he perceived the unchanging, ever-present light that enveloped the Garden and illuminated the sky with its resplendent breath.
After he had done everything he thought he should do, the man sat on a stone to be happy and to contemplate it all. Two animals, a cat and a dog, came and lay at his feet. He tried to teach them to speak, but to no avail; they just looked longingly into his eyes.
Happiness seemed long-lasting and a bit monotonous to him. He could not touch it. He could not find a use for his hands. The birds flew past him swiftly, and very high. So did the clouds. All around him animals were grazing and drinking. He ate the white petals that fell from the sky. He needed nothing, and nothing seemed to need him. He was lonely.
He touched his nose to the ground and breathed in the scent of grass. He closed his eyes and saw concentric circles of light beneath his eyelids. Lying on his side, he felt the moist earth inhale and exhale, imitating the sound of his respiration. A soft, silken drowsiness came over him. He surrendered to the sensation. Later he would remember his body opening, the split that divided his being to release the intimate creature that until then had dwelled within him. He could scarcely move. His body in its incarnation as chrysalis acted on its own; he could do nothing but wait in his state of semiconsciousness for whatever was to happen. If anything was clear, it was the extent of his ignorance; his mind filled with visions and voices for which he had no explanation. He stopped questioning himself and abandoned himself to the heavy sensation of his first sleep.
He awoke and remembered being unconscious. He found it entertaining to examine the faculties of memory, amusing himself by forgetting and remembering, until he saw the woman at his side. He lay very still, observing her bewilderment, the gradual effect of air in her lungs, of light in her eyes, the fluid way she moved to recognize herself. He imagined what she was going through, the slow awakening from nothingness to being.
He extended his hand and she held out hers, opened. Their palms touched. They measured their hands, arms, legs. They examined their similarities and their differences. He took her to walk through the Garden. He felt useful, responsible. He showed her the jaguar, the centipede, the raccoon, the turtle. They played; they watched the clouds roll by and change their shapes, they listened to the unvarying tune of the trees; they tried out words for describing what could not be named. He knew himself to be Adam, and he knew her as Eve. She wanted to know everything.
"What are we doing here?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Who can explain to us where we came from?"
"The Other."
"Where is this Other?"
"I don't know where he is. I know only that he is all around."
She decided to look for him. She, too, had felt that she was being observed. They would have to climb to high places. She thought the look must come from there. Might it not be a bird? Perhaps, he said, admiring her astuteness. Walking among fragrant bushes and trees with generous foliage, without hurrying, they reached the highest volcano. They climbed it and from the top saw the green circle of the Garden, surrounded on all sides by thick whitish fog.
"What is that farther up?" she asked.
"Clouds," he answered.
"And behind the clouds?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe that's where the one who's observing us lives. Have you tried to go outside the Garden?"
"No. I know we are not supposed to go any farther than where it's green."
"How do you know that?"
"I just know."
"The way you knew the names?"
"Yes."
It did not take long for Eve to reach the conclusion that the gaze of whatever was watching them did not belong to a bird. The enormous phoenix, with its red and blue feathers, had whirled above them, but like the rest of the creatures, had merely glanced toward them.
Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand. Copyright © by Gioconda Belli. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.