I had never read novels of Ana Maria Matute. I'm Italian, so it is Catalan. The Watchtower fascinated me as a little books have done so far. Pound strong and dark, the days when the gods, good and evil, black jumper and white horsemen of the steppes along the great river, engaged in battles in the eyes of a child hallucinated and ugly, who discovers gradually introducing him at a baron to chivalry (that of the first time, where courtly love had not yet taken its toll), it participates in this brutal history of the world before men.
The watchman was dead, although I can not, however, specify when and if he disappeared forever from the dungeon of my father, the night when I shared my hunting with him; or when he watched the horizon, his body bent over the battlements, or perhaps much later, once all these things accomplished. (...) There, near the Grand River, three birch trees waved gently in a land also forgotten that the image of a young man recently invested knight and a squire who was pouring a drink into the cup of his lord.
grass-prairie grasslands and all the world-swaying like a sea caught when she intends to flee. (...)
upland woods came the white knights and black knights. Walls of the castle Mohl went to meet them white and black riders. Then I saw The Lord of enemies, so arrogant, so brave lad and if a last cry of violence arose in my mind. I am proud of his fury, I admired his courage, his cruelty and sent me the image of my childhood, lying in the meadow, eyes troubled pleasure to dream of war and blood. But the black sword stood with my own hands and broke forever the pride, cruelty, courage and honor. "Evil is dead," I said.
(Ed. Phoebus Libretto. Trad Michelle Levi-Provencal)
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