Resumo de The Sadness Of The Inca

This was an Inca of dreaming brow, always sleepy eyes and smile of bile, who crossed his Empire looking uselessly for a beautiful young woman in love with him. To distract him from his pains, the Inca went into war: he put his troops in march and required the shield; and the highest snows with their blood stained. So their arrows crossed un-ravished regions, in which only the rivers dared to enter; and so he went on spilling his heroic legions from the Forest to the Andes, from the Andes to the Sea. He went on spending the arrows he had in his quiver, once and again and again, from region to region; because when he was victorious he managed to raise his head, but not his heart. And tired of only raising his head, he held magnificent dances and endless banquets; but nothing managed to dissipate his sadness: neither the blood of the shock, nor the liquor of the feasts. Nobody could get to the bottom of his hidden spirit: not the innocent ñustas of dynastic roll, not the sciris of Quito consecrated to the cult, and not the vestals of the Sun of Cuzco.The oldest priest was called. Forecast this sickness which tortures me and the remedy to the sickness. And so the great priest, with tremulous and fine voice, says to that young displeased and sensual monarch _ "Ay! Sir, says the old priest. Your pains cannot be remedied, your passion is mortal. The woman that you have devised has indigo in her veins, a wheat field in the curls and in the mouth a chorale. "Ay! sir: one day very white man will come. In the forests the martial snails will be heard, waterfalls of blood will overwhelm the precipices; and other Gods will enter the Temple of the Sun. The woman that you have devised belongs to such a race, vainly are you looking for her in your innumerable congregation; and neither prayers nor threats will help you, because she has another blood and another God and another king. When the sacred rite commanded him to choose a wife, he made chips of the sceptre with a vibrant pain; and that young monarch buried himself in his grave and thinking about the blonde he went on dying of love. Castilian: you ignore all the illnesses you have given me. Castilian: remembers that I was born in PERU. The sadness of the Inca is filling my chest; and who knows... who knows if the blonde is YOU.

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