Torsade Literary Space Frédéric Boutet: The Ghost of M. Imberger (part six)
Frédéric Boutet The Ghost of M. Imberger (part six) “I have seen him. I have seen him, no doubt is possible. I left the school of medicine at nightfall, after I’d finished my class. A car was stopped at […]
Frédéric Boutet: The Ghost of M. Imberger (part five)
Frédéric Boutet The Ghost of M. Imberger (part five) I waited before acting. The newspapers oppressed me more and more, with their lively mockeries of my blindness. Certain wise reporters, following personal inquiries pressed to the depths, had most certainly glimpsed […]
Frédéric Boutet: The Ghost of M. Imberger (part three)
Frédéric Boutet The Ghost of M. Imberger (part three) “You don’t know him,” he said with conviction. “He has no interest in the world but his collections. He loves no one in the world but his wife. He has for me, who respects him as […]
Frédéric Boutet: The Ghost of M. Imberger (part two)
Frédéric Boutet The Ghost of M. Imberger (part two) But when three o’clock passed, M. Imberger still was not there. Mme Imberger now felt worried. The guests were beginning to take their leaves. M. Imberger was punctuality itself, how had he not arrived? She told her anxiety […]
Frédéric Boutet: The Ghost of M. Imberger (part one)
New for Translation Thursday, the short stories of Frédéric Boutet, born at Bourges, 1874; died 1941 as a refugee at Arachon (WWII), a writer of mystery with occult overtones, in his lifetime compared to Poe. These stories are from Le Spectre de M. Imberger, Flammarion, 1922, public domain. Frédéric Boutet The Ghost of M. […]
Sympathy for the Torturer: Fourth Tourmaline (part two)
Tourmaline Sympathy for the Torturer (part two) Herward said, “Is that enough? I’ll go back.” He touched often, and did so now, tapping Anton on the wrist and pointing to show the queue empty. “More bread.” “Have mine.” Then: “Now, listen. How would it be…how would you personally […]
Tourmaline (conclusion)
Tourmaline Tourmaline (conclusion) Nearing an outcrop of rock that formed a cove with a brutal undertow, Anton saw the usual small craft, that rowed out to the anchored boats. His ear was attuned for the first time to snatches of the peninsular speech, the patois of the fishmongers. He was […]
Tourmaline (part three)
Tourmaline Tourmaline (part three) “Where the adjectival phrase takes the place of a noun, where we grammarians employ the hyphenated construction…which is, of course, a bit of shorthand for us…I mean for us alone. They, while officially, the nomads use our own alphabet…” Professor Swisshelm removed his plug of tobacco […]
Tourmaline (part two)
Tourmaline Tourmaline (part two) They were touching, packed that tightly, twisting shoulders to avoid intimacy; by this, still effaced and invisible to one another. They were queued so far along the street, he doubted he could respect Palma’s curfew. He doubted he would be fed at all. Here were three […]
Tourmaline (part one)
Tourmaline Tourmaline (part one) Anton nearly smiled. The glass kept steaming up, over and over. Because in a downstairs chamber something, he did not know what, boiled. Had it been sour cabbage, he would have felt envious, hungry as he’d always been. But he never smelled anything cook in […]