The Tale of the Rose
Chapter One
Chapter 1
Every morning on the bridge, Ricardo Viñes, the pianist with hands like a dove's wings, would say in my ear, "Consuelo, you are not a woman."
I would laugh and kiss his cheeks, pushing back his long mustache that sometimes made me sneeze. He would then go through all the rituals of Spanish courtesy, wishing me a good morning, inquiring about my dreams, inviting me to enjoy this new day of our journey to Buenos Aires. And every day I wondered what Don Ricardo could possibly mean by his little morning greeting.
"Am I an angel, then? An animal? Do I not exist?" I asked him fiercely at last.
He fell serious and turned that El Greco face of his out toward the sea a few moments, then took my hands in his.
"So, child, you know how to listen; that is good. . . . For as lon ... read full excerpt from Tale of the Rose ebook
