TEXTUAL NARRATION

THE LUNCHEON
She addressed me brightly. “Well, it’s many years since we first met. How time does fly! We’re none of us getting
any younger. Do you remember the first time I saw you? You asked me to luncheon.”

Addressing me brightly, she told me that it was many years since we had first met. She exclaimed that time flies too
fast. She added that we were none of us getting any younger. She asked if I remembered the first time I had seen
her. She also told me that I had asked her to luncheon.

“I never eat anything for luncheon,” she said. “Oh, don’t say that!” I answered generously. “I never eat more than
one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. A little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.”

She said me that she never used to eat anything for luncheon. I generously answered her not to say that. She said
that she never used to eat more than one thing. She told me her thinking that people used to eat far too much
nowadays. She further added that she might take a little fish only. She also said that she would feel wonder if they
had any Salmon.

“I think you are unwise to eat meat,” she said. “I don’t know how you can expect to work after eating heavy things
like chops. I don’t believe in overloading my stomach.” Then came the question of drink. “I never drink anything
for luncheon,” she said. “Neither do I,” I answered promptly. “Except white wine,” she proceeded as though I had
not spoken. “These French white wines are so light. They’re wonderful for the digestion.” “What would you like?”
I asked, hospitable still, but not exactly effusive. She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white teeth. “My
doctor won’t let me drink anything but champagne.”

She said that she thought I was unwise to eat meat. She added that she didn’t know how I could expect work after
eating heavy things like chops. She further added that she didn’t believe in overloading her stomach. Then came the
question of drink. She said that she never used to drink anything for luncheon. After hearing this, I answered
promptly that neither did I. No sooner had I replied, she proceeded as though I had not spoken that she never used
to drink anything for luncheon except white wine. She further added that those French white wines are so light and
they are wonderful for digestion. Being hospitable still but not exactly effusive, I asked her what she would like.
She gave me a bright amicable flash of her white teeth and then said that her doctor would not let her drink
anything but champagne.

“I’m not in the least hungry,” my guest sighed, “but if you insist I don’t mind having some asparagus.”
I ordered them. “Aren’t you going to have any?” “No, I never eat asparagus.” “I know there are people who don’t
like them. The fact is, you ruin your palate by all the meat you eat.”

My guest sighed that she was not in the least hungry but if I insist she didn’t mind having some asparagus. I ordered
them. She asked me if I was going to have any. I refused by saying that I never used to eat asparagus. She said that
she knew there are people who don’t like them and further added that the fact was I ruined my palate by all the
meat I ate.

“You know, there’s one thing I thoroughly believe in,” she said, as she ate the ice cream. “One should always get
up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more.” “Are you still hungry?” I asked faintly.
“Oh, no, I’m not hungry; you see, I don’t eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffee in the morning and then dinner, but I
never eat more than one thing for luncheon. I was speaking for you.” “Oh, I see!”

When she was eating the ice-cream, she said that there was one thing she thoroughly believed in and that was one
should always get up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more. I asked her faintly if she were still hungry. She
replied that she was not hungry as she never used to eat luncheon. She added that she usually used to take a cup of
coffee in the morning and then dinner, but she never used to eat more than one thing for luncheon. She had been
speaking for me. I replied with wonder.
“Follow my example,” she said as we shook hand, and never eat more than one thing for luncheon.”
“I’ll do better than that,” I retorted. “I’ll eat nothing for dinner to-night.” “Humorist!” she cried gaily, jumping
into a cab, “you’re quite a humorist!”

As we shook hand, she suggested me to follow her example and not to eat more than one thing for luncheon. I
retorted that I would do better than that and I would eat nothing for dinner that night. Addressing me as a humorist,
she cried gaily and jumping into a cab she exclaimed with wonder that I was quite a humorist.

PHOTOGRAPH

“Granny!” I shouted. “Look at the picture! I found it in the box of old things. Whose picture is it?” I jumped on the
bed beside my grandmother and she walloped me on the bottom and said, “Now I’ve lost count of my stitches, and
the next time you do that I’ll make you finish the scarf yourself.”

I shouted with excitement at Granny and told her with exclamation to look at the picture. I added that I had found it
in the box of old things. Also I wanted to know from her whose picture it was. I jumped on the bed beside my
grandmother and she walloped me on the bottom and told me with anger that she had lost count of her stitches then
and also warned me not to do it in the following times or else she would make me finish the scarf myself.

“Whose picture is it?” I asked. “A little girl’s of course”, said Grandmother. “Can’t you tell”? “Yes, but did you
know the girl?” “Yes, I knew her”, said Granny, “but she was a very wicked girl and I shouldn’t tell you about her.
But I’ll tell you about the photograph. It was taken in your grandfather’s house, about sixty years ago and that’s
the garden wall, and over the wall there was a road going to town”.

I asked Grandmother whose picture it was. She replied that the picture was definitely of a little girl and rather asked
me if I could tell. I responded that I knew but asked her if she had known. Granny agreed that she had known her.
But told me that the girl was a very wicked girl and she should not tell me about her. But she added that she would
tell me about the photograph. The picture had been taken in my Grandfather’s house, about sixty years ago and that
was the garden wall, and over the wall there was a road going to town.

“Whose hands are they,” I asked, “coming up from the other side?” Grandmother squinted and looked closely at
the picture, and shook her head. “It’s the first time I’ve noticed,” she said. “That must have been the sweeper
boy’s. Or maybe they were your grandfather’s.”

I asked Grandmother whose hands were they coming up from the other side. Grandmother squinted and looked
closely at the picture, and shook her head and then said that it was the first time she had noticed. Next,
Grandmother added with confusion that the hands must have been either of the sweeper boy’s or might be of my
grandfather’s.

“They don’t look like grandfather’s hand,” I said. “His hands are all bony.” “Yes, but this was sixty years ago.”
“Didn’t he climb up the wall, after the photo?” “No, nobody climbed up. At least, I don’t remember.” “And you
remember well, Granny.”

I said granny that the hands didn’t look like grandfather’s hand as they were all bony. Granny agreed but added that
it had been sixty years before/ago. Then I asked her if he climbed up the wall, after the photo. She denied that
nobody had climbed up the wall; at least she didn’t remember. And then I said that she remembered well.

“And what about the girl?” I said. “Tell me about the girl.” “Well, she was a wicked girl,” said Granny. “You
don’t know the trouble they had getting her into those fine clothes she’s wearing.” “Who was the girl?” I said.
“You must tell me who she was.” “No, that wouldn’t do,” said Grandmother, but I pretended I didn’t know. I knew,
because Grandmother still smiled in the same way, even though she didn’t have as many teeth. Come on, Granny,”
I said, “tell me, tell me.”

I wanted to know about the girl and requested her to tell me about the girl. Granny answered that she had been a
wicked girl/she was a wicked girl. She further added that I even didn’t know the trouble they had getting her into
those fine clothes she had been wearing. Then I asked her who the girl was and bound her to tell me who she was.
Granny denied that she would not do that. But I pretended I did not know. I knew because Grandmother still smiled
in the same way, even though she didn’t have as many teeth. I requested granny repeatedly to tell me.

OLD MAN at THE BRIDGE

“Where do you come from?” I asked him. “From San Carlos,” he said, and smiled. That was his native town and
so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled. “I was taking care of animals,” he explained. “Oh,” I said, not
quite understanding. “Yes,” he said, “I stayed, you see, taking care of animals. I was the last one to leave the town
of San Carlos.”

I asked him where he came from. He answered smilingly that he came from San Carlos. That was his native town
and so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled. He explained that he had been taking care of animals. I
responded without understanding. Drawing my attention, he assured me that he had stayed taking care of animals.
He also added that he had been the last one to leave the town of San Carlos.

“What animals were they?” I asked. “There were three animals altogether,” he explained. “There were two goats
and a cat and then there were four pairs of pigeons.” “And you had to leave them?” I asked. “Yes. Because of the
artillery. The captain told me to go because of the artillery.”

I asked what animals they were. He answered that there were/had been three animals together and also added that
there were/had been two goats and a cat and then there were/had been four pairs of pigeons. I again asked him
if/whether he had to leave them. He replied in affirmative/confirmed that he had to leave them because of the
artillery and he also added that the captain had told him to go because of the artillery.

“And you have no family?” I asked, watching the far end of the bridge where a few last carts were hurrying down
the slope of the bank. “No,” he said, “only the animals I stated. The cat, of course, will be all right. A cat can
look out for itself, but I cannot think what will become of the others.” “What politics have you?” I asked. “I am
without politics,” he said. “I am seventy-six years old. I have come twelve kilometers now and I think now I can go
no further.”

Watching the far end of the bridge where a few last carts were hurrying down the slope of the bank, I asked him if
he had family. He denied and stated that he only had animals. The old man added with certainty that the cat would
be all right as a cat can look out for itself but he couldn’t think what would become of the others. I further asked
him what politics he had. He answered that he was without politics. After that, he said that he was seventy-six years
old and he had come twelve kilometers then and he thought he could go no further then.

“This is not a good place to stop,” I said. “If you can make it, there are trucks up the road where it forks for
Tortosa.” “I will wait a while,” he said, “ and then I will go. Where do the trucks go?” “Towards Barcelona,” I
told him. “ I know no one in that direction,” he said, “but thank you very much. Thank you again very much.”

I said that it was not a good place to stop and I suggested him if he could make it, there were trucks up the road
where it forked for Tortosa. He said in response that he would wait a while and then he would go. He also asked me
where the trucks went. I answered they went towards Barcelona. Then he said that he knew no one in that direction
but he thanked me repeatedly.
He looked at me very blankly and tiredly, and then said, having to share his worry with someone, “The cat will be
all right, I am sure. There is no need to be unquiet about the cat. But the others. Now what do you think about the
others?” “Why they’ll probably come through it all right.” “You think so?” “Why not,” I said, watching the far bank
where now there were no carts. “But what will they do under the artillery when I was told to leave because of the
artillery?” “Did you leave the dove cage unlocked?” I asked. “Yes.” “Then they’ll fly.” “Yes, certainly they’ll fly. But
the others. It’s better not to think about the others,” he said.

Having to share his worry with someone, he looked at me very blankly and tiredly and then said with certainty that
the cat would be all right. He further added that there was no need to be unquiet about the cat but there was
something to be worried about others. Then he asked me what I thought about the others. I assured him with a little
confusion that they would come through it all right. He further asked me if I thought so. I reassured him, watching
the far bank where now there were no carts. But he again wanted to know that what they would do under the
artillery when he had been told leave because of the artillery. I response to his question, I asked him if he had left
the dove cage unlocked. He agreed that he had. Then I answered they would fly. After that, he asserted with
certainty that they would fly but he was still confused of the others. He further added himself that it was better not
to think about others.

“If you are rested I would go,” I urged. “Get up and try to walk now.” “Thank you,” he said and got to his feet,
swayed from side to side and then sat down backwards in the dust. “I was taking care of animals,” he said dully,
but no longer to me. “I was only taking care of animals.”

I urged him if he was rested, I would have gone. Later, I again urged him to get up and try to walk then. He thanked
me and then got to his feet, swayed from side to side and then sat down backwards in the dust. Then he again said
with dull mood that he had been taking care of animals but no longer to him. Again, he said me that he had been
taking care of animals.