Lucero’s Horse
I have surveyed the territory of Elsinore to gather news about Ophelia. She dares to appear, during the full moon, at the spot where she lost her life. In that very place they cultivate, by my advice, the flowers from her hair and the local virgins avoid profaning them.
I was trying to cross an ash tree bridge when an old lady stopped me with an invitation to continue my journey on foot. I was lacking modesty by exploring on horseback the kingdom sunken in grief.
The metallic and cold accent of a trumpet filled me with fright. An ensign was blowing it from the terrace visited by the specter.
The old woman dissuaded me from paying attention to the lugubrious sound. Otherwise, she told me, I would remain a captive in the circuit of melancholy.
She broke off a willow branch to compose an imitation of the heroine’s wild crown.
Her warnings pushed me away for good from the confines of the disgrace where Hamlet’s desperate thoughts circulated. My horse had to bring me out on its own and without the governance of my hand to a salutary place and I abandoned myself to its uncertain trot. With his neighing he startled, on the next day, the swans and storks of Copenhagen.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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