The Obscene Bird of Night (1970)
by José Donoso
Iris lies asleep on the bed with her thumb in her mouth, sucking, while we go about the timeless female chores of preparing the room where the child will be born, luxuriating in the ceremonies that rouse our instincts that lay asleep on the brink of the pit into which Brigida fell such a short time ago. On that also solemn occasion, our instincts were revived in a similar way by the splendor of the rites of death, and we cried and lamented because old women have wept from the beginning of time, and it's good to weep and lament at funerals, as it's good to rejoice at the birth of a child.🏁
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Iris lies asleep on the bed with her thumb in her mouth, sucking, while we go about the timeless female chores of preparing the room where the child will be born, luxuriating in the ceremonies that rouse our instincts that lay asleep on the brink of the pit into which Brigida fell such a short time ago. On that also solemn occasion, our instincts were revived in a similar way by the splendor of the rites of death, and we cried and lamented because old women have wept from the beginning of time, and it's good to weep and lament at funerals, as it's good to rejoice at the birth of a child.🏁