Hi, I am here again. If it were not for the date on
the blog, I would never remember the last time I published something here.
Well, there is a reasonable explanation for that: I have been writing and reading a
lot in my Master’s program.
One of the things I am studying is (American and English) literature.
So, every week we are supposed to read, analyze, and write something. That’s why I shouldn't
be blogging right now; I should be reading, writing or analyzing something instead,
right?
However, I would like to share this story with you guys . I hope you like Kate Chopin!
See you guys around. I gotta go back to my academic
routine.
Oh yes... er... Happy Easter everyone!
Oh yes... er... Happy Easter everyone!
Kate Chopin, born Katherine O'Flaherty in St. Louis,
Missouri on February 8, 1850, is considered one of the first feminist authors
of the 20th century. She was following a rather conventional path as a housewife
until an unfortunate tragedy -- the untimely death of her husband -- altered
the course of her life. >>>MORE ABOUT HER<<<
I
The leaves were so still that even Bibi thought it was
going to rain. Bobint, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect
equality with his little son, called the child's attention to certain sombre
clouds that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by
a sullen, threatening roar. They were at Friedheimer's store and decided to
remain there till the storm had passed. They sat within the door on two empty
kegs. Bibi was four years old and looked very wise.
"Mama'll be 'fraid, yes, he suggested with
blinking eyes.
"She'll shut the house. Maybe she got Sylvie
helpin' her this evenin'," Bobint responded reassuringly.
"No; she ent got Sylvie. Sylvie was helpin' her
yistiday,' piped Bibi.
Bobint arose and going across to the counter purchased
a can of shrimps, of which Calixta was very fond. Then he retumed to his perch
on the keg and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst.
It shook the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant
field. Bibi laid his little hand on his father's knee and was not afraid.
II
Calixta, at home, felt no uneasiness for their safety.
She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing machine. She was greatly
occupied and did not notice the approaching storm. But she felt very warm and
often stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration gathered in beads. She
unfastened her white sacque at the throat. It began to grow dark, and suddenly
realizing the situation she got up hurriedly and went about closing windows and
doors.
Out on the small front gallery she had hung Bobint's
Sunday clothes to dry and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell.
As she stepped outside, Alce Laballire rode in at the gate. She had not seen
him very often since her marriage, and never alone. She stood there with
Bobint's coat in her hands, and the big rain drops began to fall. Alce rode his
horse under the shelter of a side projection where the chickens had huddled and
there were plows and a harrow piled up in the corner.
"May I come and wait on your gallery till the
storm is over, Calixta?" he asked.
Come 'long in, M'sieur Alce."




