The Innocent Erendira Community Note includes chapter-by-chapter summary and by Gabriel Garcia Marquez Innocent Erendira Questions and Answers. Gabriel Garcia Marquez Innocent Eréndira and Other Stories is a collection of short stories from the Nobel Prize winner and author of One. This collection of fiction, representing some of García Márquez’s earlier work, includes eleven short stories and a novella, Innocent Eréndira, in which a.

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She returns his affection and eventually he gabrifl willing to help her to freedom; he formulates a plan to escape with her and live off a fortune from oranges which contain diamonds smuggled by his Dutch father.

Not being the homicidal type, he attempts poisoning and an explosive, but must eventually resort to stabbing her while she sleeps. The enormous mansion of moon like concrete lost in the solitude of the desert trembled down to its foundations with the first attack.

But Erendira and her grandmother were used to the risks of the wild nature there, and in the bathroom decorated with a series of peacocks and childish mosaics of Roman baths they scarcely paid any attention to the caliber of the wind. The grandmother, naked and huge in the marble tub, looked like a handsome white whale. The granddaughter had just turned fourteen and was languid, soft-boned, and too meek for her age.

With a parsimony that had something mxrquez sacred rigor about it, she was bathing her grandmother with water in which purifying herbs and aromatic leaves had been boiled, the latter clinging to the succulent back, the flowing metal-colored hair, and the powerful shoulders which were so mercilessly tattooed as to put sailors to shame. Erendira, who never spoke except when it was unavoidable, asked: When she had finished bathing her grandmother, she took her to her bedroom.

The grandmother was so fat karquez she could only walk by leaning on her granddaughter’s shoulder or on a staff that looked like a bishop’s crosier, but even during her most difficult efforts the power of an antiquated grandeur was evident.

In the bedroom, which had been furnished with an excessive and erendiga demented taste, like the whole house, Erendira needed two more hours to get her grandmother ready.

She untangled her hair strand by strand, perfumed and combed it, put an equatorially flowered dress on her, put talcum powder on her face, bright red lipstick on her mouth, innoent on her cheeks, musk on her eyelids, and mother-of-pearl polish on her nails, and when she had her decked out like a larger than life-size doll, she led her to an artificial garden with suffocating flowers that were like the ones on the dress, seated her in a large chair that had the foundation and the pedigree of a throne, and left her listening to elusive records on a phonograph that had a speaker like a megaphone.

While the grandmother floated through the swamps of the past, Erendira busied herself sweeping the house, which was dark and motley, with bizarre furniture and statues of invented Caesars, chandeliers of teardrops and alabaster angels, a gilded piano, and numerous clocks of unthinkable sizes and shapes.

There was a cistern in the courtyard for the storage of water carried over many years from distant springs on the backs of Indians, and hitched to a ring on the cistern wall was a broken-down ostrich, the only feathered creature who could survive the torment of that accursed climate. The house was far away from everything, in the heart of the desert, next to a settlement with miserable and burning erendiraa where the goats committed suicide from desolation when the wind of misfortune blew.

The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and Her Heartless Grandmother – Wikipedia

That incomprehensible refuge had been built by the grandmother’s husband, a legendary smuggler whose name was Amadis, by whom she had a son whose name was also Amadis and who was Erendira’s father.

No one knew either the origins or the motivations of that family. The best known version in the language of the Indians was that Amadis the father had rescued his beautiful wife from a house of prostitution in the Antilles, where he had killed a man in a knife fight, and that he had transplanted her forever in the impunity of the desert. When the Amadises died, one of melancholy fevers and the other riddled with bullets in a fight over a woman, the grandmother buried their bodies in the courtyard, sent away the fourteen barefoot servant girls, and continued ruminating on her dreams of grandeur in the shadows of the furtive house, thanks to the sacrifices of the bastard granddaughter whom she had reared since birth.

Erendira needed six hours just to set and wind the clocks. The day when her misfortune began she didn’t have to do that because the clocks had enough winding left to last until the next morning, but on the other hand, she had to bathe and overdress her grandmother, scrub the floors, cook lunch, and polish the crystalware.

Around eleven o’clock, when she was changing the water in the ostrich’s bowl and watering the desert weeds around the twin graves of the Amadises, she had to fight off the anger of the wind, which had become unbearable, but she didn’t have the slightest feeling that it was the wind of her misfortune. At twelve o’clock she was wiping the last champagne glasses when she caught the smell of broth and had to perform the miracle of running to the kitchen without leaving a disaster of Venetian glass in her wake.


She just managed to take the pot off the stove as it was beginning to boil over. Then she put on a stew she had already prepared and took advantage of a chance to sit down and rest on a stool in the kitchen. She closed her eyes, opened them again with an unfatigued expression, and began pouring the soup into the tureen.

She was working as she slept. The grandmother had sat down alone at the head of a banquet table with silver candlesticks set for twelve people. She shook her little bell and Erendira arrived almost immediately with the steaming tureen. As Erendira was serving the soup, her grandmother noticed the somnambulist look and passed her hand in front of her eyes as if wiping an invisible pane of glass. The girl didn’t see the hand. The grandmother followed her with her look and when Erendira turned to go back to the kitchen, she shouted at her: Having been awakened all of a sudden, the girl dropped the tureen onto the rug.

Still hazy with sleep, she picked up the tureen, and tried to clean the stain on the rug. So in addition to her regular afternoon chores, Erendira had to wash the dining room rug, and she took advantage of her presence at the washtub to do Monday’s laundry as well, while the wind went around the house looking for a way in.

She had so much to do that night came upon her without her realizing it, and when she put the dining room rug back in its place it was time to go to bed. The grandmother had been fooling around on the piano all afternoon, singing the songs of her times to herself in a falsetto, and she had stains of musk and tears on her eyelids.

But when she lay down on her bed in her muslin nightgown, the bitterness of fond memories returned. She picked up a feather fan and began to fan the implacable matron, who recited the list of nighttime orders to her as she sank into sleep. She had fallen asleep but she was still giving orders, for it was from her that the granddaughter had inherited the ability to be alive still while sleeping.

Erendira left the room without making any noise and did the final chores of the night, still replying to the sleeping grandmother’s orders. Erendira didn’t answer her any more because she knew that the grandmother was getting lost in her delirium, but she didn’t miss a single order.

When she finished checking the window bolts and put out the last lights, she took a candlestick from the dining room and lighted her way to her bedroom as the pauses in the wind were filled with the peaceful and enormous breathing of her sleeping grandmother.

Her room was also luxurious, but not so much as her grandmother’s, and it was piled high with the rag dolls and wind-up animals of her recent childhood. Overcome by the barbarous chores of the day, Erendira didn’t have the strength to get undressed and she put the candlestick on the night table and fell onto the bed. A short while later the wind of her misfortune came into the bedroom like a pack of hounds and knocked the candle over against the curtain.

At dawn, when the wind finally stopped, a few thick and scattered drops of rain began to fall, putting out the last embers and hardening the smoking ashes of the mansion. The people in the village, Indians for the most part, tried to rescue the remains of the disaster: The grandmother was contemplating the residue of her fortune with an impenetrable depression. Erendira, sitting between the two graves of the Amadises, had stopped weeping. When the grandmother was convinced that very few things remained intact among the ruins, she looked at her granddaughter with sincere pity.

Innocent Erendira and Other Stories by Gabriel García Márquez

She began to pay it back that very day, beneath the noise of the rain, when she was taken to the village storekeeper, a skinny and premature widower who was quite well known in the desert for the good price he paid for virginity. As the grandmother waited undauntedly, the widower erendifa Erendira with scientific austerity: He didn’t say a word until he had some calculation of what she was worth.

Then he had her get on a scale to prove his decision with figures. Erendira weighed ninety pounds. The grandmother was scandalized. The storm threatened to knock the garci down, and there were so many leaks in the roof that it was raining almost as much inside as out. The grandmother felt all alone in a world of disaster.

Finally they agreed on two hundred and twenty pesos in cash and some provisions. The grandmother then signaled Erendira to go with the widower and he led her by the hand to the back room as if he were taking her to school. The back room was a kind of shed with four brick columns, a roof of rotted palm leaves, and an adobe wall three feet high, through which outdoor disturbances got into the building. Placed on top of the adobe wall were pots with cacti and other plants of aridity.


Hanging between two columns and flapping like the free sail of a drifting sloop was a faded hammock. Over the whistle of the storm and the lash of the water one could hear distant shouts, the howling of far-off erendiar, the cries of a shipwreck.

When Erendira and marqurz widower went into the shed they had to hold on so as not to be knocked down by a gust of rain which left them soaked. Their voices could not be lnnocent but their gabruel became innocebt in the roar of the squall. At the widower’s first attempt, Erendira shouted something inaudible and tried to get away. The widower answered her without any voice, twisted her arm by the wrist, and dragged her to the hammock. She fought him off with a scratch on the face and shouted in silence again, but he replied with a solemn slap which lifted her off the ground and suspended her in the air for an instant with her long Medusa hair floating in space.

He grabbed her about magquez waist before she touched ground again, flung her into the hammock with a brutal heave, and held her down with his knees. Erendira then succumbed to terror, lost consciousness, and remained as if fascinated by the moonbeams from a fish that was floating through the storm air, while the widower undressed her, tearing off her clothes with a methodical clawing, as innoocent he were pulling up grass, scattering them with great tugs marquex color that waved like streamers and went off with the wind.

When there was no other man left in the village who could pay anything for Erendira’s love, her grandmother put her on a truck to go where the smugglers were. They made the trip on marqquez back of the truck in the open, among sacks of rice and buckets of lard and what had been left by the fire: In a trunk with two crosses painted in broad strokes they carried the bones of the Amadises. The grandmother protected herself from the sun with a tattered umbrella and it was hard for her to breathe because of the torment of sweat and dust, but even in that unhappy state she kept control of her dignity.

Behind the pile of cans and sacks of rice Erendira paid for the trip and the cartage by making love for twenty pesos a turn with the truck’s loader.

At first her system of defense was the same as she had used against the widower’s attack, but the loader’s approach was different, slow and wise, and he ended up taming her with tenderness. So when they reached the first town after a deadly journey, Erendira and the loader were relaxing from good love behind the parapet of cargo.

Innocent Erendira and Other Stories

The driver shouted to the grandmother: The grandmother observed with disbelief the miserable and solitary streets of a town somewhat larger but just as sad as the one they had abandoned. Listening to the dialogue from behind the load, Erendira dug into a sack of rice with her finger.

Suddenly she found a string, pulled on it, and drew out a necklace of innocsnt pearls.

lnnocent She looked at it amazed, holding it between her fingers like a dead snake, while the driver answered her grandmother: There’s no such thing as smugglers. The loader realized that Erendira had pulled out the necklace and hastened to take it away from her and stick it back into the sack of rice. The grandmother, who had decided to stay in spite of the poverty of the town, then called to her granddaughter to help her out of the truck.

Erendira said good-bye to the loader with a kiss that was hurried but spontaneous and true. The grandmother waited, sitting on her inncoent in the middle of the street, until they finished unloading the goods. The last item was the trunk with the remains of the Amadises. He put the trunk with bones down carelessly among the singed furniture and held out his open hand to the grandmother. The driver looked at his helper with surprise and the latter made an affirmative sign. The driver then went back to the cab, where a woman in mourning was riding, in her arms a baby who was crying from the heat.

The loader, quite sure gabrisl himself, told the grandmother: My intentions are honorable. The girl intervened, surprised: The grandmother looked him up and down, now, to make him feel small but trying to measure the true size of his guts.

It’s garcua hundred seventy-two thousand three hundred fifteen pesos, innnocent the four hundred and twenty which she’s already paid me, making it eight hundred seventy-one thousand eight hundred ninety-five. The truck started up.