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[answered] A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marque

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Discussion Board 5.1 : A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings

Initial post of? at least 300 words.

Analyze and respond to Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings." ? Refer to the "Writing about Literature" links to help guide your response.? The prompts below can be used for brainstorming purposes.? No need to answer them all and, of course, you can devise your own prompt if you like.? Either way, be sure that your response is in short essay format (not just a string of short answers) with a clear thesis statement and supporting quotations.

1. If we consider the story to be an example of satire, then what idea, issue or situation is the target of the satire?

2 Why are the townspeople more interested in the Spider Woman than the angel?? What does this say about human nature?

3. The story is full of fantastic imagery.? Identify some of your favorites and explain how those images support a major theme of the story.? ?

A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings


by Gabriel Garcia Marquez


Translated by Gregory Rabassa On the third day of rain they had killed so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo had to


cross his drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea, because the newborn child had


a temperature all night and they thought it was due to the stench. The world had been sad


since Tuesday. Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach,


which on March nights glimmered like powdered light, had become a stew of mud and


rotten shellfish. The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo was coming back to the


house after throwing away the crabs, it was hard for him to see what it was that was


moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard. He had to go very close to see that it


was an old man, a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his


tremendous efforts, couldn?t get up, impeded by his enormous wings.


Frightened by that nightmare, Pelayo ran to get Elisenda, his wife, who was putting


compresses on the sick child, and he took her to the rear of the courtyard. They both


looked at the fallen body with a mute stupor. He was dressed like a ragpicker. There were


only a few faded hairs left on his bald skull and very few teeth in his mouth, and his


pitiful condition of a drenched great-grandfather took away any sense of grandeur he


might have had. His huge buzzard wings, dirty and half-plucked, were forever entangled


in the mud. They looked at him so long and so closely that Pelayo and Elisenda very soon


overcame their surprise and in the end found him familiar. Then they dared speak to him,


and he answered in an incomprehensible dialect with a strong sailor?s voice. That was


how they skipped over the inconvenience of the wings and quite intelligently concluded


that he was a lonely castaway from some foreign ship wrecked by the storm. And yet,


they called in a neighbor woman who knew everything about life and death to see him,


and all she needed was one look to show them their mistake.


?He?s an angel,? she told them. ?He must have been coming for the child, but the poor


fellow is so old that the rain knocked him down.?


On the following day everyone knew that a flesh-and-blood angel was held captive in


Pelayo?s house. Against the judgment of the wise neighbor woman, for whom angels in


those times were the fugitive survivors of a celestial conspiracy, they did not have the


heart to club him to death. Pelayo watched over him all afternoon from the kitchen,


armed with his bailiff?s club, and before going to bed he dragged him out of the mud and locked him up with the hens in the wire chicken coop. In the middle of the night, when


the rain stopped, Pelayo and Elisenda were still killing crabs. A short time afterward the


child woke up without a fever and with a desire to eat. Then they felt magnanimous and


decided to put the angel on a raft with fresh water and provisions for three days and leave


him to his fate on the high seas. But when they went out into the courtyard with the first


light of dawn, they found the whole neighborhood in front of the chicken coop having fun


with the angel, without the slightest reverence, tossing him things to eat through the


openings in the wire as if he weren?t a supernatural creature but a circus animal.


Father Gonzaga arrived before seven o?clock, alarmed at the strange news. By that time


onlookers less frivolous than those at dawn had already arrived and they were making all


kinds of conjectures concerning the captive?s future. The simplest among them thought


that he should be named mayor of the world. Others of sterner mind felt that he should be


promoted to the rank of five-star general in order to win all wars. Some visionaries hoped


that he could be put to stud in order to implant the earth a race of winged wise men who


could take charge of the universe. But Father Gonzaga, before becoming a priest, had


been a robust woodcutter. Standing by the wire, he reviewed his catechism in an instant


and asked them to open the door so that he could take a close look at that pitiful man who


looked more like a huge decrepit hen among the fascinated chickens. He was lying in the


corner drying his open wings in the sunlight among the fruit peels and breakfast leftovers


that the early risers had thrown him. Alien to the impertinences of the world, he only


lifted his antiquarian eyes and murmured something in his dialect when Father Gonzaga


went into the chicken coop and said good morning to him in Latin. The parish priest had


his first suspicion of an imposter when he saw that he did not understand the language of


God or know how to greet His ministers. Then he noticed that seen close up he was much


too human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings was


strewn with parasites and his main feathers had been mistreated by terrestrial winds, and


nothing about him measured up to the proud dignity of angels. Then he came out of the


chicken coop and in a brief sermon warned the curious against the risks of being


ingenuous. He reminded them that the devil had the bad habit of making use of carnival


tricks in order to confuse the unwary. He argued that if wings were not the essential


element in determining the different between a hawk and an airplane, they were even less


so in the recognition of angels. Nevertheless, he promised to write a letter to his bishop so


that the latter would write his primate so that the latter would write to the Supreme


Pontiff in order to get the final verdict from the highest courts.


His prudence fell on sterile hearts. The news of the captive angel spread with such


rapidity that after a few hours the courtyard had the bustle of a marketplace and they had


to call in troops with fixed bayonets to disperse the mob that was about to knock the


house down. Elisenda, her spine all twisted from sweeping up so much marketplace trash,


then got the idea of fencing in the yard and charging five cents admission to see the




The curious came from far away. A traveling carnival arrived with a flying acrobat who


buzzed over the crowd several times, but no one paid any attention to him because his


wings were not those of an angel but, rather, those of a sidereal bat. The most unfortunate invalids on earth came in search of health: a poor woman who since childhood has been


counting her heartbeats and had run out of numbers; a Portuguese man who couldn?t


sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him; a sleepwalker who got up at night to


undo the things he had done while awake; and many others with less serious ailments. In


the midst of that shipwreck disorder that made the earth tremble, Pelayo and Elisenda


were happy with fatigue, for in less than a week they had crammed their rooms with


money and the line of pilgrims waiting their turn to enter still reached beyond the




The angel was the only one who took no part in his own act. He spent his time trying to


get comfortable in his borrowed nest, befuddled by the hellish heat of the oil lamps and


sacramental candles that had been placed along the wire. At first they tried to make him


eat some mothballs, which, according to the wisdom of the wise neighbor woman, were


the food prescribed for angels. But he turned them down, just as he turned down the papal


lunches that the pentinents brought him, and they never found out whether it was because


he was an angel or because he was an old man that in the end ate nothing but eggplant


mush. His only supernatural virtue seemed to be patience. Especially during the first


days, when the hens pecked at him, searching for the stellar parasites that proliferated in


his wings, and the cripples pulled out feathers to touch their defective parts with, and


even the most merciful threw stones at him, trying to get him to rise so they could see


him standing. The only time they succeeded in arousing him was when they burned his


side with an iron for branding steers, for he had been motionless for so many hours that


they thought he was dead. He awoke with a start, ranting in his hermetic language and


with tears in his eyes, and he flapped his wings a couple of times, which brought on a


whirlwind of chicken dung and lunar dust and a gale of panic that did not seem to be of


this world. Although many thought that his reaction had not been one of rage but of pain,


from then on they were careful not to annoy him, because the majority understood that


his passivity was not that of a hero taking his ease but that of a cataclysm in repose.


Father Gonzaga held back the crowd?s frivolity with formulas of maidservant inspiration


while awaiting the arrival of a final judgment on the nature of the captive. But the mail


from Rome showed no sense of urgency. They spent their time finding out if the prisoner


had a navel, if his dialect had any connection with Aramaic, how many times he could fit


on the head of a pin, or whether he wasn?t just a Norwegian with wings. Those meager


letters might have come and gone until the end of time if a providential event had not put


and end to the priest?s tribulations.


It so happened that during those days, among so many other carnival attractions, there


arrived in the town the traveling show of the woman who had been changed into a spider


for having disobeyed her parents. The admission to see her was not only less than the


admission to see the angel, but people were permitted to ask her all manner of questions


about her absurd state and to examine her up and down so that no one would ever doubt


the truth of her horror. She was a frightful tarantula the size of a ram and with the head of


a sad maiden. What was most heartrending, however, was not her outlandish shape but


the sincere affliction with which she recounted the details of her misfortune. While still


practically a child she had sneaked out of her parents? house to go to a dance, and while she was coming back through the woods after having danced all night without


permission, a fearful thunderclap rent the sky in two and through the crack came the


lightning bolt of brimstone that changed her into a spider. Her only nourishment came


from the meatballs that charitable souls chose to toss into her mouth. A spectacle like


that, full of so much human truth and with such a fearful lesson, was bound to defeat


without even trying that of a haughty angel who scarcely deigned to look at mortals.


Besides, the few miracles attributed to the angel showed a certain mental disorder, like


the blind man who didn?t recover his sight but grew three new teeth, or the paralytic who


didn?t get to walk but almost won the lottery, and the leper whose sores sprouted


sunflowers. Those consolation miracles, which were more like mocking fun, had already


ruined the angel?s reputation when the woman who had been changed into a spider finally


crushed him completely. That was how Father Gonzaga was cured forever of his


insomnia and Pelayo?s courtyard went back to being as empty as during the time it had


rained for three days and crabs walked through the bedrooms.


The owners of the house had no reason to lament. With the money they saved they built a


two-story mansion with balconies and gardens and high netting so that crabs wouldn?t get


in during the winter, and with iron bars on the windows so that angels wouldn?t get in.


Pelayo also set up a rabbit warren close to town and gave up his job as a bailiff for good,


and Elisenda bought some satin pumps with high heels and many dresses of iridescent


silk, the kind worn on Sunday by the most desirable women in those times. The chicken


coop was the only thing that didn?t receive any attention. If they washed it down with


creolin and burned tears of myrrh inside it every so often, it was not in homage to the


angel but to drive away the dungheap stench that still hung everywhere like a ghost and


was turning the new house into an old one. At first, when the child learned to walk, they


were careful that he not get too close to the chicken coop. But then they began to lose


their fears and got used to the smell, and before they child got his second teeth he?d gone


inside the chicken coop to play, where the wires were falling apart. The angel was no less


standoffish with him than with the other mortals, but he tolerated the most ingenious


infamies with the patience of a dog who had no illusions. They both came down with the


chicken pox at the same time. The doctor who took care of the child couldn?t resist the


temptation to listen to the angel?s heart, and he found so much whistling in the heart and


so many sounds in his kidneys that it seemed impossible for him to be alive. What


surprised him most, however, was the logic of his wings. They seemed so natural on that


completely human organism that he couldn?t understand why other men didn?t have them




When the child began school it had been some time since the sun and rain had caused the


collapse of the chicken coop. The angel went dragging himself about here and there like a


stray dying man. They would drive him out of the bedroom with a broom and a moment


later find him in the kitchen. He seemed to be in so many places at the same time that


they grew to think that he?d be duplicated, that he was reproducing himself all through


the house, and the exasperated and unhinged Elisenda shouted that it was awful living in


that hell full of angels. He could scarcely eat and his antiquarian eyes had also become so


foggy that he went about bumping into posts. All he had left were the bare cannulae of his


last feathers. Pelayo threw a blanket over him and extended him the charity of letting him sleep in the shed, and only then did they notice that he had a temperature at night, and


was delirious with the tongue twisters of an old Norwegian. That was one of the few


times they became alarmed, for they thought he was going to die and not even the wise


neighbor woman had been able to tell them what to do with dead angels.


And yet he not only survived his worst winter, but seemed improved with the first sunny


days. He remained motionless for several days in the farthest corner of the courtyard,


where no one would see him, and at the beginning of December some large, stiff feathers


began to grow on his wings, the feathers of a scarecrow, which looked more like another


misfortune of decreptitude. But he must have known the reason for those changes, for he


was quite careful that no one should notice them, that no one should hear the sea chanteys


that he sometimes sang under the stars. One morning Elisenda was cutting some bunches


of onions for lunch when a wind that seemed to come from the high seas blew into the


kitchen. Then she went to the window and caught the angel in his first attempts at flight.


They were so clumsy that his fingernails opened a furrow in the vegetable patch and he


was on the point of knocking the shed down with the ungainly flapping that slipped on


the light and couldn?t get a grip on the air. But he did manage to gain altitude. Elisenda


let out a sigh of relief, for herself and for him, when she watched him pass over the last


houses, holding himself up in some way with the risky flapping of a senile vulture. She


kept watching him even when she was through cutting the onions and she kept on


watching until it was no longer possible for her to see him, because then he was no longer


an annoyance in her life but an imaginary dot on the horizon of the sea.


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