I woke covered with sweat. Hot steam rose from the newly sprayed, redbrick pavement. A gray-winged butterfly, dazzled, circled the yellow light. I jumped from my hammock and crossed the room barefoot, careful not to step on some scorpion leaving his hideout for a bit of fresh air. I went to the little window and inhaled the country air. One could hear the breathing of the night, feminine, enormous. I returned to the center of the room, emptied water from a jar into a pewter basin, and wet my towel.
I rubbed my chest and legs with the soaked cloth, dried myself a little, and, making sure that no bugs were hidden in the folds of my clothes, got dressed. I ran down the green stairway. At the door of the boardinghouse I bumped into the owner, a one-eyed taciturn fellow. Sitting on a wicker stool, he smoked, his eye half closed. In a hoarse voice, he asked: 'Where are you going? ' 'To take a walk. It's too hot. ' 'Hmmm-everything's closed. And no streetlights around here. You'd better stay put. ' I shrugged my shoulders, muttered, 'back soon,' and plunged into the darkness. At first I couldn't see anything.
I fumbled along the cobblestone street. I lit a cigarette. Suddenly the moon appeared from behind a black cloud, lighting a white wall that was crumbled in places. I stopped, blinded by such whiteness. Wind whistled slightly. I breathed the air of the tamarinds. The night hummed, full of leaves and insects. Crickets bivouacked in the tall grass. I raised my head: up there the stars too had set up camp. I thought that the universe was a vast system of signs, a conversation between giant beings. My actions, the cricket's saw, the star's blink, were nothing but pauses and syllables, scattered phrases from that dialogue.
What word could it be, of which I was only a syllable? Who speaks the word? To whom is it spoken? I threw my cigarette down on the sidewalk. Falling, it drew a shining curve, shooting out brief sparks like a tiny comet. I walked a long time, slowly. I felt free, secure between the lips that were at that moment speaking me with such happiness. The night was a garden of eyes. As I crossed the street, I heard someone come out of a doorway. I turned around, but could not distinguish anything. I hurried on. A few moments later I heard the dull shuffle of sandals on the hot stone.
I didn't want to turn around, although I felt the shadow getting closer with every step. I tried to run. I couldn't. Suddenly I stopped short. Before I could defend myself, I felt the point of a knife in my back, and a sweet voice: 'Don't move, mister, or I'll stick it in. ' Without turning, I asked: 'What do you want? ' 'Your eyes, mister,' answered the soft, almost painful voice. My eyes? What do you want with my eyes? Look, I've got some money. Not much, but it's something. I'll give you everything I have if you let me go. Don't kill me. ' 'Don't be afraid, mister. I won't kill you.
I'm only going to take your eyes. ' 'But why do you want my eyes? ' I asked again. 'My girlfriend has this whim. She wants a bouquet of blue eyes. And around here they're hard to find. ' 'My eyes won't help you. They're brown, not blue. ' 'Don't try to fool me, mister. I know very well that yours are blue. ' 'Don't take the eyes of a fellow man. I'll give you something else. ' 'Don't play saint with me,' he said harshly. 'Turnaround. ' I turned. He was small and fragile. His palm sombrero covered half his face. In his right hand he held a country machete that shone in the moonlight. Let me see your face. ' I struck a match and put it close to my face. The brightness made me squint. He opened my eyelids with a firm hand. He couldn't see very well. Standing on tiptoe, he stared at me intensely. The flame burned my fingers. I dropped it. A silent moment passed. 'Are you convinced now? They're not blue. ' 'Pretty clever, aren't you? ' he answered. 'Let's see. Light another one. ' I struck another match, and put it near my eyes. Grabbing my sleeve, he ordered: 'Kneel down. ' I knelt. With one hand he grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head back.
He bent over me, curious and tense, while his machete slowly dropped until it grazed my eyelids. I closed my eyes. 'Keep them open, ' he ordered. I opened my eyes. The flame burned my lashes. All of a sudden he let me go. 'All right, they're not blue. Beat it. ' He vanished. I pulled myself together. Stumbling, falling, trying to get up again. I ran for an hour through the deserted town. When I got to the plaza, I saw the owner of the boardinghouse, still sitting in the front of the door. I went in without saying a word. The next day I left the town. (born March 31, 1914, Mexico City, Mex. ied April 19, 1998, Mexico City) Mexican poet, writer, and diplomat. Educated at the University of Mexico, Paz published his first book of poetry, Savage Moon, in 1933. He later founded and edited several important literary reviews. Influenced in turn by Marxism, Surrealism, existentialism, Buddhism, and Hinduism, his poetry uses rich imagery in dealing with metaphysical questions, and his most prominent theme is the human ability to overcome existential solitude through erotic love and artistic creativity. His prose works include The Labyrinth of Solitude (1950), an influential essay on Mexican history and culture.
He was Mexico's ambassador to India (196268). He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990 The Blue Bouquet Analysis 1. a) The setting of this story is in a small Mexican village. The sidewalks are cobblestone, the air is fresh and the sky is clear. From reading the story, I can tell that this village is very peaceful and desolate. Although the parish is bustling with secret eyes, the town itself is deserted and simple. b) The setting is appropriate for the story because it expresses the foreign nature of the town. In North America, this town is unheard of, and this makes the story intriguing.
The description of the town is almost as interesting as the story because it expresses a sense of freedom while the man is walking around, but the a€? garden of eyesa€? around him makes him look like he is being held captive. 2. a After a while, a shadow appeared behind him The, a shadow is attacking the protagonist because he wants blue eyes. The, a shadow clearly sees a difference in the protagonist, and therefore jumps to the conclusion that he has blue eyes, and tries to attack him. The antagonist uses a primal approach at attacking the protagonist, and uses a machete instead of any sort of culturally advanced weapon such as a gun. The Blue Bouquet Very short realistic story written by Octavia Paz about a man who wakes up from a dream, soaked with sweat. He is in some kind of hotel and wants to go out for a walk. While walking on the street he feels a knife against his back and a voice behind him says: "Dont move, senor, or you are dead". The man asks what the person with the knife wants and he replies: "Your eyes, senor". All he wants is the eyes and the man cant understand why. The man with the knife says that he wants the eyes for his sweetheart. "She would like to have a bouquet of blue eyes. There rent many people around here that have them. " By defending himself, he tries to convince the man by saying that his eyes are not blue. By lighting a match, holding it to his face, he finally convinces the man that his eyes are not blue. After realizing that the eyes werent blue the man with the knife lets him go and the next day he leaves the village because he is so scared. Eyes are a big theme in this story. Hotelkeeper was blind on one eye, "The night was a garden of eyes", and the eyes that the man was looking for The blue bouquet In this story he is a boarding house owner.
I find this story effective in a number of ways for example the first thing I notice is the title "blue bouquet" which is a metaphor. The story is set in a country town in Mexico during nighttime which shows the atmosphere the character was in. The characters name has not been mentioned throughout the story (the narrator tells the story) but he is described as male, while probably from the city. "I woke covered with sweet, hot stream rose from the newly sprayed, red -brick pavement. " This gives a clear indication that this was in the summer and was warmth; this use of language demonstrates the warmth of the night.
Also other quotes showing the warmth of the summer is, "I rubbed my chest and legs with the soaked cloth, dried my self a little". This gives a clear perspective to the reader of the hot summer. " " To take a walk its too hot, and no street lights around here. Back soon I picked these quotes to show the characters I picked these quotes to show the characters determination to get fresh air as its too hot. The characters mood in the beginning of the story is that he's too hot and wants some fresh air so he goes for a walk. Careful not to step on some scorpion leaving his hideout for a bit a fresh air". "It's too hot" These examples shows his mood in various ways that he's hot and wants some fresh air. The atmosphere when he's taking his walk at first is described as, "At first I couldn't see anything". This gives you a picture of how dark it was and also this is being narrated I felt free ". This shows his mood that he's happy. "I didn't want to turn around, although I felt the shadow getting closer with every step (change of mood). " This describes the present tense between the arrator (character) and the attacker. This part is about how the attacker approached him," I felt the point of a knife in my back". In the middle of the story he says, "I' II give you everything I have if you let me go. " This illustrates his determination to be let free from the man. The ending is that the character was, "leaned against the wall Sources: http://www. answers. com/topic/octavio-paz http://essaysforstudent. com/Literature/Blue-Bouquet-Analysis/72740. html http://www. markedbyteachers. com/gcse/english/comparing-the-blue-bouquet-with-flowers. html