Vickychandler87, Paraguay

 

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The Velveteen Rabbit – Margery Williams

(excerpt)

 

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

 

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

 

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

 

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

 

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

 

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

 

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

 

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

El Conejo de Terciopelo – Margery Williams

(extracto)

 

"¿Qué es real?" preguntó el conejo un día, cuando estaban acostados uno al lado del otro cerca del guardabarros del cuarto del niño, antes de que Nana viniera a ordenar la habitación. "¿Significa tener cosas que zumban dentro tuyo y una cuerda?"

 

"Real no es cómo estás hecho," dijo el Caballo de piel. "Es algo que te pasa. Cuando un niño te ama por un largo, largo tiempo, no sólo para jugar, sino que realmente te ama, entonces te vuelves real."

 

"¿Duele?" preguntó el Conejo.

 

"A veces," dijo el Caballo de Piel, pues él siempre decía la verdad. "Cuando eres real, no te importa que te lastimen."

 

"Ocurre de repente, como si te dieran cuerda," preguntó, "o poco a poco?"

 

"No ocurre de repente," dijo el Caballo de Piel. "Te transformas. Lleva un largo tiempo. Por eso no le ocurre a menudo a la gente que se rompe fácilmente, o tiene bordes afilados, o que tienen que ser cuidadosamente conservados. Generalmente, para cuando eres real, la mayoría de tu pelo se ha caído, y se te han salido los ojos y se te aflojan las articulaciones y te pones andrajoso. Pero estas cosas no importan para nada, porque una vez que eres real no puedes ser feo, excepto para la gente que no entiende."

 

"¿Supongo que tú eres real?" dijo el Conejo. Y luego deseó no haberlo dicho, pues pensó que el Caballo de Piel podría ser susceptible. Pero el Caballo de Piel sólo sonrió.

 

"El tío del niño me hizo real," dijo. "Eso fue hace muchos años; pero una vez que eres real no puedes volverte irreal otra vez. Dura por siempre."