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48 - Fantastic Latin America

When do witches meet? In October or April? Or perhaps in the dreams of those who drink until they lose consciousness? The Peruvian Clemente Palma tells us about the night of Walpurgis, a party where witches, devils and other horrors gather to celebrate.

In the comments we talk about the origins of Halloween and Walpurgis, and we close with the Clemente Palma's biography and a poem.

This episode was produced with the support of PRX and the Google Podcast Creator Program.


In 1904, the 32-year-old Peruvian Clemente Palma Ramírez published a collection of short stories. The prologue of this book ends up being a letter that the Spaniard Miguel de Unamuno wrote to Palma in response to having received the manuscript.

"My dear friend: I have just read the stories, which has been kind of you to allow me to read them before publication. I read them immediately with keen interest knowing that you are young and that your father's prestige, my lord Don Ricardo, whose ingenuity we have delightfully read must precede this work. I wanted to see if the old saying could be corroborated: like father, like son, and I assure you that my hopes have not been shattered."

It is said that the letter-prologue written by Unamuno and included in the book of stories helped to soften the provocative and scandalous title of Palma's book Cuentos Malévolos, Malevolent Tales.



Hello! Dear listeners of Tres Cuentos, the bilingual podcast dedicated to the literary, historical, and traditional narratives of Latin America. I'm Carolina Quiroga-Stultz, and today we welcome the unruly Peruvian author, Clemente Palma.

I found Clemente Palma in the book Antología del Cuento Fantástico Hispanoamericano Siglo XX, (Anthology of the Fantastic Hispanic American story, XX century) edited by Óscar Hahn and published by Editorial Universitaria. Palma's short story "La Granja Blanca," (The white farm) is how Óscar Hahn began the anthology. It's a tale worthy of a thriller and horror film, but I decided to look for another story since it was so long.

The search referred me to the book we mentioned in the introduction Malevolent Tales. A book that a hundred years ago raised more than one eyebrow. The curious thing is that today these stories seem perfect for our times, where we are so accustomed to series and films of suspense, horror, eroticism, and mystery.

I find it curious that what today may seem to us a sacrilege to good customs or traditions, is tomorrow part of everyday life. And that's not bad; traditions, customs, as much as language and societies, are constantly evolving. In the end, history always remembers those who dare to think and act differently for better or worse.

I recommend that after the story you continue listening to the program because we are going to talk about the origins of Halloween and Walpurgis, and about the basis of the contest "The literary basket." There are four prizes, and you have until November 30 to think on how you are going to win one of them.

Today's cuento "Walpurgis," can be found in Spanish in the digital book Clemente Palma Siete Mejores Cuentos, edited by August Nemo, published by Tacet Books. “Walpurgis,” was translated by our collaborator Alexa Jeffress and comes in the voice of the storyteller and podcaster Rachel Ann Harding.

The night of Walpurgis is a festival of pagan and Christian origin, where traditional songs are sung, and bonfires are lit, and where it is said that from time to time, some are invited to celebrate with witches and devils.


By Clemente Palma

Translated by Alexa Jeffress

Read by Rachel Ann Harding

It was a Saturday. Students and witches alike celebrate Saturdays with a feast at Hop-Frog Tavern. Do you think we sip sweet wine like the Presbyterians, discuss Plato and Aristotle like the cowled students of the fifteenth century, or talk about Greek art like the disciples of Vinci, Ruysdael, and Rembrandt?

Hah! You're fooling yourselves. We drink glasses full of beer and absinthe, talk about the intimate beauty of our girlfriends and lovers, and scream invented verses. And when the mix of absinthe and beer in our bellies moves the fermented fumes of a diabolic drunkenness to our brains, we smash bottles on our heads and scandalize the neighborhood with the roar of our blasphemes and laughter, of our obscene songs performed facing Poe's bust. We've made more than one beautiful, young, and caste woman shiver in her bed, hearing our voluptuous songs in the late hours of the night. We are the ones who take Margaritas, Julietas, and Doroteas, the ones who make all the love under this grey sky of our gothic town flourish…


It was a Saturday. We had already consumed many drinks. Goetz sang an imitation of the "The Cup of the King of Thule." Henry narrated a macabre adventure. My brother Franz, sitting next to me, spoke of his love for the tavern-owner's daughter, a girl with golden hair as if it had been submerged in my pint of beer. Of my other friends, some sang, some recited verses, played Lansquenet sitting in the booths, flirted with the maids, told jokes to the tavern owner, in short, everyone did something different from the others. We only coincided in doing it loudly and drinking incessantly. The late-night passersby, the beggars and rascals, the irritated and sullen bourgeoisie with tidy lives stopped at the door of the Hop-Frog and looked at us, smiling and curious, and then continued their walk with hands stuffed in their pockets.

The night was black. But, over a neighboring roof, among an accumulation of dull clouds, there was a large, luminous patch, as if a fiery giant had thrown a spark of greenish light into the sky. The moon was about to appear. Indeed, at eleven o'clock it emerged, long and arched. It was pale and cold, as if agonizing, and had a matte and sinister shine like a dry bone. Franz shivered and the girl he caressed said, "Franz dear, are you scared of the Walpurgis moon? Today is March 30 and the magicians and witches are out on the town."

Franz kissed her and, faking disbelief, responded, "No, love, I am not afraid. The Walpurgis only exists in the legends of the ancient troubadours from the Rhine."

"You're mistaken," replied the young girl, "Behind the lace in the church, I've seen the fantastic entourage that came to the diabolic ceremony. The Nibelung horsemen entered a sparkling procession…"

And she went on in a distrusting attitude, seeing in her imagination the procession of phantoms that populate the traditions and legends of the Rhine.

"The Walpurgis! Well, I'd like to see it! What a hoax!" I said, trying to instill courage in Franz, who is very superstitious.

The students carried on singing and drinking. Suddenly Henry stood up, drink in hand, and proposed a toast to the Moon, for its restoration, for it to round out its exemplary face.

"Put out the lanterns!" Goetz screamed.

The room remained lit only by the stars; despite the colors that intoxication painted on their faces, everyone had a yellow hue like cadavers. The luminous caress of the Moon was cold and spine-chilling like the sweaty caress of a dying man. Henry hurried along with his absinthe-filled glass and toasted, "I raise a toast for its pale cheeks – oh cold goddess! – to regain life and reanimate its colors; for the sky to be happy and the stars to be opaque with the glow of the blue moon, for instead of the widower's veil that the dreary clouds surround you in, you don a cloak of light in the voluptuous summer nights."

"Look!" He told me, "Did you hear?"

In front of us on the roof, a cat with hairs standing on end looked at us with dazzling eyes and began to meow. Her head was held precisely over the curve of the moon.

Our friends burst out laughing. "Now that's some plot you have, Goetz" – one said, "for some verses titled THE CAT WITH HORNS OF LIGHT…"

"Did you hear?" Franz insisted, "The cat is calling us!"

"Look, have another drink and let's go," I told him.

Franz trembled with fear, but he obeyed. Our friends wanted to stop us, but we apologized and left bundled up in layers. The animal followed us along the roofs and dragged the arch of the moon along with her, as if it were glued to her head. Franz's teeth chattered. They reached the end of the road. Franz had hoped the cat couldn't leap from one street to another, and indeed she did not jump. But when they started down the next street, the cat, with her spiky hair and a crazy look in her eyes, stared at Franz.

The cat was there with hair raised, meowing words, yes, words that my brother and I understood perfectly: "Follow me to the Walpurgis!" I felt an icy current shoot through my nerves.

"Let's go", I said to Franz, controlling my fright.

"Over my dead body," he answered, pressing against me.

"Well, I'm going. I'll walk you home to Mom and then I'll come back." And I did. My brother went to his bed, and I left. I found it odd not to see my mother nor my sister Leuben.

The cat awaited me. "Lead," I told her.

The animal stretched her tail, which descended from the roof toward me. I grabbed hold of it, and we crossed through the air. The cat meowed happily, and my cape waved and smacked, whipped by the wind.

Church steeples, observatories, tall buildings, we left them all dark and silent underneath us. Those dense, black clouds that we saw from the tavern were the armies of the Walpurgis' assistants. A large group of naked witches with dry, limp breasts who were mounted on broomsticks shone strangely under the green light of the moon, as they flapped in disorganized flight movements. Their repulsive wrinkles were smeared with a mysterious grease covering their bodies.

Oh! how many well-known mothers from our town I saw! Worn out laughter poured from their toothless jaws upon seeing me hanging onto the cat. Alongside me were beautiful girls, horsemen on brooms, monstrously hybrid animals, snakes with the ox heads, dogs with lizard tails and cricket heads, enormous cockroaches with goat hooves, and gigantic winged spiders. The lewd and garish girls, also drunk and naked, went to the satanic party, singing even more obscene songs than those we sang leaving the tavern. Delirious from voluptuousness, they clang to satyrs and men with donkey heads.

One of them was identical, like one drop of water to another, to our metaphysics professor in Göttingen. At times, I felt something like a smack of wind on my face – it was a band of swift butterflies as large as vultures that passed by, or a mob of ravens and bats that fluttered and grazed my forehead with their cold and velvety wings. Each one of the clouds was a guild that went to the Walpurgis.

On one side, there was Lascaro with his company of horsemen, Germans on hunt for the bear Atta Troll, who, with a dart puncturing his chest called out for the black Mumma… the evil witch Uraka laughed, and further along were Odin and his children, the Valkyries who were surrounded by griffons and dragons galloping and making their shields and silvery helmets shine… Bluebeard, the French ogre that affronted maidens and ate human flesh, went along pensively and alone. I saw so many people! Finally, the Brocken Mountain appeared.

There was the Devil – and a deafening noise of dances around enormous will-o’-the-wisps, of wide cauldrons boiling the tiny bodies of infants. Later, a horrible feast in which they ate flesh and drank blood; the skeletons became lackeys and emptied themselves in urns stolen from the tombs… The girls, the monsters, the old men and women, all mixed together, writhed like drunk epileptics yearning for pleasure. The black cat grabbed me by the hand and took me to Satan, and the voice made me freeze because I recognized it when the cat respectfully said, "I present to your Infernal Majesty my eldest son, Silker. My other son, Franz, is a coward, and you already know my daughter Leuben, the young girl who speaks with Doctor Faustus."

I searched with my eyes for my sister Leuben and I saw her in the arms of an old man. I turned and the cat had already transformed and was… my mother. I don't know what happened after.

The next day, April 1, I awoke under the bed. I heard my mother's footsteps that rushed around in the neighboring room, and I called out, "Mom! Mom!"

She entered, pale and puffy eyed as if she had been crying.

"Mom, did I dream it or are you an old witch and my sister Leuben a woman without virtue?"

My mother answered me with a threatening and irritated voice, "You're despicable, Silker. Last night your brother Franz brought you home loaded, but he was less drunk than you. You screamed all night, and neither your sister nor I could sleep."

And she parted, leaving me like someone who has visions.

I called Leuben. "How did you leave your friend doctor Faustus?" I asked her sarcastically.

"I don't know what you are taking about, you boisterous drunk!" she told me and put her gloves on to go to church.

I woke up Franz, who was thunderously snoring. "Hey, do you remember the cat with the horns of light?"

"Come on, are you still drunk? You're talking nonsense."

I jumped out of bed irritated, "You’re the drunk one, coward. Last night you trembled like a nervous wreck, and I had to bring you home, like a frightened damsel!”

“Ha! Ha! For god’s sake. I’m the one who carried you home at three in the morning. I found you under a booth at Hop-Frog.”

“No, no way. Well, yes, yes I was there,” I interrupted him and left him starting at me dumbfounded.

I got dressed, lit my pipe, and looked out the window. It was eight. St. Gereon’s Basilica and St. Mary’s in the Capitol called for mass, and the bourgeoisie, wearing their Sunday clothes, went to church.

The end



Very well, let's return to this side of the Atlantic Ocean where you don’t have to drink to unconsciousness to meet witches and devils. Because every Halloween, we can disguise ourselves as heroes, fairies, witches, and other characters from horror films. But before I tell you more about today’s voice the storyteller and podcaster Rachel Ann Harding, let’s talk a bit more about Halloween and Walpurgis night.

Interestingly, Halloween is not the only celebration that has its origin in pre-Christian traditions. After you learn the origins of "Walpurgis Night," you may end up wondering why we do not celebrate this other tradition instead of Halloween.

But let's start by talking briefly about the origins of Halloween. The ancient Celts celebrated the end of the harvest at the end of October. In Gaelic it was known as Samhain, which means the end of summer. This celebration marked the beginning of shorter days and longer nights. The connection this holiday has with the afterlife is that the Celts believed that in Samhain the spirits of the dead returned to visit the world of mortals. They left food and sweets outside their houses as offerings. Does this remind anyone of the Day of the Dead?

Also, in Samhain, candles were lit to help souls return to the light and rest with the sun god, Lugh. As you can see, in the initial Halloween, there were no references to witches or devils, and the dead were not feared.

On the other hand, "The night of Walpurgis" is a festival celebrated today in northern Europe on April 30, although in Clemente Palma’s calendar, according to his story the celebration takes place a month before.

To learn more about Walpurgis let’s check what the SensAgent digital dictionary tells us about this celebration.

"The tradition, probably Viking and spread by Celts, points to this date as a transition from spring to summer. The festival of Beltane in honor of Belenos, god of fire, and by lighting bonfires they would renew with smoke the villages and their inhabitants. Eventually it was adopted by some for-witchcraft practices, and when the Christians came, it was related to Satan’s birthday."

In truth, the time between the end of April and the beginning of May is the time of the equinoctial transition when winter bids farewell and summer is welcomed. Norse legends tell us that, during this transition, witches and werewolves gathered in Blocksberg at the highest peak of the Harz Mountains. When this Norse folk tradition came in contact with the Celtic traditions of invoking fertility and a good harvest, these festivities blended.

The article goes on to tell us that "In ancient Rome, the month of May was consecrated to the ancestors. It was a month when, in [much of] Europe and Asia, it was believed that ghostly apparitions appeared to be making forays among the living. This caused reactions in society of the time. An example of this was discouraging marriage during the month of may, because during this period there was a risk of marrying a ghost from the Otherworld."

Once the Roman empire expanded into the lands of the Celts, they also added their own beliefs to the already mixed tradition.

But the tale about the intricate origins of this celebration doesn't end there. When the Christian influence arrived in northern Europe, the holiday – like Day of the Dead – turned an agricultural and folkloric festival into a Christian one. And how did that happen?

The story goes that in the eighth century of the common era, an English nun lived in the German monastery Heidenheim. It was believed that the nun, whose name was Walburga, could cure diseases. When she died, she was canonized. Then the day to observe Saint Walburga, by pure coincidence, fell on the same day of the other celebrations that I told you about. You see, over time, all the Celtic, Viking, Roman and Christian traditions mixed and gave rise to the so-called "Night of Walpurgis."

But the tale doesn’t end there. Ten centuries later, another event was added to the already ancient and very mixed celebration. In 1776 on the "The Night of Walpurgis", Adam Weishaupt founded the secret society of the Illuminati in the forests of Bavaria. Today, Illuminati are said to be the ones who control the world.

Well, there you have it, a story that we sometimes think is very sacred is actually a mixture of gossip, conversion, and a hint of mystery.

"The Night of Walpurgis" has been immortalized in an endless number of novels, stories, and films. We find Walpurgis mentioned by Goethe in Faust, as well as texts by Bram Stoker, H.P.Lovecraft, and even Rubén who included in his book Prosas Profanas (1896) a poem where he describes Buenos Aires as a "walpurgis vague in aroma and vision."

How could the poor nun Walburga know that one day her name would be part of a witch’s celebration. Just as during Halloween, there are those who decorate with pumpkins and scarecrows to mark the end of the harvest, so do others decorate with skeletons and witches. And during Walpurgis of course, some go to church while others dance, sing, and drink!


It is time to present today’s voice, and I am so happy to say that Rachel Ann Harding has narrated for us before. Let’s see you remember, she narrated episode 41, a story by Amado Nervo, “The Last War.”

Well, let me remind you about who she is. Rachel Ann Harding is a traditional storyteller and musician, passionate about telling beautiful folk, myth, and traditional tales. In 2018 she was a featured storyteller for the Exchange Place at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN. She is the creator and producer of the Story Story Podcast, which showcases traditional storytelling from around the world. Rachel Ann weaves story and song together to create unique and entertaining storytelling events that display the relevance of storytelling in our lives. She believes that fairytales are for all ages.


It is time for the announcements and news of the day. I have received two more books for the contest "The literary basket," both donated by our friends at Arte Público Press.

The first is Herencia, the anthology of Hispanic literature in the US, edited by Dr. Nicolas Kanellos. This book is a literary map of the Hispanic experience in the United States

The second book is in Spanish. En otra voz, an anthology of US Hispanic literature, edited by Dr. Nicolas Kanellos. This book is the first Spanish-language anthology to tell the stories of Hispanics from the earliest explorations to the present.

In total we are going to give away four baskets of books, three baskets will go to three listeners in the United States and the fourth goes to a listener outside the country.

To win any of the literary baskets, choose the story that you liked the most from the program, and take a photo that represents the story or a scene from the story. We will not accept photos downloaded from the internet. Be creative, compose something that the story inspires you.

For those who are going to participate using Instagram, make sure you follow Tres_Cuentos_Podcast. Post the photo with the hashtag #myliterarybasket and write the name of the story you chose. You can also send us the photo as a message.

For those who are going to participate using Facebook, make sure you follow the Tres Cuentos Podcast page, send us a message with the photo and the #myliterarybasket and the name of the story you chose.

Finally, for those who prefer to participate using email, send us the photo to, in the subject write "My Literary Basket" and the name of the story you chose.

Remember the story you choose must be one you heard in our show.

We will announce the winners the first week of December.

Last, this week I appeared in the podcast Ellas, a bi-weekly podcast that brings you conversations with inspiring Latinas who are paving the way for future Latinx generations. The interview is in Spanish and I am dropping the link in the transcript.


It's time to talk about the life of today's author. This short biography was written in collaboration with Leo Quiron.

Clemente Palma was born in Lima, Peru on December 3, 1872, the son of the well-known Peruvian writer Ricardo Palma and the Ecuadorian Clementina Ramírez. The relationship between Ricardo and Clementina did not work because Don Ricardo’s intellectual and economic interests were in Peru. However, Don Ricardo made sure to recognize his son legally and support him throughout his life. Four years later Don Ricardo Palma, married Cristina Román y Olivier with whom he had seven children.

The first years of the young Clemente passed in apparent calm. He finished his studies at the Colegio de Lima where he participated in the school magazine.

In 1891, the young Palma began working in the National Library under the direction of his father, and the following year began his studies at the Faculty of Literature at the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos.

In 1894, Clemente Palma assumed the position of editor of El Iris, a magazine published by Vicente Delgado. Here the young editor published his first poems, essays, and his first story titled: En el Carretón (In the wagon). During this same year, Palma contributed to the magazine El Perú Artístico (Artistic Peru) and wrote for the newspaper El Comercio. The following year, Palma published Excursion Literaria, a selection of his literary articles.

When Clemente turned 25, he graduated as a doctor of letters with the theses: "The Future of the Races in Peru" and "Philosophy and Art." This last thesis, whose title is misleading, was not well received by the professors at the university. It deals with thorny and dangerous topics for those times, such as atheism, satanism, androgynism. However, with this thesis, "Philosophy and Art," Palma demonstrated the style that would characterize him later, as a controversial and sarcastic writer.

In the digital article "Decadentism in Clemente Palma: Religious, Patriarchal and Aristocratic Crisis in Peru", Ainhoa Segura Zariquiegui tells us that "Clemente Palma was the best exponent of Peruvian Decadentism in the Modernism current of this country".

Decadentism in this case means a deep crisis of values, where one experiences a disappointment in the face of mediocrity and the ruin of the world in which one lives; where there is boredom, disenchantment and almost an admiration for death. It is an aristocratic protest against the senselessness of the bourgeois life.

In this regard, Ainhoa Segura continues to tell us that under decadentism there is a "rebellious and snubbed attitude that shows an exacerbated taste for feeling new experiences, and in this way, moving away from the mediocre world in which one lives. Also, luxury and sensuality are highly esteemed, there is flirtation with death, as well as the tendency to individualism and subjectivity. From the artistic perspective, the theme will be the same: the sumptuous is an escape valve to the insurmountable pressures of the rationalist and utilitarian society of the end of the century. Therefore, Decadentism arises as a reaction, that questions the limits established by society".

So now you see, Clemente was protesting the hypocrisy of the society in which he lived, like a rebel teenager protesting the system.

While "Philosophy and Art" raised more than one eyebrow, the first thesis did not cause any discussion. In "The Future of the Races in Peru," the author examines topics such as the contribution of the Indian, Spanish, Black, Chinese, and Mestizo races in Peru. In some passages of the thesis, the author talks about the future of races and their therapeutics.

Later, because of the fame of his academic dissertation and his opinions in various articles in Barcelona in 1898, Clemente published a narrative work in a commission that had a clear educational purpose. The text, called Peru, described the geography, history, art, and customs of Peru. The writing targeted a young audience in Spain, and employed a fictionalized structure featuring irony, satire, and humor. Here is a brief look at one of the paragraphs in that text.

"(...) In the province of Amazon I saw truly beautiful types of India. The Indian race is already useless baggage for civilization. In my view, Peru must encourage great immigration of European races, virile and active, to give life to those immense and rich regions that it has depopulated, and almost unproductive due to the indolence of the Indian race."

I bet more than one of you is now losing interest in today’s author because of the racist tones Palma uses to describe our indigenous brothers. But it is essential that you judge his opinion from the historical moment in which Palma lived, not to forgive him, but to understand that these racist ideas had been going on for a long time. And that only with good arguments can we unmask them and leave them behind once and for all. We do not build knowledge and understanding by fighting and getting angry.

Let's examine then where those ideas came from. The aesthetic, scientific, and political currents of the time viewed the European culture with admiration and disdained the indigenous, afro, and mestizo legacy. That is why, for a long time, society embraced the desire to appear as white as possible. Now that we are a better educated society, we realize that the culture that originated from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean was not as advanced, precious, or refined as it was once believed.

Continuing with Clemente Palma's life, in 1899, the Peruvian graduated in Jurisprudence in the Faculty of Law of the National University of San Marcos with the thesis: "The religious feeling in its relations with crime." Palma never practiced law, because he preferred to enter into the politics of his country. By 1902 he was appointed consul in Barcelona and resigned his position at the National Library.

For much of his life, Clement maintained close communication with his father through letters. In many of them, he described his literary projects. For example, on March 7, 1902, he wrote to him from Zaragoza: "Regarding the romance that I had left in Lima unfinished, I will try to rekindle it here and correct the infinite defects of form and concept that it has."

In another letter written from Barcelona, he commented on the preparations for Cuentos Malévolos and mentioned other literary projects such as Tía Salomé. In 1905, Clemente returned to Lima and resumed his work as a curator at the National Library. That same year he founded and directed the magazine Prisma and published fourteen short stories. Later, in 1913 he published the second edition of Malevolent Tales in Paris, including eight more stories.

Regarding his personal life, in 1919, in Barcelona, Palma married the Puerto Rican María Manuela Schmalz. The couple had a total of five children – three girls, and two boys.

Between 1919 and 1930, Palma served as a deputy in Lima during the eleven-year regime of President Augusto B. Leguía. But when in 1932, Luis Sánchez Ferro assumed the presidency, Palma, an opponent of Sánchez Ferro, was exiled to Chile, where he ended up living for a year and a half.

During this time, Palma did not stop writing, and it was in 1934, that he published his final novel, XYZ, a science fiction book. He continued to publish other texts and various literary commentaries, and in 1938 he published "Crónicas político-doméstico-taurinas" (Domestic political taurine chronicles).

Clemente Palma's great contribution to the Latin American narrative is evident for his prolific production and his effort to build his style, with a personal point of view about his country. Today the author is considered the father of the Peruvian modern short story and the initiator of fantasy literature in his country.

The Peruvian author Clemente Palma died at the age of 73, a victim of pancreatic cancer on September 13, 1946.


To conclude today's program, I will share with you a poem by Clemente de Palma, which I feel shows the irony with which Palma saw life.

Breaking up

I saw you; I loved you. Your pilgrim image

was engraved in my soul.

You made me understand that you loved me,

and even more, I loved you.

And when crazy from your love I created

a flattering illusion,

you shut the door in my face.

Well, my lady, it's over.

Take your hair-locks, give me back my songs,

and find the occasion

when I can return your kisses to you

because I don't want them anymore.


And that is all for today, with this poem we conclude the second cycle of the beginnings of fantastic literature in Latin America. We will return in two weeks with a story by the Uruguayan Horacio Quiroga; who tells us a story about a passion that in its paranoia takes to lovers to the beyond, from where they try to return to the hereafter. Until the next cuento or story, adios, adios.


Tres Cuentos Podcast is produced with support from PRX and the Google Podcasts creator program.

Tres Cuentos is an exercise of creative writing, researching, and retelling.

Special thanks to ….

Remember that you can listen to Tres Cuentos in any podcast app, Google Podcast, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, iVoox, or wherever you find us listed. Also, check our website

Last if you enjoy the podcast, consider subscribing to our newsletter through our website and sharing the episodes with your friends.

The music and sound effects were downloaded from the YouTube audio library and

The list of credits per song can be found in the transcript.

Thanks for listening, adios, adios.



Palma, Clemente; Nemo, August. 7 mejores cuentos de Clemente Palma (Spanish Edition). Tacet Books. Kindle Edition.

Sumalavia Ricardo, 2006. Clemente Palma y El Modernismo Peruano: La Búsqueda del Ideal. En: Clemente Palma Narrativa Completa I. Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú.

Montoya Leydy, 2019. Clemente Palma. Recuperado de Internet el martes 5 de octubre de 2021:

Warre Virgil. La Obra de Clemente Palma. Revista Iberoamericana. Recuperado de Internet el martes 5 de octubre de 2021:

Zavaleta, Carlos Eduardo. Los cuentos de Clemente de Palma. Alma Mater 1997. SISBIB Sistema de Bibliotecas. Url:

¿Cuál es el origen de Halloween? National Geographic. 31 de octubre, 2019. Url:

Noche de Walpurgis. Website:sensAgent. Url:

Walpurgis Night. Encyclopaedia Britannica. Url:

Poesía Breve. Rompimiento por Clemente Palma. Url:


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