One Hundred Years of Solitude

under the shelter of palm
fronds that had been rotted by
the rain. He did not see him,
as he had never seen him, nor
did he hear the
incomprehensible phrase that
the ghost of his father
addressed to him as he
awakened, startled by the
stream of hot urine that
splattered his shoes. He put
the bath off for later, not
because of the cold and the
dampness, but because of the