One Hundred Years of Solitude

who was still singing the
mournful sunset psalms in the
door of his house. Aureliano
would talk to him in the
tortured Papiamento that he
had learned in a few weeks
and sometimes he would
share his chicken-head soup,
prepared by the great-
granddaughter, with him. She
was a large black woman
with solid bones, the hips of a
mare, teats like live melons,
and a round and perfect head