One Hundred Years of Solitude

night. He found Francisco the
Man, like a monolithic
chameleon, sitting in the
midst of a circle of
bystanders. He was singing
the news with his old, out-of-
tune voice, accompanying
himself with the same archaic
accordion that Sir Walter
Raleigh had given him in the
Guianas and keeping time
with his great walking feet
that were cracked from
saltpeter. In front of a door at