One Hundred Years of Solitude

would spend all year waiting
for December because, after
all, the antique and always
unpredictable gifts were
something, new in the house.
On the tenth Christmas, when
little José Arcadio was
getting ready to go to the
seminary, the enormous box
from their grandfather arrived
earlier than usual, nailed tight
and protected with pitch, and
addressed in the usual Gothic
letters to the Very