One Hundred Years of Solitude

was a determination of her
will or whether she had
become mute because of the
impact of the tragedy. Meme
barely took notice of the
journey through the formerly
enchanted region. She did not
see the shady, endless banana
groves on both sides of the
tracks. She did not see the
white houses of the gringos or
their gardens, dried out by
dust and heat, or the women
in shorts and blue-striped