One Hundred Years of Solitude

his memory began to grow
sad. That process of nostalgia
was also evident in the
pictures. In the first ones he
looked happy, with his sport
shirt which looked like a
hospital jacket and his snowy
mane, in an October
Caribbean filled with
whitecaps. In the last ones he
could be seen to be wearing a
dark coat and a milk scarf,
pale in the face, taciturn from
absence on the deck of a