One Hundred Years of Solitude

in an icy sweat, feeling knots
forming in her intestines,
while José Arcadio stroked
her ankles with the tips of his
fingers, then her calves, then
her thighs, murmuring: Oh,
little sister, little sister. She
had to make a supernatural
effort not to die when a
startlingly regulated cyclonic
power lifted her up by the
waist and despoiled her of her
intimacy with three clashes of
its claws and quartered her