One Hundred Years of Solitude

She looked toward the
courtyard, obeying a habit of
her solitude, and then she saw
José Arcadio Buendía,
soaking wet and sad in the
rain and much older than
when he had died. They shot
him in the back, Úrsula said
more precisely, and no one
was charitable enough to
close his eyes. At dusk
through her tears she saw the
swift and luminous disks that
crossed the sky like an