One Hundred Years of Solitude

to dry on a line and they
looked more like musical
notation than writing. One hot
noontime, while he was
poring over the, manuscripts,
he sensed that he was not
alone in the room. Against
the light from the window,
sitting with his hands on his
knees, was Melquíades. He
was under forty years of age.
He was wearing the same old-
fashioned vest and the hat
that looked like a ravens