So we took the musicians with us for a round of serenades, and we continued the party on our own, while the Vicario twins were waiting for Santiago Nasar to kill him. It was he who got the idea, almost at four o'clock, to go up the widower Xius's hill and sing for the newlyweds.
Not only did we sing under the windows, but we set off rockets and fireworks in the gardens, yet we didn't perceive any sign of life inside the farmhouse. It didn't occur to us that there was no one there, especially because the new car was by the door with its top still folded down and with the satin ribbons and bouquets of wax orange blossoms they had hung on it during the festivities.
My brother Luis Enrique, who played the guitar like a professional at that time, improvised a song with matrimonial double meanings in honor of the newlyweds. Until then it hadn't rained.
On the contrary, the moon was high in the sky and the air was clear, and at the bottom of the precipice you could see the trickle of light from the Saint Elmo's fire in the cemetery. On the other side you could make out the groves of blue banana trees in the moonlight, the sad swamps, and the phosphorescent line of the Caribbean on the horizon. Santiago Nasar pointed to an intermittent light at sea and told us that it was the soul in torment of a slave ship that had sunk with a cargo of blacks from Senegal across from the main harbor mouth at Cartagena de Indias.
It wasn't possible to think that his conscience was bothering him, although at that time he didn't know that the ephemeral married life of Angela Vicario had come to an end two hours before. Bayardo San Roman had taken her to her parents' house on foot so that the noise of the motor wouldn't betray his misfortune in advance, and he was back there alone and with the lights out in the widower Xius's happy farmhouse.
When we went down the hill my brother invited us to have some breakfast of fried fish at one of the lunch stands in the market, but Santiago Nasar was against it because he wanted to get an hour's sleep before the bishop arrived. He went along the riverbank with Cristo Bedoya, passing the poor people's eating places that were beginning to light up by the old harbor, and before turning the corner he waved good-bye.
It was the last time we saw him. Cristo Bedoya, whom he had agreed to meet later on at the docks, took leave of him at the back door of his house.
The dogs barked at him as usual when they heard him come in, but he calmed them down in the half-light with the tinkling of his keys. Victoria Guzman was keeping watch over the coffeepot on the stove when he passed by the kitchen on his way inside the house.
An instant after he'd gone to bed, Victoria Guzman got the message from Clotilde Armenta sent via the milk beggar. At five-thirty she followed his orders to wake him, but she didn't send Divina Flor and went up to the bedroom herself with the suit of pure linen, because she never missed a chance to keep her daughter away from the claws of the seigneur. Maria Alejandrina Cervantes had left the door of the house unbarred.
I took leave of my brother, crossed the veranda where the mulatto girls' cats were sleeping curled up among the tulips, and opened the bedroom door without knocking. The lights were out, but as soon as I went in I caught the smell of a warm woman and I saw the eyes of an insomniac leopard in the darkness, and then I didn't know anything else about myself until the bells began to ring.
On his way to our house, my brother went in to buy some cigarettes at Clotilde Armenta's store. He'd drunk so much that his memories of that encounter were always quite confused, but he never forgot the fatal drink that Pedro Vicario offered him. Pablo Vicario, who had fallen asleep, awoke with a start when he heard him come in, and he showed him the knife. My brother doesn't remember it. But Clotilde Armenta and the Vicario brothers were so startled when they heard it that it was left established in the brief in separate declarations.
According to them, my brother said: 'Santiago Nasar is dead. I am trying to make the text in digital form to ensure that I am not going to loose any of them. The historical event most relevant to Chronicle of a Death Foretold is the one on which the novel is based. In , in the small town of Sucre, Colombia, Cayetano Gentile Chimento was murdered by two brothers, who alleged that he had deflowered their sister before her marriage to another man the man had returned the sister to her parents after discovering, on their wedding night, that she.
We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Chronicle of a Death Foretold may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.
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