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291 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1957
The balconies are forever staring into the street, watching it go uphill and down and the way it turns the corners. Watching the gentlemen pass with their mahogany canes; the ranchers dragging their spurs as they walk; the Indians running under their heavy burdens. And at all times the diligent trotting donkeys loaded with water in wooden tubs. It must be nice to be like the balconies, always idle, absent-minded, just looking on.
In the middle of the plain is the big house, a solidly built construction of thick walls capable of withstanding an attack. The rooms are strung in a row like beads, by some clever architect, so it seems. They are dark, for there are only narrow windows through which the light can filter. The roof-tiles are blackened by rain and time. The three verandas have wooden railings.
I look for the present I’ve brought Nana. Having found it, I go out on to the veranda and there I stand waiting. Presently Nana comes by. I call her in a whisper:
“Come, I’ve got something for you.”
I open her hand and pour into it a stream of pebbles I picked up on the bank of the river.