The plaster is peeling. There is a pile of rubble near the wall. On top of it is a bucket with a trowel inside. There is the smell of damp cellars and rain. She turns first to one side, then to the other. She nods her head and walks away. The wind seems to have calmed down. The sailors say that when the mistral takes a break Aeolus is taking a breath. A sudden gust raises a cloud of dirt that forces me to close my eyes.
