STORMTHE SUN had not shone for quite a time, and during the brief greyness, there was an uneasy flight of birds across the clouds that hung low
and heavy. The wind that came from the west was wet. As it licked your face and it carried the smell of riverwater, it made you think that the mighty stream was enundating again, exuding the odors
of filth long buried in its bottom. As the wind blew, the trees would kiss and break their twigs and shed their leaves. Soon these wood sticks and cold leaves would come fluttering down with the
wind. And even as you would feel the bite of wind, hear the whistle of trees, smell the odor of river-water, you would come out in the open and imagine the clouds bursting into furious, tameless
rains.
Tito was not thinking about the coming of the rains. Livi
