I woke covered with sweat. Hot steam
rose from the newly sprayed, red brick pavement. A gray winged butterfly, dazzled, circled
the yellow light. I jumped from my hammock and crossed the room barefoot, careful not to
step on some scorpion leaving his hideout for a bit of fresh air. I went to the little
window and inhaled the country air. One could hear the breathing of the night, feminine,
enormous. I returned to the center of the room, emptied water from a jar into a pewter
basin, and wet my towel. I rubbed my chest and legs with the soaked cloth, dried myself a
little, and, making sure that no bugs were hidden in the folds of my clothes, got dressed.