‘Sounds. Voices. Noise. Songs in the distance: my girl gave me a handkerchief with hems of tears … Falsetto voices. As if these were women singing. Laughter.’
‘In the middle of a village square. The large church bell rang first. Followed by the other one. The pealing lasted longer than usual. A neighbouring church collapses, other churches follow. A cacophony of church bells, one huge mourning sound. People had to shout at the top of their voices to be heard. The odd bell cracks and sounds gravelly. Circus artists appeared out of the blue. Nobody knew how they had got there.’
fragments from ‘Pedro Paramo’ by Juan Rulfo
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