Status Updates From Autobiography of Cotton: A ...

The light, that strange light I am trying to describe, was falling softly but directly on the eucalyptus leaves and the colorful flowers of the bougainvillea to then filter weightlessly through the windows of the Registro Civil and, once inside, fall on the shining black hair and dark complexions, on the wooden floor and the uncomfortable chairs.

And on a chair at the edge of the room, death observed everything with its white face. Unmoving and white, black, violet, purple death. This is the opening scene of Human Mourning.

I’m reading the English translation, but it is not appearing in the database, so this is a placeholder for my reading dates.