The sun was setting, and over the eastern sky was flung a heavy curtain of clouds.

A dry wind shook the tree-tops and made the bamboo clumps creak.

Ibarra went bareheaded, but no tear wet his eyes nor did any sigh escape from his breast.

He moved as if fleeing from something, perhaps the shade of his father, perhaps the approaching storm.

He crossed through the town to the outskirts on the opposite side and turned toward the old house which he had not entered for so many years.