Novel: Autumn of The Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Over the weekend, the vultures got into the presidential palace by pecking through the screens on the balcony windows and the flapping of their wings, stirred up the stagnant time inside, and at dawn on monday the city awoke. Out of its pathology of centuries with the warm, soft breeze of a great man, dead and rotting grandeur. Only then do we dare go in without attacking the crumbling walls of reinforced stone as the more resolute had wished, and without using ox bows to knock the main door off its hinges as others had proposed, because all that was needed was for someone to give a push, and the great armored doors that had resisted the Lombard's of William, Dampier during the buildings. For oak days gave way. It was like entering the atmosphere of another age, because the air was thinner in the rubble pits of the vast layer of power, and the silence was more ancient, and things were hard to see in the decrepit light all across the first courtyard, where the paving stones had given way to the underground thrust of weeds. We saw the disorder of the post of the guard who had fled the weapons abandoned in Iraq's, the big, long, rough plank tables with plates containing the leftovers of the sunday lunch that had been interrupted by panic in shadows. We saw the annex where government house had been colored fungi and pale irises among the unresolved briefs, who's normal course had been slower than the pace of the driest of lives. In the center of the courtyard, we saw the baptismal funt, where more than five generations have been christened with marshall sacraments and the rear. We saw the ancient vice regal stable, which had been transformed into a coach house and among the Camilla's and butterflies. We saw the Berlin from stirring days, the wagon from the time of the plague, the coach from the year of the Comet, the hearse from progress in order, the sleepwalking limousine of the first century of peace, all in good shape, under the dusty cobwebs and all painted with the colors of the flag.