Colonel Gerineldo Márquez had a telegraphic call from Colonel Aureliano Buendía that afternoon. It was a routine conversation which was not going to bring about any break in the stagnant war. At the end, Colonel Gerineldo Márquez looked at the desolate streets, the crystal water on the almond trees, and he found himself lost in solitude.
“Aureliano,” he said sadly on the key, “it’s raining in Macondo.”
There was a long silence on the line. Suddenly the apparatus jumped with the pitiless letters from Colonel Aureliano Buendía.
“Don’t be a jackass, Gerineldo,” the signals said. “It’s natural for it to be raining in August.