The disastrous experience in the pastureland had repercussions that lingered long after that afternoon. It had been many years since he had seen a woman so close up in broad daylight—let alone a scantily clad one.

Although the profound distress he had felt on that terrible day had faded, the young woman kept coming to mind all too often, as if her image were intent on tormenting him over and over again.

And yet, he had barely seen her. In truth, it was no more than a second—perhaps even less—but it was long enough to behold, in all its splendor, the radiant body of a young, attractive woman.

He slept poorly; after only a few minutes, he would wake with a start, fall asleep again, and then awaken with that sharp pain in his stomach he was more than sick of. He could hardly find comfort even in his liberating nighttime walks, such as the one he took a few days later, which was somewhat different from the others.

It had rained as a result of the intense heat of the previous days. That had triggered a series of storms that had flooded the pastureland.

It was no longer raining, but clouds covered the sky and kept the moonlight from illuminating the paths. The ground was also full of puddles, and he often stepped into them.

So, after one last slip sent him sprawling to the ground, he left and headed into town.

The streets were as they always were, asleep, waiting for dawn to bring life back to those buildings bathed in an orange—more yellowish, really—glow from the streetlights shining on their façades.

He passed the display window of a closed store. There was a mirror there in which he could see his figure reflected in the diffuse light. It was the figure of an exhausted man, anchored in the past, consumed in the present… and with no future at all.

As always, he wandered through the deserted streets, brooding over his memories and lamenting the colossal mistakes of his life: the things he could have done but did not, and the things he did that he never should have done.

After walking through the area closest to his home, he now intended to wander through one of the outlying neighborhoods, a quiet residential area full of trees. There, he could easily hide if he crossed paths with anyone. But to get there, he had to pass through a more central part of town.

And that was the problem: the municipal elections were approaching, and the mayor had to win votes any way he could. So he had become determined to give the streets a thorough cleaning, and every day the cleaning crews went through downtown, the area most exposed to grime—and to residents’ criticism if the trash piled up too noticeably.

Even though it was nearly four in the morning, he found the street sweepers already hosing down and tidying up the streets. That too was an election strategy, since voters did not like having roads blocked by those heavy trucks that disrupted traffic. It was better to do the work when they would not bother anyone.

He considered taking a detour and reaching his destination another way, but that would put him right in the middle of daybreak on his way home.

He looked at the street sweepers again. The crew consisted of a man driving a truck that hosed down the streets and collected debris from the ground with rotating brushes, another man using a leaf blower to push the trash toward the truck… and a woman who accompanied them, emptying the trash cans.

His heart skipped a beat. Why did there have to be a woman there? he wondered. Why had they all become so determined to work lately? Especially at a job as unrewarding as collecting garbage…

He could understand them working in offices. Women needed social interaction, and an office, surrounded by other women, was an ideal place for it. But other kinds of jobs, like this one? It was absurd. Rather than do that, he told himself, they would be better off finding someone to work on their behalf, as had been the case in the past. They would have no shortage of suitors, even with that premise.

Oh well, he told himself. There was little he could do to change the course of the times. Deep down, he didn't care one way or the other whether women worked or not. That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the immorality of the modern world, where women—even in winter—walked the streets half-naked...

He weighed his options: whether to go on or not. Perhaps that figure he had glimpsed briefly wasn't a woman? Despite the long hair, could it be a hippie, or a heavy metal fan? he wondered.

No, he told himself. It was a woman, without a doubt. Although that green-and-yellow outfit wasn't charming in the least, her gait, her height, her ponytail, and the curves hinted at beneath the folds of the uniform gave her away.

He sat on a bench behind a kiosk, his face buried in his hands. Going that way was out of the question, of course. He would have to pass just a few meters from her, and even if he tried not to look, she might cross his path to reach a trash can or do something else. In the fleeting glance he had cast at the group when he first spotted them, she had seemed young. Under forty, for sure. And no matter how much the uniform concealed her feminine charms, the volume and swell of her body, the upper part of it, couldn't possibly be hidden.

The sound of the truck seemed to be fading into the distance, moving away from him. One of the side streets was likely clear by now, and he could take it to reach the neighborhood he wanted to visit. But, truth be told, he didn't have the heart to peek around the corner and see for himself. Not while that woman was there.

It was already four-thirty, and he was truly tired. There was still an hour left of his walk, but he had no desire to continue. He felt listless and drained—having barely slept the day before—and headed home, dejected and depressed, shuffling his feet with his arms hanging limp at his sides.

Upon arriving, he opened the door and collapsed onto the bed without even removing his clothes or his shoes, which were caked with mud from the pasture. He barely had the strength to pray Compline—partly because it hadn't even crossed his mind to do so.

"Sleep, sleep…" he told himself. "I just want to sleep…"