Polygamo’s sexual organ had grown several meters. It seemed like a forlorn, wrinkled hawser bumping along the ground. In his eagerness to conceal how large it was, he tied it in several knots, some of which he already dragged beneath his cassock. A number of women crossed themselves as they passed, quickening their steps. Others, finding the temptation irresistible, looked at him askance. Among the latter was the San Toro woman, who trembled and sighed. A few didn’t notice him at all. The men already stared at him threateningly. He—even when it was cold—was bathed in a sticky sweat. A sweat of anguish, wrath, and helplessness. Several times he attempted to escape from this milieu. To free himself from the urban dilemma. To hide himself in some cave where he could find refuge from everybody and everything. That was the purpose behind his nocturnal walks. He took little clothing. Abandoned his vestments and everything that might identify him as a cleric. Then he’d set forth.
KeywordsSexual Organ Prison Guard Banana Tree Magnetic Needle Bell Ringer
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