乡村,马托·鲁霍的一个老农场,静静地躺着,什么也看不见。在夜光的反衬下,它犹如一座黑色的雕塑,是空旷平原上推一的一个黑点。四个人开着奔驰车走来。路是挖出的、可怜的乡下旱路。从农场,马努埃尔·罗卡看着他们。他走近窗户。首先看见了玉米地一侧升起的一柱尘烟,然后听到发动机的声音。马努埃尔·罗卡知道,在那片地区,没人有汽车。他看见奔驰车在远处冒出来,然后消失在一排栎树后面。然后,他不再看了。他回身走向餐桌,把一只手放在女儿头上。站起来,他对她说。他从口 Country, an old farmhouse by Mato Ruho, lies quietly and can not see anything. In contrast to the luminous, it is like a black sculpture, is a black spot pushed on the open plain. Four people came driving the Mercedes Benz. Road is dug up, poor dry road in the country. From the farm, Manuel Rocca watches them. He approached the window. First saw a column of dust rising from the cornfield, then heard the sound of the engine. Manuel Rocca knew there was no car in the area. He saw the Mercedes coming out in the distance and disappeared behind a row of oak trees. Then he stopped looking. He turned to the table and put a hand on his daughter’s head. Stand up, he said to her. He from the mouth