Nothing about the rooster deserved resentment. And he proposed his formula. Then he returned to the house. The woman got out from under the mosquito netting and went to the hammock. His wife was awake when he returned to the bedroom. She kept the money under the mattress, knotted into the corner of a handkerchief. Everyone knows that he is waiting in vain, but he refuses to face reality, even though, deep in his heart, he knows that the letter will never arrive.
He found Agustin's companions sitting in the doorway. The colonel shook the dust off the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. At last she put the bomb on the little mantel with the prints on it, and fixed her syrup-colored eyes on the syrup-colored eyes of the colonel. The sun advanced toward the center of the tiny room, which was built of unsanded boards. He saw himself with his wife and his son watching under an umbrella a show which was not interrupted despite the rain. The colonel's wife counted twelve bells. She glowered in the animal's direction.
It seems like the guy writes a script out of everything, even his laundry list. You can see the time in the dark. The doctor received his mail with the packet of newspapers. He spent the whole morning in the tailor shop. He answered that he was.
When she finished her coffee, she was still thinking about the dead man. He asked after the health of the asthmatic. But this time he didn't concentrate. Then he took a little hypodermic syringe wrapped in cotton out of the drawer. The woman slammed the door. The postmaster opened the bag.
No One Writes to the Colonel Spanish: El coronel no tiene quien le escriba is a 1999 Spanish-language film directed by Arturo Ripstein. It was still raining when the launches whistled. He dusted off his hand and turned a meaningful look on the colonel. Then he wrote on a second sheet down to the middle, and he signed it. Then Sabas finished opening the door. Well, first, they should have kept the magical realism in, it would have been more cinematic. He wrote an asterisk and noted in the margin, 'acquired rights.
His wife cut his hair. Sabas dried his neck with a handkerchief soaked in lavender. Fernando Luján and Marisa Paredes give us outstanding performances as the colonel and his wife. Following the game over his shoulder, the colonel observed that the eleven turned up four times in nine spins. His indolent way of moving exasperated the colonel. He was a young physician with his 'skull covered by sleek black hair. He continued home, self-absorbed, still hearing scattered voices, as if the remnants of the ovation in the pit were pursuing him.
She mouthed prayers until a little after curfew. The runtime of No One Writes to the Colonel is 118 minutes 01 hours 58 minutes. Reviewed at Centro de Capacitacion Cinematografica, Mexico City, April 29, 1999. He went out into the patio and headed for the privy through the barely audible whispers and the dark odors of winter. This time, too, she persuaded him. They looked at each other without blinking.
They said good morning, and they sat down to eat in silence. If you wait for the big things, you can wait for the little ones. On the roof, tied to the boat's smokestacks and protected by an oilcloth, he spied the mailbag. The cock is now the warrior who can bring fortune and justice to the Colonel and his asthmatic wife, but his fighting ring is that of the killer of his former owner, Agustin. When he went to turn off the lamp, he realized that his wife was awake. He had had time to think. The colonel waited until the doctor had heated the glass tube with the patient's urine, sniffed the odor, and made an approving gesture to Sabas.
He settled down at the desk within range of the electric fan. His wife thought her husband was right. Then he put the lamp on the floor, hung his hammock up, and lay down to read the newspapers. He turned halfway around without raising his hands. The colonel left the lamp on the floor.