MOTHER, the light has grown grey in the sky; I do not know what the time is.  
There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you. It is Saturday, our holiday.
 
Leave off your work, mother; sit here by the window and tell me where the desert of Tepântar in the fairy tale is?
 
The shadow of the rains has covered the day from end to end.
 
The fierce lightning is scratching the sky with its nails.
 
When the clouds and it thunders, I love to be afraid in my heart and cling to you.
 
When the heavy rain patters for hours on the bamboo leaves, and our windows shake and at the of wind, I like to sit alone in the room, mother, with you, and hear you talk about the desert of Tepântar in the fairy tale.
 
Where is it, mother, on the shore of what sea, at the foot of what hills, in the kingdom of what king?
 
There are no hedges there to mark the fields, no across it by which the villagers reach their village in the evening, or the woman who gathers dry sticks in the forest can bring her load to the market. With patches of yellow grass in the sand and only one tree where the pai............