I was obliged to repeat the story that I had already told hundreds of times that morning; then I went up to my room to think. But instead I fell asleep, sitting on the sofa, and dreamed that bird-women, gathering in a flock outside, near the balcony, were looking at me through the windows, their wings beating quietly in the warm humid air. One by one I began to recognize them: Lola and Nuria, and other women from Z, although their faces were blurry so I couldn't be sure. The old woman was fluttering in the middle, like a queen surrounded by her entourage. She was the only one really watching me. A gust blew the windows open and I felt her voice, just as the group of bird-women began to rise and clouds came down over the town. Even so, the dead woman's voice made the windowpanes shake. She was singing. The words of her song were simple and repetitive: Avenge me, avenge me, avenge me--dear colleague, avenge me, avenge me, avenge me.

Roberto Bolano, The Skating Rink