A mysterious, sick man in his forties arrives in a remote town, but he refuses to stay in the asylum to receive treatment, choosing instead to stay in a hotel and rent an abandoned house in the town, where he goes up from time to time. The man's life is almost devoid of events except for receiving regular letters from two different "women" who visit him later and stimulate the curiosity of the townspeople to make judgments and draw different plots for the relationship that the man may have with them.
Like Juan Carlos Onte's other books, this novel surprises the reader with the fact that each sentence is formulated in a unique way and ends unexpectedly, as if it were carefully woven to amaze him and provoke him to contemplate how its author squeezed the energy of each word to convey the greatest amount of feelings.
Manifestations of Mohammed bin Rashid
Horses are in the character of Mohammed bin Rashid, the alphabet of language, and the dialectic of primary longings. They are the moment of brilliance in the race, in the context, and in the eternal view. They are a horse in the poetry of the poem, they are the cooing on the dewy branches, they are the curls at noon. We approach the youth of horses and the blink of a poem, and the brilliance awes us, and our ancient history, butterflies spread their sheets on the horseback with the chivalry of the nobles, and the youth of the nobles. We approach, while we are in the field, a feeling, a sky, studded with the verses of the Transfiguration and the spirit of the pure, we approach the horses of Muhammad bin Rashid, as if we are reading a poem by the most famous stallions. Poets, we approach a wild flower embraced by longing in a reddish soil. We approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we are following the steps of a language full of song. We approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid as if we are stepping into space. We approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we are drawing a picture of a star dancing in the sky. Heaven, we approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we are reciting the story of light in the imagination of the pious. We approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we are walking on a carpet of water. We approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we are flying with wings whose feathers are made of beautiful braids. We approach the horses of Muhammad. Bin Rashid, as if we were kissing the lip of the air. We were approaching the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were hugging a rose on the equator. We were approaching the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were lining up the letters of a poem in the style of Haifa. We were approaching the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were crossing a river whose birds were in the same pattern. Eternity, we approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were in the presence of Greek philosophies, we approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were in the original, and in the chapter, the secret in the seismic leap controversy, we approach the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid, as if we were in the Houma and Jaljaliyya, approaching the horses of Mohammed Bin Rashid, as if we were in the hermitage of brilliance and oriental gumption. We approached the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid as if we were in the cloud’s sheath and the generous miniatures of abundance. We approached the horses of Mohammed bin Rashid as if we were in the heart of the cloud, rich in dust.
