J'étais dans ma maison et j'attendais que la pluie vienne

Five women in the house, towards the end of summer, from late afternoon to the morning still of the following day, when the coolness has returned and the night and its demons have drifted away. Five women and a young man, back from everything, back from his wars and battles, home at last, lying there, in the house, now, exhausted by the road and life, sleeping peacefully or dying, nothing else, back to where he started to die. He's in his room, this room where he lived when he was a child, a teenager, where he lived before he abruptly left them, he's in his room, it's where he's come back to rest, to die, possible, to complete his road, his wandering.