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

Five women and one 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.
They'd been waiting for him, for a long time already, for years, always the same story, and they never thought they'd see him alive again, they despaired of ever hearing from him again, no letters, postcards either, never, no signs that could reassure or definitively make them give up waiting.

Today, will they finally get a few words, the life they dreamed of, get the truth? We struggle once again, the last, to share the spoils of love, we wrest exclusive tenderness from each other. We'd like to know.