百年孤独(英文版)-第28部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


Fernanda　very　tactfully　tried　not　to　cross　his　path。　Within　herself　she　was　bothered　by　his　independent　spirit　his　resistance　to　all　kinds　of　social　rigidity。　She　was　exasperated　by　his　mugs　of　coffee　at　five　in　the　morning；　the　disorder　of　his　workshop；　his　frayed　blanket；　and　his　custom　of　sitting　in　the　street　door　at　dusk。　But　she　had　to　tolerate　that　one　loose　piece　in　the　family　machinery　because　she　was　sure　that　the　old　colonel　was　an　animal　who　had　been　tamed　by　the　years　and　by　disappointment　and　who；　in　a　burst　of　senile　rebellion；　was　quite　capable　of　uprooting　the　foundations　of　the　house。　When　her　husband　decided　to　give　their　first　son　the　name　of　his　greatgrandfather；　she　did　not　dare　oppose　him　because　she　had　been　there　only　a　year。　But　when　the　first　daughter　was　bom　she　expressed　her　unreserved　determination　to　name　her　Renata　after　her　mother。　？rsula　had　decided　to　call　her　Remedios。　After　a　tense　argument；　in　which　Aureliano　Segundo　acted　as　the　laughing　gobetween；　they　baptized　her　with　the　name　Renata　Remedios；　but　Fernanda　went　on　calling　her　just　Renata　while　her　husband’s　family　and　everyone　in　town　called　her　Meme；　a　diminutive　of　Remedios。
　　　At　first　Fernanda　did　not　talk　about　her　family；　but　in　time　she　began　to　idealize　her　father。　She　spoke　of　him　at　the　table　as　an　exceptional　being　who　had　renounced　all　forms　of　vanity　and　was　on　his　way　to　being　a　saint。　Aureliano　Segundo；　startled　at　that　unbridled　glorification　of　his　fatherinlaw；　could　not　resist　the　temptation　to　make　small　jokes　behind　his　wife’s　back。　The　rest　of　the　family　followed　his　example。　Even　？rsula；　who　was　extremely　careful　to　preserve　family　harmony　and　who　suffered　in　secret　from　the　domestic　friction；　once　allowed　herself　the　liberty　of　saying　that　her　little　greatgreatgrandson　had　his　pontifical　future　assured　because　he　was　“the　grandson　of　a　saint　and　the　son　of　a　queen　and　a　rustler。？In　spite　of　that　conspiracy　of　smiles；　the　children　became　accustomed　to　think　of　their　grandfather　as　a　legendary　being　who　wrote　them　pious　verses　in　his　letters　and　every　Christmas　sent　them　a　box　of　gifts　that　barely　fitted　through　the　outside　door。　Actually　they　were　the　last　remains　of　his　lordly　inheritance。　They　used　them　to　build　an　altar　of　lifesize　saints　in　the　children’s　bedroom；　saints　with　glass　eyes　that　gave　them　a　disquietingly　lifelike　look；　whose　artistically　embroidered　clothing　was　better　than　that　worn　by　any　inhabitant　of　Macondo。　Little　by　little　the　funereal　splendor　of　the　ancient　and　icy　mansion　was　being　transformed　into　the　splendor　of　the　House　of　Buendía。　“They’ve　already　sent　us　the　whole　family　cemetery；？Aureliano　Segundo　mented　one　day。　“All　we　need　now　are　the　weeping　willows　and　the　tombstones。？Although　nothing　ever　arrived　in　the　boxes　that　the　children　could　play　with；　they　would　spend　all　year　waiting　for　December　because；　after　all；　the　antique　and　always　unpredictable　gifts　were　something；　new　in　the　house。　On　the　tenth　Christmas；　when　little　Jos？Arcadio　was　getting　ready　to　go　to　the　seminary；　the　enormous　box　from　their　grandfather　arrived　earlier　than　usual；　nailed　tight　and　protected　with　pitch；　and　addressed　in　the　usual　Gothic　letters　to　the　Very　Distinguished　Lady　Do？a　Fernanda　del　Carpio　de　Buendía。　While　she　read　the　letter　in　her　room　the　children　hastened　to　open　the　box。　Aided　as　was　customary　by　Aureliano　Segundo；　they　broke　the　seals；　opened　the　cover；　took　out　the　protective　sawdust；　and　found　inside　a　long　lead　chest　closed　by　copper　bolts。　Aureliano　Segundo　took　out　the　eight　bolts　as　the　children　watched　impatiently；　and　he　barely　had　time　to　give　a　cry　and　push　the　children　aside　when　be　raised　the　lead　cover　and　saw　Don　Fernando；　dressed　in　black　and　with　a　crucifix　on　his　chest；　his　skin　broken　out　in　pestilential　sores　and　cooking　slowly　in　a　frothy　stew　with　bubbles　like　live　pearls。
　　　A　short　time　after　the　birth　of　their　daughter；　the　unexpected　jubilee　for　Colonel　Aureliano；　Buendía；　ordered　by　the　government　to　celebrate　another　anniversary　of　the　Treaty　of　Neerlandia；　was　announced。　It　was　a　decision　so　out　of　line　with　official　policy　that　the　colonel　spoke　out　violently　against　it　and　rejected　the　homage。　“It’s　the　first　time　I’ve　ever　heard　of　the　word　‘jubilee；？？he　said。　“But　whatever　it　means；　it　has　to　be　a　trick。？The　small　goldsmith　shop　was　filled　with　emissaries。　Much　older　and　more　solemn；　the　lawyers　in　dark　suits　who　in　other　days　had　flapped　about　the　colonel　like　crows　had　returned。　When　he　saw　them　appear　the　same　as　the　other　time；　when　they　came　to　put　a　stop　to　the　war；　he　could　not　bear　the　cynicism　of　their　praise。　He　ordered　them　to　leave　him　in　peace；　insisting　that　he　was　not　a　hero　of　the　nation　as　they　said　but　an　artisan　without　memories　whose　only　dream　was　to　die　of　fatigue　in　the　oblivion　and　misery　of　his　little　gold　fishes。　What　made　him　most　indignant　was　the　word　that　the　president　of　the　republic　himself　planned　to　be　present　at　the　ceremonies　in　Macondo　in　order　to　decorate　him　with　the　Order　of　Merit。　Colonel　Aureliano；　Buendía　had　him　told；　word　for　word；　that　he　was　eagerly　awaiting　that　tardy　but　deserved　occasion　in　order　to　take　a　shot　at　him；　not　as　payment　for　the　arbitrary　acts　and　anachronisms　of　his　regime；　but　for　his　lack　of　respect　for　an　old　man　who　had　not　done　anyone　any　harm。　Such　was　the　vehemence　with　which　he　made　the　threat　that　the　president　of　the　republic　canceled　his　trip　at　the　last　moment　and　sent　the　decoration　with　a　personal　representative。　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez；　besieged　by　pressures　of　all　kinds；　left　his　bed　of　a　paralytic　in　order　to　persuade　his　former　panion　in　arms。　When　the　latter　saw　the　rocking　chair　carried　by　four　men　appear　and　saw　the　friend　who　had　shared　his　victories　and　defeats　since　youth　sitting　in　it　among　some　large　pillows；　he　did　not　have　a　single　doubt　but　that　he　was　making　that　effort　in　order　to　express　his　solidarity。　But　when　he　discovered　the　real　motive　for　his　visit　he　had　them　take　him　out　of　the　workshop。
　　　“Now　I’m　convinced　too　late；？he　told　him；　“that　I　would　have　done　you　a　great　favor　if　I’d　let　them　shoot　you。？
　　　So　the　jubilee　was　celebrated　without　the　attendance　of　any　members　of　the　family。　Chance　had　it　that　it　also　coincided　with　carnival　week；　but　no　one　could　get　the　stubborn　idea　out　of　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía’s　head　that　the　coincidence　had　been　foreseen　by　the　government　in　order　to　heighten　the　cruelty　of　the　mockery。　From　his　lonely　workshop　he　could　hear　the　martial　music；　the　artillery　salutes；　the　tolling　of　the　Te　Deum；　and　a　few　phrases　of　the　speeches　delivered　in　front　of　the　house　as　they　named　the　street　after　him。　His　eyes　grew　moist　with　indignation；　with　angry　impotence；　and　for　the　first　time　since　his　defeat　it　pained　him　not　to　have　the　strength　of　youth　so　that　he　could　begin　a　bloody　war　that　would　wipe　out　the　last　vestiges　of　the　Conservative　regime。　The　echoes　of　the　homage　had　not　died　down　when　？rsula　knocked　at　the　workshop　door。
　　　“Don’t　bother　me；？he　said。　“I’m　busy。？
　　　“Open　up；？？rsula　insisted　in　a　normal　voice。　“This　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　celebration。？
　　　Then　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　took　down　the　bar　and　saw　at　the　door　seventeen　men　of　the　most　varied　appearance；　of　all　types　and　colors；　but　all　with　a　solitary　air　that　would　have　been　enough　to　identify　them　anywhere　on　earth。　They　were　his　sons。　Without　any　previous　agreement；　without　knowing　each　other；　they　had　arrived　from　the　most　distant　corners　of　the　coast；　captivated　by　the　talk　of　the　jubilee。　They　all　bore　with　pride　the　name　Aureliano　and　the　last　name　of　their　mothers。　The　three　days　that　they　stayed　in　the　house；　to　the　satisfaction　of　？rsula　and　the　scandal　of　Fernanda；　were　like　a　state　war。　Amaranta　searched　among　old　papers　for　the　ledger　where　？rsula　had　written　down　the　names　and　birth　and　baptism　dates　of　all　of　them；　and　beside　the　space　for　each　one　she　added　his　present　address。　That　list　could　well　have　served　as　a　recapitulation　of　twenty　years　of　war。　From　it　the　nocturnal　itinerary　of　the　colonel　from　the　dawn　he　left　Macondo　at　the　head　of　twentyone　men　on　his　way　to　a　fanciful　rebellion　until　he　returned　for　the　last　time　wrapped　in　a　blanket　stiff　with　blood　could　have　been　reconstructed。　Aureliano　Segundo　did　not　let　the　chance　go　by　to　regale　his　cousins　with　a　thunderous　champagne　and　accordion　party　that　was　interpreted　as　a　tardy　adjustment　of　accounts　with　the　carnival；　which　went　awry　because　of　the　jubilee。　They　smashed　half　of　the　dishes；　they　destroyed　the　rose　bushes　as　they　chased　a　bull　they　were　trying　to　hogtie；　they　killed　the　hens　by　shooting　them；　they　made　Amaranta　dance　the　sad　waltzes　of　Pietro　Crespi；　they　got　Remedios　the　Beauty　to　put　on　a　pair　of　men’s　pants　and　climb　a　greased　pole；　and　in　the　dining　room　they　turned　loose　a　pig　daubed　with　lard；　which　prostrated　Fernanda；　but　no　one　regretted　the　destruction　because　the　house　shook　with　a　healthy　earthquake。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　who　at　first　received　them　with　mistrust　and　even　doubted　the　parentage　of　some；　was　amused　by　their　wildness；　and　before　they　left　he　gave　each　one　a　little　gold　fish。　Even　the　withdrawn　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo　offered　them　an　afternoon　of　cockfights；　which　was　at　the　point　of　ending　in　tragedy　because　several　of　the　Aurelianos　were　so　expert　in　matters　of　the　cockpit　that　they　spotted　Father　Antonio　Isabel’s　tricks　at　once。　Aureliano　Segundo；　who　saw　the　limitless　prospect　of　wild　times　offered　by　those　mad　relatives；　decided　that　they　should　all　stay　and　work　for　him。　The　only　one　who　accepted　was　Aureliano　Triste；　a　big　mulatto　with　the　drive　and　explorer’s　spirit　of　his　grandfather。　He　had　already　tested　his　fortune　in　half　the　world　and　it　did　not　matter　to　him　where　he　stayed。　The　others；　even　though　they　were　unmarried；　considered　their　destinies　established。　They　were　all　skillful　craftsmen；　the　men　of　their　houses；　peaceloving　people。　The　Ash　Wednesday　before　they　went　back　to　scatter　out　along　the　coast；　Amaranta　got　them　to　put　on　Sunday　clothes　and　acpany　her　to　church。　More　amused　than　devout；　they　let　themselves　be　led　to　the　altar　rail　where　Father　Antonio　Isabel　made　the　sign　of　the　cross　in　ashes　on　them。　Back　at　the　house；　when　the　youngest　tried　to　clean　his　forehead；　he　discovered　that　the　mark　was　indelible　and　so　were　those　of　his　brothers。　They　tried　soap　and　water；　earth　and　a　scrubbing　brush；　and　lastly　a　pumice　stone　and　lye；　but　they　could　not　remove　the　crosses。　On　the　other　hand；　Amaranta　and　the　others　who　had　gone　to　mass　took　it　off　without　any　trouble。　“It’s　better　that　way；？？rsula　stated　as　she　said　goodbye　to　them。　“From　now　on　everyone　will　know　who　you　are。？They　went　off　in　a　troop；　preceded　by　a　band　of　musicians　and　shooting　off　fireworks；　and　they　left　behind　in　the　town　an　impression　that　the　Buendía　line　had　enough　seed　for　many　centuries。　Aureliano　Triste；　with　the　cross　of　ashes　on　his　forehead；　set　up　on　the　edge　of　town　the　ice　factory　that　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　had　dreamed　of　in　his　inventive　delirium。
　　　Some　months　after　his　arrival；　when　he　was　already　wellknown　and　wellliked；　Aureliano　Triste　went　about　looking　for　a　house　so　that　he　could　send　for　his　mother　and　an　unmarried　sister　（who　was　not　the　colonel’s　daughter）；　and　he　became　interested　in　the　rundown　big　house　that　looked　abandoned　on　a　corner　of　the　square。　He　asked　who　owned　it。　Someone　told　him　that　it　did　not　belong　to　anyone；　that　in　former　times　a　solitary　widow　who　fed　on　earth　and　whitewash　from　the　walls　had　lived　there；　and　that　in　her　last　years　she　was　seen　only　twice　on　the　street　with　a　hat　of　tiny　artificial　flowers　and　shoes　the　color　of　old　silver　when　she　crossed　the　square　to　the　post　office　to　mail　a　letter　to　the　Bishop。　They　told　him　that　her　only　panion　was　a　pitiless　servant　woman　who　killed　dogs　and　cats　and　any　animal　that　got　into　the　house　and　threw　their　corpses　into　the　middle　of　the　street　in　order　to　annoy　people　with　the　rotten　stench。　So　much　time　had　passed　since　the　sun　had　mummified　the　empty　skin　of　the　last　animal　that　everybody　took　it　for　granted　that　the　lady　of　the　house　and　the　maid　had　died　long　before　the　wars　were　over；　and　that　if　the　house　was　still　standing　it　was　because　in　recent　years　there　had　not　been　a　rough　winter　or　destructive　wind。　The　hinges　had　crumbled　with　rust；　the　doors　were　held　up　only　by　clouds　of　cobwebs；　the　windows　were　soldered　shut　by　dampness；　and　the　floor　was　broken　by　grass　and　wildflowers　and　in　the　cracks　lizards　and　all　manner　of　vermin　had　their　nests；　all　of　which　seemed　to　confirm　the　notion　that　there　had　not　been　a　human　being　there　for　at　least　half　a　century。　The　impulsive　Aureliano　Triste　did　not　need　such　proof　to　proceed。　He　pushed　on　the　main　door　with　his　shoulder　and　the　wormeaten　wooden　frame　fell　down　noiselessly　amid　a　dull　cataclysm　of　dust　and　termite　nests。　Aureliano　Triste　stood　on　the　threshold　waiting　for　the　dust　to　clear　and　then　he　saw　in　the　center　of　the　room　the　squalid　woman；　still　dressed　in　clothing　of　the　past　century；　with　a　few　yellow　threads　on　her　bald　head；　and　with　two　large　eyes；　still　beautiful；　in　which　the　last　stars　of　hope　had　gone　out；　and　the　skin　of　her　face　was　wrinkled　by　the　aridity　of　solitude。　Shaken　by　that　vision　from　another　world；　Aureliano　Triste　barely　noticed　that　the　woman　was　aiming　an　antiquated　pistol　at　him。
　　　“I　beg　your　pardon；？he　murmured。
　　　She　remained　motionless　in　the　center　of　the　room　filled　with　knickknacks；　examining　inch　by　inch　the　giant　with　square　shoulders　and　with　a　tattoo　of　ashes　on　his　forehead；　and　through　the　haze　of　dust　she　saw　him　in　the　haze　of　other　times　with　a　doublebarreled　shotgun　on　his　shoulder　and　a　string　of　rabbits　in　his　hand。
　　　“For　the　love　of　God；？she　said　in　a　low　voice；　it’s　not　right　for　them　to　e　to　me　with　that　memory　now。？
　　　“I　want　to　rent　the　house；？Aureliano　Triste　said。
　　　The　woman　then　raised　the　pistol；　aiming　with　a　firm　wrist　at　the　cross　of　ashes；　and　she　held　the　trigger　with　a　determination　against　which　there　was　no　appeal。
　　　“Get　out；？she　ordered。
　　　That　night　at　dinner　Aureliano　Triste　told　the　family　about　the　episode　and　？rsula　wept　with　consternation。　“Holy　God！？she　exclaimed；　clutching　her　head　with　her　hands。　“She’s　still　alive！？Time；　wars；　the　countless　everyday　disasters　had　made　her　fet　about　Rebeca。　The　only　one　who　had　not　lost　for　a　single　minute　the　awareness　that　she　was　alive　and　rotting　in　her　wormhole　was　the　implacable　and　aging　Amaranta。　She　thought　of　her　at　dawn；　when　the　ice　of　her　heart　awakened　her　in　her　solitary　bed；　and　she　thought　of　her　when　she　soaped　her　withered　breasts　and　her　lean　stomach；　and　when　she　put　on　the　white　stiffstarched　petticoats　and　corsets　of　old　age；　and　when　she　changed　the　black　bandage　of　terrible　expiation　on　her　hand。　Always；　at　every　moment；　asleep　and　awake；　during　the　most　sublime　and　most　abject　moments；　Amaranta　thought　about　Rebeca；　because　solitude　had　made　a　selection　in　her　memory　and　had　burned　the　dimming　piles　of　nostalgic　waste　that　life　had　accumulated　in　her　heart；　and　had　purified；　magnified　and　eternalized　the　others；　the　most　bitter　ones。　Remedios　the　Beauty　knew　about　Rebeca’s　existence　from　her。　Every　tim