百年孤独(英文版)-第8部分

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race　remaining　of　the　race　of　the　Buendía。　“It’s　a　mistake；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　thundered。　“They　won’t　be　houses　of　glass　but　of　ice；　as　I　dreamed；　and　there　will　always　be　a　Buendía；　per　omnia　secula　seculorum。？？rsula　fought　to　preserve　mon　sense　in　that　extravagant　house；　having　broadened　her　business　of　little　candy　animals　with　an　oven　that　went　all　night　turning　out　baskets　and　more　baskets　of　bread　and　a　prodigious　variety　of　puddings；　meringues；　and　cookies；　which　disappeared　in　a　few　hours　on　the　roads　winding　through　the　swamp。　She　had　reached　an　age　where　she　had　a　right　to　rest；　but　she　was　nonetheless　more　and　more　active。　So　busy　was　she　in　her　prosperous　enterprises　that　one　afternoon　she　looked　distractedly　toward　the　courtyard　while　the　Indian　woman　helped　her　sweeten　the　dough　and　she　saw　two　unknown　and　beautiful　adolescent　girls　doing　frame　embroidery　in　the　light　of　the　sunset。　They　were　Rebeca　and　Amaranta。　As　soon　as　they　had　taken　off　the　mourning　clothes　for　their　grandmother；　which　they　wore　with　inflexible　rigor　for　three　years；　their　bright　clothes　seemed　to　have　given　them　a　new　place　in　the　world。　Rebeca；　contrary　to　what　might　have　been　expected；　was　the　more　beautiful。　She　had　a　light　plexion；　large　and　peaceful　eyes；　and　magical　hands　that　seemed　to　work　out　the　design　of　the　embroidery　with　invisible　threads。　Amaranta；　the　younger；　was　somewhat　graceless；　but　she　had　the　natural　distinction；　the　inner　tightness　of　her　dead　grandmother。　Next　to　them；　although　he　was　already　revealing　the　physical　drive　of　his　father；　Arcadio　looked　like　a　child。　He　set　about　learning　the　art　of　silverwork　with　Aureliano；　who　had　also　taught　him　how　to　read　and　write。　？rsula　suddenly　realized　that　the　house　had　bee　full　of　people；　that　her　children　were　on　the　point　of　marrying　and　having　children；　and　that　they　would　be　obliged　to　scatter　for　lack　of　space。　Then　she　took　out　the　money　she　had　accumulated　over　long　years　of　hard　labor；　made　some　arrangements　with　her　customers；　and　undertook　the　enlargement　of　the　house。　She　had　a　formal　parlor　for　visits　built；　another　one　that　was　more　fortable　and　cool　for　daily　use；　a　dining　room　with　a　table　with　twelve　places　where　the　family　could　sit　with　all　of　their　guests；　nine　bedrooms　with　windows　on　the　courtyard　and　a　long　porch　protected　from　the　heat　of　noon　by　a　rose　garden　with　a　railing　on　which　to　place　pots　of　ferns　and　begonias。　She　had　the　kitchen　enlarged　to　hold　two　ovens。　The　granary　where　Pilar　Ternera　had　read　Jos？Arcadio’s　future　was　torn　down　and　another　twice　as　large　built　so　that　there　would　never　be　a　lack　of　food　in　the　house。　She　had　baths　built　is　the　courtyard　in　the　shade　of　the　chestnut　tree；　one　for　the　women　and　another　for　the　men；　and　in　the　rear　a　large　stable；　a　fencedin　chicken　yard；　a　shed　for　the　milk　cows；　and　an　aviary　open　to　the　four　winds　so　that　wandering　birds　could　roost　there　at　their　pleasure。　Followed　by　dozens　of　masons　and　carpenters；　as　if　she　had　contracted　her　husband’s　hallucinating　fever；　？rsula　fixed　the　position　of　light　and　heat　and　distributed　space　without　the　least　sense　of　its　limitations。　The　primitive　building　of　the　founders　became　filled　with　tools　and　materials；　of　workmen　exhausted　by　sweat；　who　asked　everybody　please　not　to　molest　them；　exasperated　by　the　sack　of　bones　that　followed　them　everywhere　with　its　dull　rattle。　In　that　disfort；　breathing　quicklime　and　tar；　no　one　could　see　very　well　how　from　the　bowels　of　the　earth　there　was　rising　not　only　the　largest　house　is　the　town；　but　the　most　hospitable　and　cool　house　that　had　ever　existed　in　the　region　of　the　swamp。　Jos？Buendía；　trying　to　surprise　Divine　Providence　in　the　midst　of　the　cataclysm；　was　the　one　who　least　understood　it。　The　new　house　was　almost　finished　when　？rsula　drew　him　out　of　his　chimerical　world　in　order　to　inform　him　that　she　had　an　order　to　paint　the　front　blue　and　not　white　as　they　had　wanted。　She　showed　him　the　official　document。　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía；　without　understanding　what　his　wife　was　talking　about；　deciphered　the　signature。
　　　“Who　is　this　fellow？？he　asked：
　　　“The　magistrate；？？rsula　answered　disconsolately。　They　say　he’s　an　authority　sent　by　the　government。？
　　　Don　Apolinar　Moscote；　the　magistrate；　had　arrived　in　Macondo　very　quietly。　He　put　up　at　the　Hotel　Jacob—built　by　one　of　the　first　Arabs　who　came　to　swap　knickknacks　for　macaws—and　on　the　following　day　he　rented　a　small　room　with　a　door　on　the　street　two　blocks　away　from　the　Buendía　house。　He　set　up　a　table　and　a　chair　that　he　had　bought　from　Jacob；　nailed　up　on　the　wall　the　shield　of　the　republic　that　he　had　brought　with　him；　and　on　the　door　he　painted　the　sign：　Magistrate。　His　first　order　was　for　all　the　houses　to　be　painted　blue　in　celebration　of　the　anniversary　of　national　independence。　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía；　with　the　copy　of　the　order　in　his　hand；　found　him　taking　his　nap　in　a　hammock　he　had　set　up　in　the　narrow　office。　“Did　you　write　this　paper？？he　asked　him。　Don　Apolinar　Moscote；　a　mature　man；　timid；　with　a　ruddy　plexion；　said　yes。　“By　what　right？？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　asked　again。　Don　Apolinar　Moscote　picked　up　a　paper　from　the　drawer　of　the　table　and　showed　it　to　him。　“I　have　been　named　magistrate　of　this　town。？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　did　not　even　look　at　the　appointment。
　　　“In　this　town　we　do　not　give　orders　with　pieces　of　paper；？he　said　without　losing　his　calm。　“And　so　that　you　know　it　once　and　for　all；　we　don’t　need　any　judge　here　because　there’s　nothing　that　needs　judging。？
　　　Facing　Don　Apolinar　Moscote；　still　without　raising　his　voice；　he　gave　a　detailed　account　of　how　they　had　founded　the　village；　of　how　they　had　distributed　the　land；　opened　the　roads；　and　introduced　the　improvements　that　necessity　required　without　having　bothered　the　government　and　without　anyone　having　bothered　them。　“We　are　so　peaceful　that　none　of　us　has　died　even　of　a　natural　death；？he　said。　“You　can　see　that　we　still　don’t　have　any　cemetery。？No　once　was　upset　that　the　government　had　not　helped　them。　On　the　contrary；　they　were　happy　that　up　until　then　it　had　let　them　grow　in　peace；　and　he　hoped　that　it　would　continue　leaving　them　that　way；　because　they　had　not　founded　a　town　so　that　the　first　upstart　who　came　along　would　tell　them　what　to　do。　Don　Apolinar　had　put　on　his　denim　jacket；　white　like　his　trousers；　without　losing　at　any　moment　the　elegance　of　his　gestures。
　　　“So　that　if　you　want　to　stay　here　like　any　other　ordinary　citizen；　you’re　quite　wele；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　concluded。　“But　if　you’ve　e　to　cause　disorder　by　making　the　people　paint　their　houses　blue；　you　can　pick　up　your　junk　and　go　back　where　you　came　from。　Because　my　house　is　going　to　be　white；　white；　like　a　dove。？
　　　Don　Apolinar　Moscote　turned　pale。　He　took　a　step　backward　and　tightened　his　jaws　as　he　said　with　a　certain　affliction：
　　　“I　must　warn　you　that　I’m　armed。？
　　　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　did　not　know　exactly　when　his　hands　regained　the　useful　strength　with　which　he　used　to　pull　down　horses。　He　grabbed　Don　Apolinar　Moscote　by　the　lapels　and　lifted　him　up　to　the　level　of　his　eyes。
　　　“I’m　doing　this；？he　said；　“because　I　would　rather　carry　you　around　alive　and　not　have　to　keep　carrying　you　around　dead　for　the　rest　of　my　life。？
　　　In　that　way　he　carried　him　through　the　middle　of　the　street；　suspended　by　the　lapels；　until　he　put　him　down　on　his　two　feet　on　the　swamp　road。　A　week　later　he　was　back　with　six　barefoot　and　ragged　soldiers；　armed　with　shotguns；　and　an　oxcart　in　which　his　wife　and　seven　daughters　were　traveling。　Two　other　carts　arrived　later　with　the　furniture；　the　baggage；　and　the　household　utensils。　He　settled　his　family　in　the　Hotel　Jacob；　while　he　looked　for　a　house；　and　he　went　back　to　open　his　office　under　the　protection　of　the　soldiers。　The　founders　of　Macondo；　resolving　to　expel　the　invaders；　went　with　their　older　sons　to　put　themselves　at　the　disposal　of　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía。　But　he　was　against　it；　as　he　explained；　because　it　was　not　manly　to　make　trouble　for　someone　in　front　of　his　family；　and　Don　Apolinar　had　returned　with　his　wife　and　daughters。　So　he　decided　to　resolve　the　situation　in　a　pleasant　way。
　　　Aureliano　went　with　him。　About　that　time　he　had　begun　to　cultivate　the　black　mustache　with　waxed　tips　and　the　somewhat　stentorian　voice　that　would　characterize　him　in　the　war。　Unarmed；　without　paying　any　attention　to　the　guards；　they　went　into　the　magistrate’s　office。　Don　Apolinar　Moscote　did　not　lose　his　calm。　He　introduced　them　to　two　of　his　daughters　who　happened　to　be　there：　Amparo；　sixteen；　dark　like　her　mother；　and　Remedios；　only　nine；　a　pretty　little　girl　with　lilycolored　skin　and　green　eyes。　They　were　gracious　and　wellmannered。　As　soon　as　the　men　came　in；　before　being　introduced；　they　gave　them　chairs　to　sit　on。　But　they　both　remained　standing。
　　　“Very　well；　my　friend；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　said；　“you　may　stay　here；　not　because　you　have　those　bandits　with　shotguns　at　the　door；　but　out　of　consideration　for　your　wife　and　daughters。？
　　　Don　Apolinar　Moscote　was　upset；　but　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　did　not　give　him　time　to　reply。　“We　only　make　two　conditions；？he　went　on。　“The　first：　that　everyone　can　paint　his　house　the　color　he　feels　like。　The　second：　that　the　soldiers　leave　at　once。　We　will　guarantee　order　for　you。？The　magistrate　raised　his　right　hand　with　all　the　fingers　extended。
　　　“Your　word　of　honor？？
　　　“The　word　of　your　enemy；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　said。　And　he　added　in　a　bitter　tone：　“Because　I　must　tell　you　one　thing：　you　and　I　are　still　enemies。？
　　　The　soldiers　left　that　same　afternoon。　A　few　days　later　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　found　a　house　for　the　magistrate’s　family。　Everybody　was　at　peace　except　Aureliano。　The　image　of　Remedios；　the　magistrate’s　younger　daughter；　who；　because　of　her　age；　could　have　been　his　daughter；　kept　paining　him　in　some　part　of　his　body。　It　was　a　physical　sensation　that　almost　bothered　him　when　he　walked；　like　a　pebble　in　his　shoe。

Chapter　4
THE　NEW　HOUSE；　white；　like　a　dove；　was　inaugurated　with　a　dance。　？rsula　had　got　that　idea　from　the　afternoon　when　she　saw　Rebeca　and　Amaranta　changed　into　adolescents；　and　it　could　almost　have　been　said　that　the　main　reason　behind　the　construction　was　a　desire　to　have　a　proper　place　for　the　girls　to　receive　visitors。　In　order　that　nothing　would　be　lacking　in　splendor　she　worked　like　a　galley　slave　as　the　repairs　were　under　way；　so　that　before　they　were　finished　she　had　ordered　costly　necessities　for　the　decorations；　the　table　service；　and　the　marvelous　invention　that　was　to　arouse　the　astonishment　of　the　town　and　the　jubilation　of　the　young　people：　the　pianola。　They　delivered　it　broken　down；　packed　in　several　boxes　that　were　unloaded　along　with　the　Viennese　furniture；　the　Bohemian　crystal；　the　table　service　from　the　Indies　pany；　the　tablecloths　from　Holland；　and　a　rich　variety　of　lamps　and　candlesticks；　hangings　and　drapes。　The　import　house　sent　along　at　its　own　expense　an　Italian　expert；　Pietro　Crespi；　to　assemble　and　tune　the　pianola；　to　instruct　the　purchasers　in　its　functioning；　and　to　teach　them　how　to　dance　the　latest　music　printed　on　its　six　paper　rolls。
　　　Pietro　Crespi　was　young　and　blond；　the　most　handsome　and　well　mannered　man　who　had　ever　been　seen　in　Macondo；　so　scrupulous　in　his　dress　that　in　spite　of　the　suffocating　heat　he　would　work　in　his　brocade　vest　and　heavy　coat　of　dark　cloth。　Soaked　in　sweat；　keeping　a　reverent　distance　from　the　owners　of　the　house；　he　spent　several　weeks　shut　up　is　the　parlor　with　a　dedication　much　like　that　of　Aureliano　in　his　silverwork。　One　morning；　without　opening　the　door；　without　calling　anyone　to　witness　the　miracle；　he　placed　the　first　roll　in　the　pianola　and　the　tormenting　hammering　and　the　constant　noise　of　wooden　lathings　ceased　in　a　silence　that　was　startled　at　the　order　and　neatness　of　the　music。　They　all　ran　to　the　parlor。　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　was　as　if　struck　by　lightning；　not　because　of　the　beauty　of　the　melody；　but　because　of　the　automatic　working　of　the　keys　of　the　pianola；　and　he　set　up　Melquíades？camera　with　the　hope　of　getting　a　daguerreotype　of　the　invisible　player。　That　day　the　Italian　had　lunch　with　them。　Rebeca　and　Amaranta；　serving　the　table；　were　intimidated　by　the　way　in　which　the　angelic　man　with　pale　and　ringless　hands　manipulated　the　utensils。　In　the　living　room；　next　to　the　parlor；　Pietro　Crespi　taught　them　how　to　dance。　He　showed　them　the　steps　without　touching　them；　keeping　time　with　a　metronome；　under　the　friendly　eye　of　？rsula；　who　did　not　leave　the　room　for　a　moment　while　her　daughters　had　their　lesson。　Pietro　Crespi　wore　special　pants　on　those　days；　very　elastic　and　tight；　and　dancing　slippers；　“You　don’t　have　to　worry　so　much；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　told　her。　“The　man’s　a　fairy。？But　she　did　not　leave　off　her　vigilance　until　the　apprenticeship　was　over　and　the　Italian　left　Macondo。　Then　they　began　to　anize　the　party。　？rsula　drew　up　a　strict　guest　list；　in　which　the　only　ones　invited　were　the　descendants　of　the　founders；　except　for　the　family　of　Pilar　Ternera；　who　by　then　had　had　two　more　children　by　unknown　fathers。　It　was　truly　a　highclass　list；　except　that　it　was　determined　by　feelings　of　friendship；　for　those　favored　were　not　only　the　oldest　friends　of　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía’s　house　since　before　they　undertook　the　exodus　and　the　founding　of　Macondo；　but　also　their　sons　and　grandsons；　who　were　the　constant　panions　of　Aureliano　and　Arcadio　since　infancy；　and　their　daughters；　who　were　the　only　ones　who　visited　the　house　to　embroider　with　Rebeca　and　Amaranta。　Don　Apolinar　Moscote；　the　benevolent　ruler　whose　activity　had　been　reduced　to　the　maintenance　from　his　scanty　resources　of　two　policemen　armed　with　wooden　clubs；　was　a　figurehead。　In　older　to　support　the　household　expenses　his　daughters　had　opened　a　sewing　shop；　where　they　made　felt　flowers　as　well　as　guava　delicacies；　and　wrote　love　notes　to　order。　But　in　spite　of　being　modest　and　hardworking；　the　most　beautiful　girls　in　Iowa；　and　the　most　skilled　at　the　new　dances；　they　did　not　manage　to　be　considered　for　the　party。
　　　While　？rsula　and　the　girls　unpacked　furniture；　polished　silverware；　and　hung　pictures　of　maidens　in　boats　full　of　roses；　which　gave　a　breath　of　new　life　to　the　naked　areas　that　the　masons　had　built；　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　stopped　his　pursuit　of　the　image　of　God；　convinced　of　His　nonexistence；　and　he　took　the　pianola　apart　in　order　to　decipher　its　magical　secret。　Two　days　before　the　party；　swamped　in　a　shower　of　leftover　keys　and　hammers；　bungling　in　the　midst　of　a　mixup　of　strings　that　would　unroll　in　one　direction　and　roll　up　again　in　the　other；　he　succeeded　in　a　fashion　in　putting　the　instrument　back　together。　There　had　never　been　as　many　surprises　and　as　much　dashing　about　as　in　those　days；　but　the　new　pitch　lamps　were　lighted　on　the　designated　day　and　hour。　The　house　was　opened；　still　smelling　of　resin　and　damp　whitewash；　and　the　children　and　grandchildren　of　the　founders　saw　the　porch　with　ferns　and　begonias；　the　quiet　rooms；　the　garden　saturated　with　the　fragrance　of　the　roses；　and　they　gathered　together　in　the　parlor；　facing　the　unknown　invention　that　had　been　covered　with　a　white　sheet。　Those　who　were　familiar　with　the　piano；　popular　in　other　towns　in　the　swamp；　felt　a　little　disheartened；　but　more　bitter　was　？rsula’s　disappointmen