百年孤独(英文版)-第31部分

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e　was　trembling　with　fever　and　cold　and　his　armpits　were　studded　with　sores　again。　Six　months　before；　when　she　had　heard　talk　about　the　armistice；　？rsula　had　opened　up　and　swept　out　the　bridal　chamber　and　had　burned　myrrh　in　the　corners；　thinking　that　he　would　e　back　ready　to　grow　old　slowly　among　Remedios？musty　dolls。　But　actually；　during　the　last　two　years　he　had　paid　his　final　dues　to　life；　including　growing　old。　When　he　passed　by　the　silver　shop；　which　？rsula　had　prepared　with　special　diligence；　he　did　not　even　notice　that　the　keys　were　in　the　lock。　He　did　not　notice　the　minute；　tearing　destruction　that　time　had　wreaked　on　the　house　and　that；　after　such　a　prolonged　absence；　would　have　looked　like　a　disaster　to　any　man　who　had　kept　his　memories　alive。　He　was　not　pained　by　the　peeling　of　the　whitewash　on　the　walls　or　the　dirty；　cottony　cobwebs　in　the　corners　or　the　dust　on　the　begonias　or　the　veins　left　on　the　beams　by　the　termites　or　the　moss　on　the　hinges　or　any　of　the　insidious　traps　that　nostalgia　offered　him。　He　sat　down　on　the　porch；　wrapped　in　his　blanket　and　with　his　boots　still　on；　as　if　only　waiting　for　it　to　clear；　and　he　spent　the　whole　afternoon　watching　it　rain　on　the　begonias。　？rsula　understood　then　that　they　would　not　have　him　home　for　long。　“If　it’s　not　the　war；？she　thought；　“it　can　only　be　death。？It　was　a　supposition　that　was　so　neat；　so　convincing　that　she　identified　it　as　a　premonition。
　　　That　night；　at　dinner；　the　supposed　Aureliano　Segundo　broke　his　bread　with　his　right　hand　and　drank　his　soup　with　his　left。　His　twin　brother；　the　supposed　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo；　broke　his　bread　with　his　left　hand　and　drank　his　soup　with　his　right。　So　precise　was　their　coordination　that　they　did　not　look　like　two　brothers　sitting　opposite　each　other　but　like　a　trick　with　mirrors。　The　spectacle　that　the　twins　had　invented　when　they　became　aware　that　they　were　equal　was　repeated　in　honor　of　the　new　arrival。　But　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　did　not　notice　it。　He　seemed　so　alien　to　everything　that　he　did　not　even　notice　Remedios　the　Beauty　as　she　passed　by　naked　on　her　way　to　her　bedroom。　？rsula　was　the　only　one　who　dared　disturb　his；　abstraction。
　　　“If　you　have　to　go　away　again；？she　said　halfway　through　dinner；　“at　least　try　to　remember　how　we　were　tonight。？
　　　Then　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　realized；　without　surprise；　that　？rsula　was　the　only　human　being　who　had　succeeded　in　penetrating　his　misery；　and　for　the　first　time　in　many　years　he　looked　her　in　the　face。　Her　skin　was　leathery；　her　teeth　decayed；　her　hair　faded　and　colorless；　and　her　look　frightened。　He　pared　her　with　the　oldest　memory　that　he　had　of　her；　the　afternoon　when　he　had　the　premonition　that　a　pot　of　boiling　soup　was　going　to　fall　off　the　table；　and　he　found　her　broken　to　pieces。　In　an　instant　he　discovered　the　scratches；　the　welts；　the　sores；　the　ulcers；　and　the　scan　that　had　been　left　on　her　by　more　than　half　a　century　of　daily　life；　and　he　saw　that　those　damages　did　not　even　arouse　a　feeling　of　pity　in　him。　Then　he　made　one　last　effort　to　search　in　his　heart　for　the　place　where　his　affection　had　rotted　away　and　he　could　not　find　it。　On　another　occasion；　he　felt　at　least　a　confused　sense　of　shame　when　he　found　the　smell　of　？rsula　on　his　own　skin；　and　more　than　once　he　felt　her　thoughts　interfering　with　his。　But　all　of　that　had　been　wiped　out　by　the　war。　Even　Remedios；　his　wife；　at　that　moment　was　a　hazy　image　of　someone　who　might　have　been　his　daughter。　The　countless　women　he　had　known　on　the　desert　of　love　and　who　had　spread　his　seed　all　along　the　coast　had　left　no　trace　in　his　feelings。　Most　of　them　had　e　into　his　room　in　the　dark　and　had　left　before　dawn；　and　on　the　following　day　they　were　nothing　but　a　touch　of　fatigue　in　his　bodily　memory。　The　only　affection　that　prevailed　against　time　and　the　war　was　that　which　he　had　felt　for　his　brother　Jos？Arcadio　when　they　both　were　children；　and　it　was　not　based　on　love　but　on　plicity。
　　　“I’m　sorry；？he　excused　himself　from　？rsula’s　request。　“It’s　just　that　the　war　has　done　away　with　everything。？
　　　During　the　following　days　he　busied　himself　destroying　all　trace　of　his　passage　through　the　world。　He　stripped　the　silver　shop　until　all　that　were　left　were　impersonal　objects；　he　gave　his　clothes　away　to　the　orderlies；　and　he　buried　his　weapons　in　the　courtyard　with　the　same　feeling　of　penance　with　which　his　father　had　buried　the　spear　that　had　killed　Prudencio　Aguilar。　He　kept　only　one　pistol　with　one　bullet　in　it。　？rsula　did　not　intervene。　The　only　time　she　dissuaded　him　was　when　he　was　about　to　destroy　the　daguerreotype　of　Remedios　that　was　kept　in　the　parlor　lighted　by　an　eternal　lamp。　“That　picture　stopped　belonging　to　you　a　long　time　ago；？she　told　him。　“It’s　a　family　relic。？On　the　eve　of　the　armistice；　when　no　single　object　that　would　let　him　be　remembered　was　left　in　the　house；　he　took　the　trunk　of　poetry　to　the　bakery　when　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad　was　making　ready　to　light　the　oven。
　　　“Light　it　with　this；？he　told　her；　handing　her　the　first　roll　of　yellowish　papers。　“It　will；　burn　better　because　they’re　very　old　things。？
　　　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad；　the　silent　one；　the　condescending　one；　the　one　who　never　contradicted　anyone；　not　even　her　own　children；　had　the　impression　that　it　was　a　forbidden　act。
　　　“They’re　important　papers；？she　said。
　　　“Nothing　of　the　sort；？the　colonel　said。　“They’re　things　that　a　person　writes　to　himself。？
　　　“In　that　case；？she　said；　“you　burn　them；　colonel。？
　　　He　not　only　did　that；　but　he　broke　up　the　trunk　with　a　hatchet　and　threw　the　pieces　into　the　fire。　Hours　before；　Pilar　Ternera　had　e　to　visit　him。　After　so　many　years　of　not　seeing　her；　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　was　startled　at　how　old　and　fat　she　had　bee　and　how　much　she　had　lost　of　the　splendor　of　her　laugh；　but　he　was　also　startled　at　the　depths　she　had　reached　in　her　reading　of　the　cards。　“Watch　out　for　your　mouth；？she　told　him；　and　he　wondered　whether　the　other　time　she　had　told　him　that　during　the　height　of　his　glory　it　had　not　been　a　surprisingly　anticipated　vision　of　his　fate。　A　short　time　later；　when　his　personal　physician　finished　removing　his　sores；　he　asked　him；　without　showing　any　particular　interest；　where　the　exact　location　of　his　heart　was。　The　doctor　listened　with　his　stethoscope　and　then　painted　a　circle　on　his　cheat　with　a　piece　of　cotton　dipped　in　iodine。
　　　The　Tuesday　of　the　armistice　dawned　warm　and　rainy。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　appeared　in　the　kitchen　before　five　o’clock　and　had　his　usual　black　coffee　without　sugar。　“You　came　into　the　world　on　a　day　like　this；？？rsula　told　him。　“Everybody　was　amazed　at　your　open　eyes。？He　did　not　pay　any　attention　because　he　was　listening　to　the　forming　of　the　troops；　the　sound　of　the　ets；　and　the　voices　of　mand　that　were　shattering　the　dawn。　Even　though　after　so　many　years　of　war　they　should　have　sounded　familiar　to　him　this　time　he　felt　the　same　weakness　in　his　knees　and　the　same　tingling　in　his　skin　that　he　had　felt　in　his　youth　in　the　presence　of　a　naked　woman。　He　thought　confusedly；　finally　captive　in　a　trap　of　nostalgia；　that　perhaps　if　he　had　married　her　he　would　have　been　a　man　without　war　and　without　glory；　a　nameless　artisan；　a　happy　animal。　That　tardy　shudder　which　had　not　figured　in　his　forethought　made　his　breakfast　bitter。　At　seven　in　the　morning；　when　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　came　to　fetch　him；　in　the　pany　of　a　group　of　rebel　officers；　he　found　him　more　taciturn　than　ever；　more　pensive　and　solitary。　？rsula　tried　to　throw　a　new　wrap　over　his　shoulders。　“What　will　the　government　think；？she　told　him。　“They’ll　figure　that　you’ve　surrendered　because　you　didn’t　have　anything　left　to　buy　a　cloak　with。？But　he　would　not　accept　it。　When　he　was　at　the　door；　he　let　her　put　an　old　felt　hat　of　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía’s　on　his　head。
　　　“Aureliano；？？rsula　said　to　him　then；　“Promise　me　that　if　you　find　that　it’s　a　bad　hour　for　you　there　that　you’ll　think　of　your　mother。？
　　　He　gave　her　a　distant　smile；　raising　his　hand　with　all　his　fingers　extended；　and　without　saying　a　word　he　left　the　house　and　faced　the　shouts；　insults；　and　blasphemies　that　would　follow　him　until　he　left　the　town。　？rsula　put　the　bar　on　the　door；　having　decided　not　to　take　it　down　for　the　rest　of　her　life。　“We’ll　rot　in　here；？she　thought。　“We’ll　turn　to　ashes　in　this　house　without　men；　but　we　won’t　give　this　miserable　town　the　pleasure　of　seeing　us　weep。？She　spent　the　whole　morning　looking　for　a　memory　of　her　son　in　the　most　hidden　corners；　but　she　could　find　none。
　　　The　ceremony　took　place　fifteen　miles　from　Macondo　in　the　shade　of　a　gigantic　ceiba　tree　around　which　the　town　of　Neerlandia　would　be　founded　later。　The　delegates　from　the　government　and　the　party　and　the　mission　of　the　rebels　who　were　laying　down　their　arms　were　served　by　a　noisy　group　of　novices　in　white　habits　who　looked　like　a　flock　of　doves　that　had　been　frightened　by　the　rain。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　arrived　on　a　muddy　mule。　He　had　not　shaved；　more　tormented　by　the　pain　of　the　sores　than　by　the　great　failure　of　his　dreams；　for　he　had　reached　the　end　of　all　hope；　beyond　　glory　and　the　nostalgia　of　glory。　In　accordance　with　his　arrangements　there　was　no　music；　no　fireworks；　no　pealing　bells；　no　shouts　of　victory；　or　any　other　manifestation　that　might　alter　the　mournful　character　of　the　armistice。　An　itinerant　photographer　who　took　the　only　picture　of　him　that　could　have　been　preserved　was　forced　to　smash　his　plates　without　developing　them。
　　　The　ceremony　lasted　only　the　time　necessary　to　sign　the　documents。　Around　the　rustic　table　placed　in　the　center　of　a　patched　circus　tent　where　the　delegates　sat　were　the　last　officers　who　were　faithful　to　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía。　Before　taking　the　signatures；　the　personal　delegate　of　the　president　of　the　republic　tried　to　read　the　act　of　surrender　aloud；　but　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　was　against　it。　“Let’s　not　waste　time　on　formalities；？he　said　and　prepared　to　sign　the　papers　without　reading　them。　One　of　his　officers　then　broke　the　soporific　silence　of　the　tent。
　　　“Colonel；？he　said；　“please　do　us　the　favor　of　not　being　the　first　to　sign。？
　　　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　acceded。　When　the　documents　went　all　around　the　table；　in　the　midst　of　a　silence　that　was　so　pure　that　one　could　have　deciphered　the　signatures　from　the　scratching　of　the　pen　on　the　paper；　the　first　line　was　still　blank。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　prepared　to　fill　it。
　　　“Colonel；？another　of　his　officers　said；　“there’s　still　time　for　everything　to　e　out　right。？
　　　Without　changing　his　expression；　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　signed　the　first　copy。　He　had　not　finished　signing　the　last　one　when　a　rebel　colonel　appeared　in　the　doorway　leading　a　mule　carrying　two　chests。　In　spite　of　his　entire　youth　he　had　a　dry　look　and　a　patient　expression。　He　was　the　treasurer　of　the　revolution　in　the　Macondo　region。　He　had　made　a　difficult　journey　of　six　days；　pulling　along　the　mule；　who　was　dying　of　hunger；　in　order　to　arrive　at　the　armistice　on　time。　With　an　exasperating　parsimony　he　took　down　the　chests；　opened　them；　and　placed　on　the　table；　one　by　one；　seventy…two　gold　bricks；　Everyone　had　forgotten　about　the　existence　of　that　fortune。　In　the　disorder　of　the　past　year；　when　the　central　man