百年孤独(英文版)-第47部分

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d　gone　to　get　him　at　his　house　and　had　shot　at　him　with　their　revolvers　but　they　had　missed　the　cross　of　ashes。　Aureliano　Amador　had　been　able　to　leap　over　the　wall　of　the　courtyard　and　was　lost　in　the　labyrinth　of　the　mountains；　which　he　knew　like　the　back　of　his　hand　thanks　to　the　friendship　he　maintained　with　the　Indians；　from　whom　he　bought　wood。　Nothing　more　was　heard　of　him。
　　　Those　were　dark　days　for　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía。　The　president　of　the　republic　sent　him　a　telegram　of　condolence　in　which　he　promised　an　exhaustive　investigation　and　paid　homage　to　the　dead　men。　At　his　mand；　the　mayor　appeared　at　the　services　with　four　funeral　wreaths；　which　he　tried　to　place　on　the　coffins；　but　the　colonel　ordered　him　into　the　street。　After　the　burial　he　drew　up　and　personally　submitted　to　the　president　of　the　republic　a　violent　telegram；　which　the　telegrapher　refused　to　send。　Then　he　enriched　it　with　terms　of　singular　aggressiveness；　put　it　in　an　envelope；　and　mailed　it。　As　had　happened　with　the　death　of　his　wife；　as　had　happened　to　him　so　many　times　during　the　war　with　the　deaths　of　his　best　friends；　he　did　not　have　a　feeling　of　sorrow　but　a　blind　and　directionless　rage；　a　broad　feeling　of　impotence。　He　even　accused　Father　Antonio　Isabel　of　plicity　for　having　marked　his　sons　with　indelible　ashes　so　that　they…could　be　identified　by　their　enemies。　The　decrepit　priest；　who　could　no　longer　string　ideas　together　and　who　was　beginning　to　startle　his　parishioners　with　the　wild　interpretations　he　gave　from　the　pulpit；　appeared　one　afternoon　at　the　house　with　the　goblet　in　which　he　had　prepared　the　ashes　that　Wednesday　and　he　tried　to　anoint　the　whole　family　with　them　to　show　that　they　could　be　washed　off　with　water。　But　the　horror　of　the　misfortune　had　penetrated　so　deeply　that　not　even　Fernanda　would　let　him　experiment　on　her　and　never　again　was　a　Buendía　seen　to　kneel　at　the　altar　rail　on　Ash　Wednesday。
　　　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　did　not　recover　his　calm　for　a　long　time。　He　abandoned　the　manufacture　of　little　fishes；　ate　with　great　difficulty；　and　wandered　all　through　the　house　as　if　walking　in　his　sleep；　dragging　his　blanket　and　chewing　on　his　quiet　rage。　At　the　end　of　three　months　his　hair　was　ashen；　his　old　waxed　mustache　poured　down　beside　his　colorless　lips；　but；　on　the　other　hand；　his　eyes　were　once　more　the　burning　coals　that　had　startled　those　who　had　seen　him　born　and　that　in　other　days　had　made　chairs　rock　with　a　simple　glance。　In　the　fury　of　his　torment　he　tried　futilely　to　rouse　the　omens　that　had　guided　his　youth　along　dangerous　paths　into　the　desolate　wasteland　of　glory。　He　was　lost；　astray　in　a　strange　house　where　nothing　and　no　one　now　stirred　in　him　the　slightest　vestige　of　affection。　Once　he　opened　Melquíades？room；　looking　for　the　traces　of　a　past　from　before　the　war；　and　he　found　only　rubble；　trash；　piles　of　waste　accumulated　over　all　the　years　of　abandonment。　Between　the　covers　of　the　books　that　no　one　had　ever　read　again；　in　the　old　parchments　damaged　by　dampness；　a　livid　flower　had　prospered；　and　in　the　air　that　had　been　the　purest　and　brightest　in　the　house　an　unbearable　smell　of　rotten　memories　floated。　One　morning　he　found　？rsula　weeping　under　the　chestnut　tree　at　the　knees　of　her　dead　husband。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　was　the　only　inhabitant　of　the　house　who　still　did　not　see　the　powerful　old　man　who　had　been　beaten　down　by　half　a　century　in　the　open　air。　“Say　hello　to　your　father；？？rsula　told　him。　He　stopped　for　an　instant　in　front　of　the　chestnut　tree　and　once　again　he　saw　that　the　empty　space　before　him　did　not　arouse　an　affection　either。
　　　“What　does　he　say？？he　asked。
　　　“He’s　very　sad；？？rsula　answered；　“because　he　thinks　that　you’re　going　to　die。？
　　　“Tell　him；？the　colonel　said；　smiling；　“that　a　person　doesn’t　die　when　he　should　but　when　he　can。？
　　　The　omen　of　the；　dead　father　stirred　up　the　last　remnant　of　pride　that　was　left　in　his　heart；　but　he　confused　it　with　a　sudden　gust　of　strength。　It　was　for　that　reason　that　he　hounded　？rsula　to　tell　him　where　in　the　courtyard　the　gold　coins　that　they　had　found　inside　the　plaster　Saint　Joseph　were　buried。　“You’ll　never　know；？she　told　him　with　a　firmness　inspired　by　an　old　lesson。　“One　day；？she　added；　“the　owner　of　that　fortune　will　appear　and　only　he　can　dig　it　up。？No　one　knew　why　a　man　who　had　always　been　so　generous　had　begun　to　covet　money　with　such　anxiety；　and　not　the　modest　amounts　that　would　have　been　enough　to　resolve　an　emergency；　but　a　fortune　of　such　mad　size　that　the　mere　mention　of　it　left　Aureliano　Segundo　awash　in　amazement。　His　old　fellow　party　members；　to　whom　he　went　asking　for　help；　hid　so　as　not　to　receive　him。　It　was　around　that　time　that　he　was　heard　to　say。　“The　only　difference　today　between　Liberals　and　Conservatives　is　that　the　Liberals　go　to　mass　at　five　o’clock　and　the　Conservatives　at　eight。？Nevertheless　he　insisted　with　such　perseverance；　begged　in　such　a　way；　broke　his　code　of　dignity　to　such　a　degree；　that　with　a　little　help　from　here　and　a　little　more　from　there；　sneaking　about　everywhere；　with　a　slippery　diligence　and　a　pitiless　perseverance；　he　managed　to　put　together　in　eight　months　more　money　than　？rsula　had　buried。　Then　he　visited　the　ailing　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　so　that　he　would　help　him　start　the　total　war。
　　　At　a　certain　time　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　was　really　the　only　one　who　could　have　pulled；　even　from　his　paralytics　chair；　the　musty　strings　of　rebellion。　After　the　armistice　of　Neerlandia；　while　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　took　refuge　with　his　little　gold　fishes；　he　kept　in　touch　with　the　rebel　officers　who　had　been　faithful　to　him　until　the　defeat。　With　them　he　waged　the　sad　war　of　daily　humiliation；　of　entreaties　and　petitions；　of　e…back…tomorrow；　of　any…time…now；　of　we’re…studying…your…case…with…the…proper…attention；　the　war　hopelessly　lost　against　the　many　yours…most…trulys　who　should　have　signed　and　would　never　sign　the　lifetime　pensions。　The　other　war；　the　bloody　one　of　twenty　years；　did　not　cause　them　as　much　damage　as　the　corrosive　war　of　eternal　postponements。　Even　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez；　who　escaped　three　attempts　on　his　life；　survived　five　wounds；　and　emerged　unscathed　from　innumerable　battles；　succumbed　to　that　atrocious　siege　of　waiting　and　sank　into　the　miserable　defeat　of　old　age；　thinking　of　Amaranta　among　the　diamond…shaped　patches　of　light　in　a　borrowed　house。　The　last　veterans　of　whom　he　had　word　had　appeared　photographed　in　a　newspaper　with　their　faces　shamelessly　raised　beside　an　anonymous　president　of　the　republic　who　gave　them　buttons　with　his　likeness　on　them　to　wear　in　their　lapels　and　returned　to　them　a　flag　soiled　with　blood　and　gunpowder　so　that　they　could　place　it　on　their　coffins。　The　others；　more　honorable。　were　still　waiting　for　a　letter　in　the　shadow　of　public　charity；　dying　of　hunger；　living　through　rage；　ratting　of　old　age　amid　the　exquisite　shit　of　glory。　So　that　when　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　invited　him　to　start　a　mortal　conflagration　that　would　wipe　out　all　vestiges　of　a　regime　of　corruption　and　scandal　backed　by　the　foreign　invader；　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　could　not　hold　back　a　shudder　of　passion。
　　　“Oh；　Aureliano；？he　sighed。　“I　already　knew　that　you　were　old；　but　now　I　realize　that　you’re　a　lot　older　than　you　look。？

Chapter　13
IN　THE　BEWILDERMENT　of　her　last　years；　？rsula　had　had　very　little　free　time　to　attend　to　the　papal　education　of　Jos？Arcadio；　and　the　time　came　for　him　to　get　ready　to　leave　for　the　seminary　right　away。　Meme；　his　sister；　dividing　her　time　between　Fernanda’s　rigidity　and　Amaranta’s　bitterness；　at　almost　the　same　moment　reached　the　age　set　for　her　to　be　sent　to　the　nuns？school；　where　they　would　make　a　virtuoso　on　the　clavichord　of　her。　？rsula　felt　tormented　by　grave　doubts　concerning　the　effectiveness　of　the　methods　with　which　she　had　molded　the　spirit　of　the　languid　apprentice　Supreme　Pontiff；　but　she　did　not　put　the　blame　on　her　staggering　old　age　or　the　dark　clouds　that　barely　permitted　her　to　make　out　the　shape　of　things；　but　on　something　that　she　herself　could　not　really　define　and　that　she　conceived　confusedly　as　a　progressive　breakdown　of　time。　“The　years　nowadays　don’t　pass　the　way　the　old　ones　used　to；？she　would　say；　feeling　that　everyday　reality　was　slipping　through　her　hands。　In　the　past；　she　thought；　children　took　a　long　time　to　grow　up。　All　one　had　to　do　was　remember　all　the　time　needed　for　Jos？Arcadio；　the　elder；　to　go　away　with　the　gypsies　and　all　that　happened　before　he　came　back　painted　like　a　snake　and　talking　like　an　astronomer；　and　the　things　that　happened　in　the　house　before　Amaranta　and　Arcadio　forgot　the　language　of　the　Indians　and　learned　Spanish。　One　had　to　see　only　the　days　of　sun　and　dew　that　poor　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　went　through　under　the　chestnut　tree　and　all　the　time　weeded　to　mourn　his　death　before　they　brought　in　a　dying　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía；　who　after　so　much　war　and　so　much　suffering　from　it　was　still　not　fifty　years　of　age。　In　other　times；　after　spending　the　whole　day　making　candy　animals；　she　had　more　than　enough　time　for　the　children；　to　see　from　the　whites　of　their　eyes　that　they　needed　a　dose　of　castor　oil。　Now；　however；　when　she　had　nothing　to　do　and　would　go　about　with　Jos？Arcadio　riding　on　her　hip　from　dawn　to　dusk；　this　bad　kind　of　time　pelled　her　to　leave　things　half　done。　The　truth　was　that　？rsula　resisted　growing　old　even　when　she　had　already　lost　count　of　her　age　and　she　was　a　bother　on　all　sides　as　she　tried　to　meddle　in　everything　and　as　she　annoyed　strangers　with　her　questions　as　to　whether　they　had　left　a　plaster　Saint　Joseph　to　be　kept　until　the　rains　were　over　during　the　days　of　the　war。　No　one　knew　exactly　when　she　had　begun　to　lose　her　sight。　Even　in　her　later　years；　when　she　could　no　longer　get　out　of　bed；　it　seemed　that　she　was　simply　defeated　by　decrepitude；　but　no　one　discovered　that　she　was　blind。　She　had　noticed　it　before　the　birth　of　Jos？Arcadio。　At　first　she　thought　it　was　a　matter　of　a　passing　debility　and　she　secretly　took　marrow　syrup　and　put　honey　on　her　eyes；　but　quite　soon　she　began　to　realize　that　she　was　irrevocably　sinking　into　the　darkness；　to　a　point　where　she　never　had　a　clear　notion　of　the　invention　of　the　electric　light；　for　wh