百年孤独(英文版)-第51部分

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d　had　a　pensive　air　and　the　sadness　of　a　Saracen　and　a　mournful　glow　on　his　face　that　was　the　color　of　autumn。　He　was　the　one　who　most　resembled　his　mother；　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad。　？rsula　reproached　herself　for　the　habit　of　forgetting　about　him　when　she　spoke　about　the　family；　but　when　she　sensed　him　in　the　house　again　and　noticed　that　the　colonel　let　him　into　the　workshop　during　working　hours；　she　reexamined　her　old　memories　and　confirmed　the　belief　that　at　some　moment　in　childhood　he　had　changed　places　with　his　twin　brother；　because　it　was　he　and　not　the　other　one　who　should　have　been　called　Aureliano。　No　one　knew　the　details　of　his　life。　At　one　time　it　was　discovered　that　he　had　no　fixed　abode；　that　he　raised　fighting　cocks　at　Pilar　Ternera’s　house　and　that　sometimes　he　would　stay　there　to　sleep　but　that　he　almost　always　spent　the　night　in　the　rooms　of　the　French　matrons。　He　drifted　about；　with　no　ties　of　affection；　with　no　ambitions；　like　a　wandering　star　in　？rsula’s　planetary　system。
　　　In　reality；　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo　was　not　a　member　of　the　family；　nor　would　he　ever　be　of　any　other　since　that　distant　dawn　when　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　took　him　to　the　barracks；　not　so　that　he　could　see　an　execution；　but　so　that　for　the　rest　of　his　life　he　would　never　forget　the　sad　and　somewhat　mocking　smile　of　the　man　being　shot。　That　was　not　only　his　oldest　memory；　but　the　only　one　he　had　of　his　childhood。　The　other　one；　that　of　an　old　man　with　an　old…fashioned　vest　and　a　hat　with　a　brim　like　a　crow’s　wings　who　told　him　marvelous　things　framed　in　a　dazzling　window；　he　was　unable　to　place　in　any　period。　It　was　an　uncertain　memory；　entirely　devoid　of　lessons　or　nostalgia；　the　opposite　of　the　memory　of　the　executed　man；　which　had　really　set　the　direction　of　his　life　and　would　return　to　his　memory　clearer　and　dearer　as　he　grew　older；　as　if　the　passage　of　time　were　bringing　him　closer　to　it。　？rsula　tried　to　use　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo　to　get　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía。　to　give　up　his　imprisonment。　“Get　him　to　go　to　the　movies；？she　said　to　him。　“Even　if　he　doesn’t　like　the　picture；　as　least　he’ll　breathe　a　little　fresh　air。？But　it　did　not　take　her　long　to　realize　that　he　was　as　insensible　to　her　begging　as　the　colonel　would　have　been；　and　that　they　were　armored　by　the　same　impermeability　of　affection。　Although　she　never　knew；　nor　did　anyone　know；　what　they　spoke　about　in　their　prolonged　sessions　shut　up　in　the　workshop；　she　understood　that　they　were　probably　the　only　members　of　the　family　who　seemed　drawn　together　by　some　affinity。
　　　The　truth　is　that　not　even　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo　would　have　been　able　to　draw　the　colonel　out　of　his　confinement。　The　invasion　of　schoolgirls　had　lowered　the　limits　of　his　patience。　With　the　pretext　that　his　wedding　bedroom　was　at　the　mercy　of　the　moths　in　spite　of　the　destruction　of　Remedios？appetizing　dolls；　he　hung　a　hammock　in　the　workshop　and　then　he　would　leave　it　only　to　go　into　the　courtyard　to　take　care　of　his　necessities。　？rsula　was　unable　to　string　together　even　a　trivial　conversation　with　him。　She　knew　that　he　did　not　look　at　the　dishes　of　food　but　would　put　them　at　one　end　of　his　workbench　while　he　finished　a　little　fish　and　it　did　not　matter　to　him　if　the　soup　curdled　or　if　the　meat　got　cold。　He　grew　harder　and　harder　ever　since　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　refused　to　back　him　up　in　a　senile　war。　He　locked　himself　up　inside　himself　and　the　family　finally　thought　of　him　is　if　he　were　dead。　No　other　human　reaction　was　seen　in　him　until　one　October　eleventh；　when　he　went　to　the。　street　door　to　watch　a　circus　parade。　For　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　it　had　been　a　day　just　like　all　those　of　his　last　years。　At　five　o’clock　in　the　morning　the　noise　of　the　toads　and　crickets　outside　the　wall　woke　him　up。　The　drizzle　had　persisted　since　Saturday　and　there　was　no　necessity　for　him　to　hear　their　tiny　whispering　among　the　leaves　of　the　garden　because　he　would　have　felt　the　cold　in　his　bones　in　any　case。　He　was；　as　always；　wrapped　in　his　woolen　blanket　and　wearing　his　crude　cotton　long　drawers；　which　he　still　wore　for　fort；　even　though　because　of　their　musty；　old…fashioned　style　he　called　them　his　“Goth　drawers。？He　put　on　his　tight　pants　but　did　not　button　them　up；　nor　did　he　put　the　gold　button　into　his　shirt　collar　as　he　always　did；　because　he　planned　to　take　a　bath。　Then　he　put　the　blanket　over　his　head　like　a　cowl。　brushed　his　dripping　mustache　with　his　fingers；　and　went　to　urinate　in　the　courtyard。　There　was　still　so　much　time　left　for　the　sun　to　e　out　that　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　was　still　dozing　under　the　shelter　of　palm　fronds　that　had　been　rotted　by　the　rain。　He　did　not　see　him；　as　he　had　never　seen　him；　nor　did　he　hear　the　inprehensible　phrase　that　the　ghost　of　his　father　addressed　to　him　as　he　awakened；　startled　by　the　stream　of　hot　urine　that　splattered　his　shoes。　He　put　the　bath　off　for　later；　not　because　of　the　cold　and　the　dampness；　but　because　of　the　oppressive　October　mist。　On　his　way　back　to　the　workshop　he　noticed　the　odor　of　the　wick　that　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad　was　using　to　light　the　stoves；　and　he　waited　in　the　kitchen　for　the　coffee　to　boil　so　that　he　could　take　along　his　mug　without　sugar。　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad　asked　him；　as　on　every　morning；　what　day　of　the　week　it　was；　and　he　answered　that　it　was　Tuesday；　October　eleventh。　Watching　the　glow　of　the　fire　as　it　gilded　the　persistent　woman　who　neither　then　nor　in　any　instant　of　her　life　seemed　to　exist　pletely；　he　suddenly　remembered　that　on　one　October　eleventh　in　the　middle　of　the　war　he　had　awakened　with　the　brutal　certainty　that　the　woman　with　whom　he　had　slept　was　dead。　She　really　was　and　he　could　not　forget　the　date　because　she　had　asked　him　an　hour　before　what　day　it　was。　In　spite　of　the　memory　he　did　not　have　an　awareness　this　time　either　of　to　what　degree　his　omens　had　abandoned　him　and　while　the　coffee　was　boiling　he　kept　on　thinking　out　of　pure　curiosity　but　without　the　slightest　risk　of　nostalgia　about　the　woman　whose　name　he　had　never　known　and　whose　face　he　had　not　seen　because　she　had　stumbled　to　his　hammock　in　the　dark。　Nevertheless；　in　the　emptiness　of　so　many　women　who　came　into　his　life　in　the　same　way；　he　did　not　remember　that　she　was　the　one　who　in　the　delirium　of　that　first　meeting　was　on　the　point　of　foundering　in　her　own　tears　and　scarcely　an　hour　before　her　death　had　sworn　to　love　him　until　she　died。　He　did　not　think　about　her　again　or　about　any　of　the　others　after　he　went　into　the　workshop　with　the　steaming　cup；　and　he　lighted　the　lamp　in　order　to　count　the　little　gold　fishes；　which　he　kept　in　a　tin　pail。　There　　were　seventeen　of　them。　Since　he　had　decided　not　to　sell　any；　he　kept　on　making　two　fishes　a　day　and　when　he　finished　twenty…five　he　would　melt　them　down　and　start　all　over　again。　He　worked　all　morning；　absorbed；　without　thinking　about　anything；　without　realizing　that　at　ten　o’clock　the　rain　had　grown　stronger　and　someone　ran　past　the　workshop　shouting　to　close　the　doors　before　the　house　was　flooded；　and　without　thinking　even　about　himself　until　？rsula　came　in　with　his　lunch　and　turned　out　the　light。
　　　“What　a　rain！？？rsula　said。
　　　“October；？he　said。
　　　When　he　said　it　he　did　not　raise　his　eyes　from　the　first　little　fish　of　the　day　because　he　was　putting　in　the　rubies　for　the　eyes。　Only　when　he　finished　it　and　put　it　with　the　others　in　the　pail　did　he　begin　to　drink　the　soup。　Then；　very　slowly；　he　ate　the　piece　of　meat　roasted　with　onions；　the　white　rice；　and　the　slices　of　fried　bananas　all　on　the　same　plate　together。　His　appetite　did　not　change　under　either　the　best　or　the　harshest　of　circumstances。　After　lunch　he　felt　the　drowsiness　of　inactivity。　Because　of　a　kind　of　scientific　superstition　he　never　worked；　or　read；　or　bathed；　or　made　love　until　two　hours　of　digestion　had　gone　by；　and　it　was　such　a　deep…rooted　belief　that　several　times　he　held　up　military　operations　so　as　not　to　submit　the　troops　to　the　risks　of　indigestion。　So　he　lay　down　in　the　hammock；　removing　the　wax　from　his　ears　with　a　penknife；　and　in　a　few　minutes　he　was　asleep。　He　dreamed　that　he　was　going　into　an　empty　house　with　white　walls　and　that　he　was　upset　by　the　burden　of　being　the　first　human　being　to　enter　it。　In　the　dream　he　remembered　that　he　had　dreamed　the　same　thing　the　night　before　and　on　many　nights　over　the　past　years　and　he　knew　that　the　image　would　be　erased　from　his　memory　when　he　awakened　because　that　recurrent　dream　had　the　quality　of　not　being　remembered　except　within　the　dream　itself。　A　moment　later；　indeed；　when　the　barber　knocked　at　the　workshop　door；　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　awoke　with　the　impression　that　he　had　fallen　asleep　involuntarily　for　a　few　seconds　and　that　he　had　not　had　time　to　dream　anything。
　　　“Not　today。？he　told　the　barber。　“We’ll　make　it　on　Friday。？
　　　He　had　a　three…day　beard　speckled　with　white　hairs；　but　he　did　not　think　it　necessary　to　shave　because　on　Friday　he　was　going　to　have　his　hair　cut　and　it　could　all　be　done　at　the　same　time。　The　sticky　sweat　of　the　unwanted　siesta　aroused　the　scars　of　the　sores　in　his　armpits。　The　sky　had　cleared　but　the　sun　had　not　e　out。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　released　a　sonorous　belch　which　brought　back　the　acidity　of　the　soup　to　his　palate　and　which　was　like　a　mand　from　his　organism　to　throw　his　blanket　over　his　shoulders　and　go　to　the　toilet。　He　stayed　there　longer　than　was　necessary；　crouched　over　the　dense　fermentation　that　was　ing　out　of　the　wooden　box　until　habit　told　him　that　it　was　time　to　start　work　again。　During　the　time　he　lingered　he　remembered　again　that　it　was　Tuesday；　and　that　Jos？Arcadio　Segundo　had　not　e　to　the　workshop　because　it　was　payday　on　the　banana　pany　farms。　That　recollection；　as　all　of　those　of　the　past　few　years；　led　him　to　think　about　the　war　without　his　realizing　it。　He　remembered　that　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　had　once　promised　to　get　him　a　horse　with　a　white　star　on　its　face　and　that　he　had　never　spoken　about　it　again。　Then　he　went　on　toward　scattered　episodes　but　he　brought　them　back　without　any　judgment　because　since　he　could　not　think　about　anything　else；　he　had　learned　to　think　coldly　so　that　inescapable　memories　would　not　touch　any　feeling。　On　his　way　back　to　the　workshop；　seeing　that　the　air　was　beginning　to　dry　out；