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【分类】双语小说
-[作者: 加夫列尔-加西亚-马尔克斯]
阅读：[3720]
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白得象鸽子的新宅落成之后，举行了一次庆祝舞会。扩建房屋的事是乌苏娜那天下午想到的，因为她发现雷贝卡和阿玛兰塔都已成了大姑娘。其实，大兴土木的主要原因就是希望有个合适的地方便于姑娘们接待客人。为了出色地实现自己的愿望，乌苏娜活象个做苦工的女人，在修建过程中一直艰苦地劳动，甚至在房屋竣工之前，她就靠出售糖果和面包赚了那么多伪钱，以便能够定购许多稀罕和贵重的东西，用作房屋的装饰和设备，其中有一件将会引起全镇惊讶和青年们狂欢的奇异发明一自动钢琴。钢琴是拆放在几口箱子里运到的，一块儿运采的有维也纳家具、波希米亚水晶玻璃器皿、西印度公司餐具、荷兰桌布，还有许多各式各样的灯具、烛台、花瓶、窗帷和地毯。供应这些货色的商号自费派来了一名意大利技师皮埃特罗·克列斯比，由他负责装配和调准钢琴，指导买主如何使用，并且教他们随着六卷录音带上的流行歌曲跳舞。
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皮埃特罗·克列斯比是个头发淡黄的年轻小伙子，马孔多还不曾见过这样漂亮、端庄的男人。他那么注重外表，即使在闷热的天气下工作，也不脱掉锦缎坎肩和黑色厚呢上装。他在客厅里关了几个星期，经常大汗淋淋，全神倾注地埋头工作，就象奥雷连诺干活那样。在房主人面前，他却保持着恰如其分的距离。有一天早晨，皮埃特罗·克列斯比没有打开客厅的门，也没叫任何人来观看奇迹，就把第一卷录音带插入钢琴，讨厌槌子敲击声和经久不息的噪音都突然停止了，在静谧中奇异地响起了和谐和纯正的乐曲。大家跑进客厅。霍·阿·布恩蒂亚惊得发呆，但他觉得奇异的不是美妙的旋律，而是琴键的自动起落。他甚至在房间里安好了梅尔加德斯的照相机，打算把看不见的钢琴手拍摄下来。这天早晨，意大利人跟全家一起进餐。这个天使般的人，双手白皙，没戴戒指，异常老练地使用着刀叉，照顾用膳的雷贝卡和阿玛兰塔一见就有点惊异。在客厅隔壁的大厅里，皮埃特罗·克列斯比开始教她们跳舞。他并不跟姑娘们接触，只用节拍器打着拍子，向她们表演各种舞步；乌苏娜却在旁边彬彬有礼地监视；女儿们学习跳舞的时候，她一分钟也没离开房间。在这些日子里，皮埃特罗·克列斯比穿上了舞鞋和紧绷绷的特殊裤子。
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“你不必那么担心，”霍·阿·布恩蒂亚对妻子说，”因为这人象个娘儿们。”可是，在舞蹈训练结束、意大利人离开马孔多之后，乌苏娜才离开了自己的岗位，接着开始了庆祝的准备工作。乌苏娜拟了一份很有限的客人名单，其中仅仅包括马孔多建村者的家庭成员，皮拉·苔列娜一家人却不在内，因为这时她又跟不知什么男人生了两个儿子。实际上，客人是按门第挑选的，虽然也是由友情决定的：因为被邀请的人都是远征和马孔多建村之前霍·阿·布恩蒂亚家的老朋友和他们的后代；而这些后代从小就是奥雷连诺和阿卡蒂奥的密友，或者是跟雷贝卡和阿玛兰塔一块儿绣花的姑娘。阿·摩斯柯特先生是个温和的镇长，他的权力纯粹是有名无实的，他干的事情就是靠自己的一点儿钱养着两名用木棒武装起来的警察。为了弥补家庭开销，他的女儿们开设了一家缝纫店，同时制作假花和番石榴糖果，甚至根据特殊要求代写情书。尽管这些姑娘朴实、勤劳，是镇上最漂亮的，新式舞比谁都跳得得好，可是她们却没列入舞会客人的名单。
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乌苏娜、阿玛兰塔和雷贝卡拆出裹着的家具，把银器洗刷干净，而且为了在泥瓦匠砌成的光秃秃的墙壁上增加生气，到处挂起了蔷薇船上的少女图；这时，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚却不再继续追踪上帝的影象，相信上帝是不存在的，而且拆开了自动钢琴，打算识破它那不可思议的秘密。在庆祝舞会之前的两天，他埋在不知哪儿弄来的一大堆螺钉和小槌子里，在乱七八糟的弦线中间瞎忙一气，这些弦线呀，刚从一端把它们伸直，它们立刻又从另一端卷了起来。他好不容易才把乐器重新装配好。霍·阿·布恩蒂亚家里还从来不曾这么忙乱过，但是新的煤油灯正好在规定的日子和规定的时刻亮了。房子还有焦油味和灰浆味，就开了门。马孔多老居民的子孙参观了摆着欧洲碳和秋海棠的长廊，观看了暂时还寂静无声的一间间卧室，欣赏了充满玫瑰芳香的花园，然后簇拥在客厅里用白罩单遮住的一个神奇宝贝周围。自动钢琴在沼泽地带的其他城镇是相当普及的，那些已经见过这种乐器的人就觉得有点扫兴，然而最失望的是乌苏娜：她把第一卷录音带放进钢琴，想让雷贝卡和阿玛兰塔婆娑起舞，钢琴却不动了。梅尔加德斯几乎已经双目失明，衰老已极，却想用往日那种神奇的本事把钢琴修好。最后，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚完全偶然地移动了一下卡住的零件，钢琴就发出了乐曲声，开头是咔嗒咔嗒的声音，然后却涌出混乱不堪的曲调。在随便绷紧、胡乱调好的琴弦上，一个个小槌子不住地瞎敲。可是，翻山越岭寻找过海洋的二十一个勇士顽固的后代，没去理睬杂乱无章的乐曲。舞会一直继续到了黎明。
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为了修理自动钢琴，皮埃特罗·克列斯比回到了马孔多。雷贝卡和阿玛兰塔协助他拾掇琴弦；听到完全走了调的华尔兹舞曲，她们就跟他一块儿嬉笑。意大利人显得那么和蔼、尊严，乌苏娜这一次放弃了监视。在他离开之前，用修好的钢琴举行了一次欢送舞会，皮埃特罗·克列斯比和雷贝卡搭配，表演了现代舞的高超艺术。阿卡蒂奥和阿玛兰塔在优雅和灵巧上可跟他们媲美。然而舞蹈的示范表演不得不中止，因为和其他好奇者一块儿站在门口的皮拉·苔列娜，跟一个女人揪打了起来，那女人竟敢说年轻的阿卡蒂奥长着娘儿们的屁股。已经午夜。皮埃特罗·克列斯比发表了一次动人的告别演说，答应很快回来。雷贝卡把他送到门边；房门关上、灯盏熄灭之后，她回到自己的卧室，流山了热泪。这种无可安慰的痛哭延续了几天，谁都不知原因何在，甚至阿玛兰塔也不明究竟。对于雷贝卡的秘密，家里人并不感到奇怪。雷贝卡表面温和，容易接近，但她性情孤僻，心思叫人捉摸不透。她已经是个漂亮、强健、修长的姑娘，可是照旧喜欢坐在她带来的摇椅里，这个摇椅已经修了不止一次，没有扶手。谁也猜想不到，雷贝卡即使到了这种年岁，仍有咂吮手指的习惯。因此，她经常利用一切方便的机会躲在浴室里，并且惯于面向墙壁睡觉。现在，每逢雨天的下午，她跟女伴们一起在摆着秋海棠的长廊上绣花时，看见园中湿漉漉的小道和蚯蚓垒起的土堆，她会突然中断谈话，怀念的苦泪就会梳到她的嘴角。她一开始痛哭，从前用橙子汁和大黄克服的恶劣嗜好，又不可遏止地在她身上出现了。雷贝卡又开始吃土。她第一次这么做多半出于好奇，以为讨厌的味道将是对付诱惑力的良药。实际上，她立刻就把泥上吐了出来。但她烦恼不堪，就继续自己的尝试，逐渐恢复了对原生矿物（注：未曾氧化的矿物）的癖好。她把土装在衣兜里，一面教女伴们最难的针脚，一面跟她们议论各种各样的男人，说是值不得为他们去大吃泥土和石灰，同时却怀着既愉快又痛苦的模糊感觉，悄悄地把一撮撮泥土吃掉了。这一撮撮泥土似乎能使值得她屈辱牺牲的唯一的男人更加真切，更加跟她接近，仿佛泥土的余味在她嘴里留下了温暖，在她心中留下了慰藉；这泥土的余味跟他那漂亮的漆皮鞋在世界另一头所踩的土地息息相连，她从这种余味中也感觉到了他的脉搏和体温。有一天下午，安芭萝·摩斯柯特无缘无故地要求允许她看看新房子。阿玛兰塔和雷贝卡被这意外的访问弄得很窘，就冷淡而客气地接待她。她们领她看了看改建的房子，让她听了听自动钢琴的乐曲，拿柠檬水和饼干款待她。安芭萝教导她们如何保持自己的尊严、魅力和良好的风度，这给了乌苏娜深刻的印象，尽管乌苏娜在房间里只呆了几分钟。两小时以后，谈话就要结束时，安芭萝利用阿玛兰塔刹那间心神分散的机会，交给雷贝卡一封信。雷贝卡晃眼一看信封上“亲爱的雷贝卡·布恩蒂亚小姐”这个称呼，发现规整的字体、绿色的墨水、漂亮的笔迹，都跟钢琴说明书一样，就用指尖把信摺好，藏到怀里，同时望着安芭萝·摩斯柯特，她的眼神表露了无穷的感谢，仿佛默默地答应跟对方做一辈子的密友。
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安芭萝·摩斯柯特和雷贝卡之间突然产生的友谊，在奥雷连诺心中激起了希望。他仍在苦苦地想念小姑娘雷麦黛丝，可是没有见到她的机会。他跟自己最亲密的朋友马格尼菲柯·维期巴尔和格林列尔多·马克斯（都是马孔多建村者的儿子，名字和父亲相同）一起在镇上溜达时，用渴望的目光在缝纫店里找她，只是发现了她的几个姐姐。安芭萝·摩斯柯特出现在他的家里，就是一个预兆。“她一定会跟安芭萝一块儿来的，”奥雷连诺低声自语，“一定。”他怀着那样的信心多次叨咕这几个字儿，以致有一天下午，他在作坊里装配小金鱼首饰时，忽然相信雷麦黛丝已经响应他的召唤。的确，过了一会儿，他就听到一个孩子的声音；他举眼一看，看见门口的一个姑娘，他的心都惊得缩紧了；这姑娘穿着粉红色玻璃纱衣服和白鞋子。
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“不能到里面去，雷麦黛丝，”安芭萝·摩斯柯特从廊子上叫道。“人家正在干活。”
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然而，奥雷连诺不让姑娘有时间回答，就把链条穿着嘴巴的小金鱼举到空中，说道：
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“进来。”
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雷麦黛丝走了进去，问了问有关金鱼的什么，可是奥雷连诺突然喘不过气，无法回答她的问题。他想永远呆在这个皮肤细嫩的姑娘身边，经常看见这对绿宝石似的眼睛，常常听到这种声音；对于每个问题，这声音都要尊敬地添上“先生”二字，仿佛对待亲父亲一样。梅尔加德斯坐在角落里的桌子旁边，正在潦草地画些难以理解的符号。奥雷连诺讨厌他。他刚要雷麦黛丝把小金鱼拿去作纪念，小姑娘就吓得跑出了作坊。这天下午，奥雷连诺失去了潜在的耐心，他是一直怀着这种耐心伺机跟她相见的。他放下了工作。他多次专心致志地拼命努力，希望再把雷麦黛丝叫来，可她不听。他在她姐姐的缝纫店里找她，在她家的窗帘后面找她，在她父亲的办公室里找她，可是只能在自己心中想到她的形象，这个形象倒也减轻了他那可怕的孤独之感。奥雷连诺一连几小时呆在客厅里，跟雷贝卡一起倾听自动钢琴的华兹舞曲。她听这些乐曲，因为皮埃特罗·克列斯比曾在这种音乐中教她跳舞。奥雷连诺倾听这些乐曲，只是因为一切东西一－甚至音乐一－都使他想起雷麦黛丝。
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家里的人都在谈情说爱。奥雷连诺用无头无尾的诗句倾诉爱情。他把诗句写在梅尔加德斯给他的粗糙的羊皮纸上、浴室墙壁上、自个儿手上，这些诗里都有改了观的雷麦黛丝：晌午闷热空气中的雷麦黛丝；玫瑰清香中的雷麦黛丝；早餐面包腾腾热气中的雷麦黛丝--随时随地都有雷麦黛丝。每天下午四点，雷贝卡一面坐在窗前绣花，一面等候自己的情书。她清楚地知道，运送邮件的骡子前来马孔多每月只有两次，可她时时刻刻都在等它，以为它可能弄错时间，任何一天都会到达。情形恰恰相反：有一次，骡子在规定的日子却没有来。雷贝卡苦恼得发疯，半夜起来，急匆匆地到了花园里，自杀一样贪婪地吞食一撮撮泥土，一面痛苦和愤怒地哭泣，一面嚼着软搭搭的蚯蚓，牙床都给蜗牛壳碎片割伤了。到天亮时，她呕吐了。她陷入了某种狂热、沮丧的状态，失去了知觉，在呓语中无耻地泄露了心中的秘密。恼怒的乌苏娜撬开箱子的锁，在箱子底儿找到了十六封洒上香水的情书，是用粉红色绦带扎上的；还有一些残余的树叶和花瓣，是夹在旧书的书页之间的；此外是些蝴蝶标本，刚一碰就变成了灰。
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雷贝卡的悲观失望，只有奥雷连诺一个人能够理解。那天下午，乌苏娜试图把雷贝卡从昏迷状态中救醒过来的时候，奥雷连诺跟马格尼菲柯·维斯巴尔和格林列尔多·马克斯来到了卡塔林诺游艺场。现在，这个游艺场增建了一排用木板隔开的小房间，住着一个个单身的女人，她们身上发出萎谢的花卉气味。手风琴手和鼓手组成的乐队演奏着弗兰西斯科人的歌曲，这些人已经几年没来马孔多了。三个朋友要了甘蔗酒，马格尼菲柯和格林列尔多是跟奥雷连诺同岁的，但在生活上比他老练，他俩不慌不忙地跟坐在他们膝上的女人喝酒。其中一个容颜枯槁、镶着金牙的女人试图抚摸奥雷连诺一下。可他推开了她。他发现自己喝得越多，就越想念雷麦黛丝，不过愁闷也就减少了。随后，奥雷连诺突然飘荡起来，他自己也不知道什么时候开始飘飘然的；他很快发现，他的朋友和女人也在朦胧的灯光里晃荡，成了混沌、飘忽的形体，他们所说的话，仿佛不是从他们嘴里出来的；他们那种神秘的手势跟他们面部的表情根本就不一致。卡塔林诺把一只手放在奥雷连诺肩上，说：“快十一点啦。”奥雷连诺扭过头去，看见一张模糊、宽大的面孔，还看见这人耳朵后面的一朵假花，然后他就象健忘症流行时那样昏迷过去，直到第二天拂晓才苏醒过来。他到了一个完全陌生的房间--皮拉·苔列娜站在他面前，穿着一件衬衫，光着脚丫，披头散发，拿灯照了照他，不相信地惊叫了一声：
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“原来是奥雷连诺！”
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奥雷连诺站稳脚根，抬起了头。他不知道自己是如何来到这儿的，但是清楚记得自己的目的，因为他从童年时代起就把这个目的密藏在心的深处。
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“我是来跟你睡觉的，”他说。
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奥雷连诺的衣服沾满了污泥和呕吐出来的脏东西。这时，皮拉·苔列娜只和自己的两个小儿子住在一起；她什么也没问他，就把他领到一个床铺，用湿布擦净他的脸，脱掉他的衣服，然后自己也脱得精光，放下蚊帐，免得两个儿子醒来看见。她等待留在原先那个村子的男人，等待离开这个村子的男人，等待那些被她的纸牌占卜弄得蒙头转向的男人，已经等得厌倦了；等呀盼呀，她的皮肤已经打皱了，乳房干瘪了，心里的欲火也熄灭了。皮拉·昔列娜在黑暗中摸到了奥雷连诺，把一只手放在他的肚子上，母亲一般温情地吻了吻他的脖子，低声说：“我可怜的孩子，”奥雷连诺战粟起来。他一点没有迟延，平稳地离开了岩石累累的悲袁的河岸，恍惚觉得雷麦黛丝变成了无边天际的沼泽，这片沼泽洋溢着原始动物的气息，散发出刚刚熨过的床单的味儿，他到了沼泽表面，却哭了。开头，这是不由自主的、断断续续的啜泣，然后，他就难以遏制地泪如泉涌。他心中感到极度的痛苦和难受。她用指尖抚摸着他的头发，等他把似乎使他难以生活下去的隐衷吐露出来。接着，皮拉·苔列娜问道：“她是谁呀？”于是，奥雷连诺告诉了她。她笑了起来；这种笑声往日曾把鸽子吓得飞到空中，现在却没有惊醒她的两个孩子。“你先得把她养大，”--皮拉·苔列娜打趣地说。可是奥雷连诺在这笑语后面觉到了深刻的同情。他走出房间时，不仅不再怀疑自己的男性特征，而且放下了几个月来心中痛苦的重负，因为皮拉·苔列娜突然答应帮他的忙。
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“我跟小姑娘说说，并且把她和盘端给你。瞧着吧。”
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皮拉·苔列娜履行了自己的诺言，但是时机并不合适，因为霍·阿·布恩蒂亚家里失去了往日的宁静。雷贝卡热烈的爱情暴露以后（这种爱情是无法掩藏的，因为雷贝卡在梦中大声地把它吐露了出来），阿玛兰塔忽然患了热病。她也受到爱情的煎熬，但却是单相思。她把自己关在浴室里，写了一封封炽热的信，倾诉空恋的痛苦，可她并没有寄出这些信，只把它们藏在箱子底儿。乌苏娜几乎没有精力同时照顾两个病人。经过长时间巧妙的盘问，她仍然没有弄清阿玛兰塔精神萎靡的原因。最后，她又灵机一动：撬开箱子的锁，发现了一叠用粉红色绦带扎着的信函，其间夹了一些新鲜的百合花，信上泪迹未干；这些信都是写给皮埃特罗·克列斯比的，但是没有寄出。乌苏娜发狂地痛哭流涕，叱骂自己那天心血来潮买了一架自动钢琴，并且禁止姑娘们绣花，宣布一个，没有死人的丧事，直到她的女儿们放弃自己的幻想为止。霍·阿·布恩蒂亚现在改变了原先对皮埃特罗·克列斯比的看法，赞扬他操纵乐器的本领，可是他的干预毫无用处。因此，皮拉·苔列娜向奥雷连诺说，雷麦黛丝同意嫁给他的时候，他虽明白这个消息只会加重父母的痛苦，但他还是决定面对自己的命运。他把父母请到客厅进行正式谈判，他们毫无表情地听了儿子的声明。但是，知道小姑娘的名字以后，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚气得面红筋胀。 “你是不是爱得发疯了？”他怒吼起来。“周围有那么多漂亮、体面的姑娘，可你不找别人，偏要跟咱们冤家的女儿结婚？”乌苏娜却赞成儿子的选择。她承认，摩斯柯特的七个女儿都叫她喜欢，因为她们美丽、勤劳、朴实、文雅，而且她夸奖儿子眼力很好。妻子热情洋溢的赞美解除了霍·阿·布恩蒂亚的武装，他只提出一个条件：雷贝卡和皮埃特罗·克列斯比情投意合，她必须嫁给他。而且，乌苏娜能够抽空的时候，可以带着阿玛兰塔到省城去观光观光，跟各种各样的人接触可能减轻她失恋的痛苦。雷贝卡刚一知道父母同意，立刻就康复了，给未婚夫写了一封喜气洋洋的信，请父母过了目，就亲自送去邮寄。阿玛兰塔假装服从父母的决定，热病也渐渐好了，但她在心里赌咒发誓，雷贝卡只有跨过她的尸体才能结婚。
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下一个星期六，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚象舞会那天崭新的打扮一样，穿上黑呢衣服，戴上赛璐珞领子，蹬上鹿皮鞋，去雷麦黛丝·摩斯柯特家为儿子求婚。对于这次突然的访问，镇长夫妇不仅觉得荣幸，而且感到不安，因为不了解来访的原因；他们知道原因之后，又以为霍·阿·布因恩蒂亚把对象的名字弄错了。为了消除误会，母亲从床上抱起雷麦黛丝，抱进了客厅--小姑娘还没完全醒来。父母问她是不是真想嫁人，可她哭着说，她只要他们别打搅她睡觉。霍·阿·布恩蒂亚明白了摩斯柯特夫妇怀疑的缘由，就去要奥雷连诺澄清事实。当他回来的时候，夫妇俩已经改穿了合乎礼节的衣服，把客厅里的家具重新布置了一下，在花瓶以插满了鲜花，跟几个大女儿一起正在等候他。霍·阿·布恩蒂亚显得有点尴尬，而且被硬领弄得相当难受，肯定他说明儿子选中的对象真是雷麦黛丝。“可这是不合情理的，”懊丧的阿·摩斯柯特先生说。“除了她，我们还有六个女儿，她们全是待嫁的姑娘；象您公子这样稳重、勤劳的先生，她们每一个都会高兴地同意成为他的妻子的，可奥雷连诺选中的偏偏是还在尿床的一个。”他的妻子是个保养得很好的女人，神色不爽地责备丈夫说话粗鲁。在喝完果汁之后，夫妇俩被奥雷连诺坚贞不渝的精神感动了，终于表示同意。不过摩斯柯特太太要求跟乌苏娜单独谈谈。乌苏娜埋怨人家不该把她卷入男人的事情，其实很想知道个究竟，第二天就激动而畏怯地到了摩斯柯特家里。半小时后她回来说，雷麦黛丝还没达到成熟的时期。奥雷连诺并不认为这是重要障碍。他已经等了那么久，现在准备再等，要等多久都行，一直等候未婚妻到达能够生育的年龄。
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梅尔加德斯之死破坏了刚刚恢复的平静生活。这件事本身是可以预料到的，然而发生这件事的情况却很突然。梅尔加德斯回来之后过了几个月，他身上就出现了衰老的现象；这种衰老现象发展极快，这吉卜赛人很快就成了一个谁也不需要的老头儿了，这类老头儿总象幽灵似的，在房间里拖着腿子荡来荡去，大声地叨念过去的美好时光；谁也不理睬他们，甚至把他们抛到脑后，直到哪一天早上忽然发现他们死在床上。起初，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚醉心于照相术，并且佩服纳斯特拉达马斯的预言，所以帮助梅尔加德斯干事。可是后来霍·阿·布恩蒂亚就逐渐让他孤独地生活了，因为跟他接触越来越难。梅尔加德斯变得又瞎又聋，糊里糊涂，似乎把跟他谈话的人当成他知道的古人；回答问题时，他用的是稀奇古怪的混杂语言。他在屋子里行走的时候，总是东摸西摸的，尽管他在家具之间移动异常敏捷，仿佛有一种辨别方向的本能，这种本能的基础就是直觉。有一天夜里，他把假牙放在床边的一只水杯里，忘了把它们戴上，以后就再也没戴了。乌苏娜打算扩充房屋时，叫人给梅尔加德斯盖了一间单独的屋子，这间屋子靠近奥雷连诺的作坊，距离拥挤、嘈杂的主宅稍远一些，安了一扇敞亮的大窗子，还有一个书架，乌苏娜亲手把一些东西放在书架上，其中有：老头儿的一些布满尘土、虫子蛀坏的书籍；写满了神秘符号的易碎的纸页；放着假牙的水杯，水杯里已经长出了开着小黄花的水生植物。新的住所显然符合梅尔加德斯的心意，因为他连饭厅都不去了。能够碰见他的地方只有奥雷连诺的作坊，他在那儿一待就是几个小时，在以前带来的羊皮纸上潦草地写满了令人不解的符号；这类羊皮纸仿佛是用一种结实、干燥的材料制成的，象奶油松饼似的分作几层。他是在这作坊里吃饭的--维希塔香每天给他送两次饭--，然而最近以来他胃口不好，只吃蔬菜，所以很快就象素
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THE NEW HOUSE, white, like a dove, was inaugurated with a dance. úrsula 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 Company, 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, to teach them how to dance the latest music printed on its six paper rolls.
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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 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. José 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 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 úrsula, 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, dancing slippers, "You don’t have to worry so much," José 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 organize the party. úrsula drew up a strict guest list, in which the only ones invited were the descendants 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 friendship, for those favored were not only the oldest friends of José 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 companions 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 hard-working, the most beautiful girls in Iowa, and the most skilled at the new dances, they did not manage to be considered for the party.
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While úrsula 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, José 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 úrsula’s disappointment when she put in the first roll so that Amaranta and Rebeca could begin the dancing and the mechanism did not work. Melquíades, almost blind by then, crumbling with decrepitude, used the arts of his timeless wisdom in an attempt to fix it. Finally José Arcadio Buendía managed, by mistake, to move a device that was stuck and the music came out, first in a burst and then in a flow of mixed-up notes. Beating against the strings that had been put in without order or concert and had been tuned temerity, the hammers let go. But the stubborn descendants of the twenty-one intrepid people who plowed through the mountains in search of the sea to the west avoided the reefs of the melodic mix-up and the dancing went on until dawn.
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Pietro Crespi came back to repair the pianola. Rebeca and Amaranta helped him put the strings in order and helped him with their laughter at the mix-up of the melodies. It was extremely pleasant and so chaste in its way that úrsula ceased her vigilance. On the eve of his departure a farewell dance for him was improvised with the pianola and with Rebeca he put on a skillful demonstration of modern dance, Arcadio and Amaranta matched them in grace and skill. But the exhibition was interrupted because Pilar Ternera, who was at the door with the onlookers, had a fight, biting and hair pulling, with a woman who had dared to comment that Arcadio had a woman’s behind. Toward midnight Pietro Crespi took his leave with a sentimental little speech, and he promised to return very soon. Rebeca accompanied him to the door, and having closed up the house and put out the lamps, she went to her room to weep. It was an inconsolable weeping that lasted for several days, the cause of which was not known even by Amaranta. Her hermetism was not odd. Although she seemed expansive and cordial, she had a solitary character an impenetrable heart. She was a splendid adolescent with long and firm bones, but she still insisted on using the small wooden rocking chair with which she had arrived at the house, reinforced many times and with the arms gone. No one had discovered that even at that age she still had the habit of sucking her finger. That was why she would not lose an opportunity to lock herself in the bathroom and had acquired the habit of sleeping with her face to the wall. On rainy afternoons, embroidering with a group of friends on the begonia porch, she would lose the thread of the conversation and a tear of nostalgia would salt her palate when she saw the strips of damp earth and the piles of mud that the earthworms had pushed up in the garden. Those secret tastes, defeated in the past by oranges and rhubarb, broke out into an irrepressible urge when she began to weep. She went back to eating earth. The first time she did it almost out of curiosity, sure that the bad taste would be the best cure for the temptation. And, in fact, she could not bear the earth in her mouth. But she persevered, overcome by the growing anxiety, and little by little she was getting back her ancestral appetite, the taste primary minerals, the unbridled satisfaction of what was the original food. She would put handfuls of earth in her pockets, and ate them in small bits without being seen, with a confused feeling of pleasure and rage, as she instructed her girl friends in the most difficult needlepoint and spoke about other men, who did not deserve the sacrifice of having one eat the whitewash on the walls because of them. The handfuls of earth made the only man who deserved that show of degradation less remote and more certain, as if the ground that he walked on with his fine patent leatboots in another part the world were transmitting to her the weight and the temperature his blood in a mineral savor that left a harsh aftertaste in her mouth and a sediment of peace in her heart. One afternoon, for no reason, Amparo Moscote asked permission to see the house. Amaranta and Rebeca, disconcerted by the unexpected visit, attended her with a stiff formality. They showed her the remodeled mansion, they had her listen to the rolls on the pianola, and they offered her orange marmalade and crackers. Amparo gave a lesson in dignity, personal charm, and good manners that impressed úrsula in the few moments that she was present during the visit. After two hours, when the conversation was beginning to wane, Amparo took advantage of Amaranta’s distraction and gave Rebeca a letter. She was able to see the name of the Estimable Se?orita Rebeca Buendía, written in the same methodical hand, with the same green ink, and the same delicacy of words with which the instructions for the operation of the pianola were written, and she folded the letter with the tips of her fingers and hid it in her bosom, looking at Amparo Moscote with an expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death.
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The sudden friendship between Amparo Moscote and Rebeca Buendía awakened the hopes of Aureliano. The memory of little Remedios had not stopped tormenting him, but he had not found a chance to see her. When he would stroll through town his closest friends, Magnífico Visbal and Gerineldo Márquez-the sons of the founders of the same names-he would look for her in the sewing shop with an anxious glance, but he saw only the older sisters. The presence of Amparo Moscote in the house was like a premonition. "She has to come with her," Aureliano would say to himself in a low voice. "She has to come." He repeated it so many times and with such conviction that one afternoon when he was putting together a little gold fish in the work shop, he had the certainty that she had answered his call. Indeed, a short time later he heard the childish voice, when he looked up his heart froze with terror as he saw the girl at the door, dressed in pink organdy and wearing white boots.
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But Aureliano did not give her time to respond. He picked up the little fish by the chain that came through its mouth and said to her.
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"Come in."
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Remedios went over and asked some questions about the fish that Aureliano could not answer because he was seized with a sudden attack of asthma. He wanted to stay beside that lily skin forever, beside those emerald eyes, close to that voice that called him "sir" with every question. showing the same respect that she gave her father. Melquíades was in the corner seated at the desk scribbling indecipherable signs. Aureliano hated him. All he could do was tell Remedios that he was going to give her the little fish and the girl was so startled by the offer that she left the workshop as fast as she could. That afternoon Aureliano lost the hidden patience with which he had waited for a chance to see her. He neglected his work. In several desperate efforts of concentration he willed her to appear but Remedios did not respond. He looked for her in sisters’ shop, behind the window shades in her house, in her father’s office, but he found her only in the image that saturated his private and terrible solitude. He would spend whole hours with Rebeca in the parlor listening to the music on the pianola. She was listening to it because it was the music with which Pietro Crespi had taught them how to dance. Aureliano listened to it simply because everything, even music, reminded him of Remedios.
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The house became full of loves Aureliano expressed it in poetry that had no beginning or end. He would write it on the harsh pieces of parchment that Melquíades gave him, on the bathroom walls, on the skin of his arms, and in all of it Remedios would appear transfigured: Remedios in the soporific air two in the afternoon, Remedios in the soft breath of the roses, Remedios in the water-clock secrets of the moths, Remedios in the steaming morning bread, Remedios everywhere and Remedios forever. Rebeca waited for her love at four in the afternoon, embroidering by the window. She knew that the mailman’s mule arrived only every two weeks, but she always waited for him, convinced that he was going to arrive on some other day by mistake. It happened quite the opposite: once the mule did not come on the usual day. Mad desperation, Rebeca got up in the middle of the night and ate handfuls of earth in the garden with a suicidal drive, weeping with pain and fury, chewing tender earthworms and chipping her teeth on snail shells. She vomited until dawn. She fell into a state of feverish prostration, lost consciousness, and her heart went into a shameless delirium. úrsula, scandalized, forced the lock on her trunk and found at the bottom, tied togetpink ribbons, the sixteen perfumed letters and the skeletons of leaves and petals preserved in old books the dried butterflies that turned to powder at the touch.
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Aureliano was the only one capable of understanding such desolation. That afternoon, while úrsula was trying to rescue Rebeca from the slough of delirium, he went with Magnífico Visbal and Gerineldo Márquez to Catarino’s store. The establishment had been expanded with a gallery of wooden rooms where single women who smelled of dead flowers lived. A group made up of an accordion and drums played the songs of Francisco the Man, who had not been seen in Macondo for several years. The three friends drank fermented cane juice. Magnífico Gerineldo, contemporaries of Aureliano but more skilled in the ways the world, drank methodically with the women seated on their laps. One of the women, withered and with goldwork on her teeth, gave Aureliano a caress that made him shudder. He rejected her. He had discovered that the more he drank the more he thought about Remedios, but he could bear the torture of his recollections better. He did not know exactly when he began to float. He saw his friends and the women sailing in a radiant glow, without weight or mass, saying words that did not come out of their mouths and making mysterious signals that did not correspond to their expressions. Catarino put a hand on his shoulder and said to him: "It’s going on eleven." Aureliano turned his head, saw the enormous disfigured face with a felt flower behind the ear, and then he lost his memory, as during the times of forgetfulness, and he recovered it on a strange dawn and in a room that was completely foreign, where Pilar Ternera stood in her slip, barefoot, her hair down, holding a lamp over him, startled with disbelief.
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"Aureliano!"
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Aureliano checked his feet and raised his head. He did not know how he had come there, but he knew what his aim was, because he had carried it hidden since infancy in an inviolable backwater of his heart.
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"I’ve come to sleep with you," he said.
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His clothes were smeared with mud and vomit. Pilar Ternera, who lived alone at that time with her two younger children, did not ask him any questions. She took him to the bed. She cleaned his face with a damp cloth, took of his clothes, and then got completely undressed and lowered the mosquito netting so that her children would not see them if they woke up. She had become tired of waiting for the man who would stay, of the men who left, of the countless men who missed the road to her house, confused by the uncertainty of the cards. During the wait her skin had become wrinkled, her breasts had withered, the coals of her heart had gone out. She felt for Aureliano in the darkness, put her hand on his stomach and kissed him on the neck with a maternal tenderness. "My poor child," she murmured. Aureliano shuddered. With a calm skill, without the slightest misstep, he left his accumulated grief behind and found Remedios changed into a swamp without horizons, smelling of a raw animal and recently ironed clothes. When he came to the surface he was weeping. First they were involuntary and broken sobs. Then he emptied himself out in an unleashed flow, feeling that something swollen and painful had burst inside of him. She waited, snatching his head with the tips fingers, until his body got rid of the dark material that would not let him live. They Pilar Ternera asked him: "Who is it?" And Aureliano told her. She let out a laugh that in other times frightened the doves and that now did not even wake up the children. "You’ll have to raise her first," she mocked, but underneath the mockery Aureliano found a reservoir of understanding. When he went out of the room, leaving behind not only his doubts about his virility but also the bitter weight that his heart had borne for so many months, Pilar Ternera made him a spontaneous promise.
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"I’m going to talk to the girl," she told him, "and you’ll see what I’ll serve her on the tray."
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She kept her promise. But it was a bad moment, because the house had lost its peace of former days. When she discovered Rebeca’s passion, which was impossible to keep secret because of her shouts, Amaranta suffered an attack of fever. She also suffered from the barb of a lonely love. Shut up in the bathroom, she would release herself from the torment of a hopeless passion by writing feverish letters, which she finally hid in the bottom of her trunk. úrsula barely had the strength to take care of the two sick girls. She was unable, after prolonged and insidious interrogations, to ascertain the causes of Amaranta’s prostration. Finally, in another moment of inspiration, she forced the lock on the trunk and found the letters tied with a pink ribbon, swollen with fresh lilies and still wet with tears, addressed and never sent to Pietro Crespi. Weeping with rage, she cursed the day that it had occurred to her to buy the pianola, she forbade the embroidery lessons and decreed a kind of mourning with no one dead which was to be prolonged until the daughters got over their hopes. Useless was the intervention of José Arcadio Buendía, who had modified his first impression Pietro Crespi and admired his ability in the manipulation of musical machines. So that when Pilar Ternera told Aureliano that Remedios had decided on marriage, he could see that the news would only give his parents more trouble. Invited to the parlor for a formal interview, José Arcadio Buendía and úrsula listened stonily to their son’s declaration. When he learned the name of the fiancée, however, José Arcadio Buendía grew red with indignation. "Love is a disease," he thundered. "With so many pretty and decent girls around, the only thing that occurs to you is to get married to the daughter of our enemy." But úrsula agreed the choice. She confessed her affection for the seven Moscote sisters. for their beauty, their ability for work, their modesty, and their good manners, and she celebrated her son’s prudence. Conquered by his wife’s enthusiasm, José Arcadio Buendía then laid down one condition: Rebeca, who was the one he wanted, would marry Pietro Crespi. úrsula would take Amaranta on a trip to the capital of the province when she had time, so that contact with different people would alleviate her disappointment. Rebeca got her health back just as soon as she heard of the agreement, and she wrote her fiancé a jubilant letter that she submitted to her parents’ approval and put into the mail without the use of any intermediaries. Amaranta pretended to accept the decision and little by little she recovered from her fevers, but she promised herself that Rebeca would marry only over her dead body.
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The following Saturday José Arcadio Buendía put on his dark suit, his celluloid collar, and the deerskin boots that he had worn for the first time the night of the party, and went to ask for the hand of Remedios Moscote. The magistrate and his wife received him, pleased and worried at the same time, for they did not know the reason for the unexpected visit, and then they thought that he was confused about the name of the intended bride. In order to remove the mistake, the mother woke Remedios up and carried her into the living room, still drowsy from sleep. They asked her if it was true that she had decided to get married, and she answered, whimpering, that she only wanted them to let her sleep. José Arcadio Buendía, understanding the distress of the Moscotes, went to clear things up with Aureliano. When he returned, the Moscotes had put on formal clothing, had rearranged the furniture put fresh flowers in the vases, and were waiting in the company of their older daughters. Overwhelmed by the unpleasantness of the occasion and the bothersome hard collar, José Arcadio Buendía confirmed the fact that Remedios, indeed, was the chosen one. "It doesn’t make sense," Don Apolinar Moscote said with consternation. "We have six other daughters, all unmarried, and at an age where they deserve it, who would be delighted to be the honorable wife of a gentleman as serious and hardworking as your son, and Aurelito lays his eyes precisely on the one who still wets her bed." His wife, a well-preserved woman with afflicted eyelids and expression, scolded his mistake. When they finished the fruit punch, they willingly accepted Aureliano’s decision. Except that Se?ora Moscote begged the favor of speaking to úrsula alone. Intrigued, protesting that they were involving her in men’s affairs, but really feeling deep emotion, úrsula went to visit her the next day. A half hour later she returned with the news that Remedios had not reached puberty. Aureliano did not consider that a serious barrier. He had waited so long that he could wait as long as was necessary until his bride reached the age of conception.
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The newfound harmony was interrupted by the death of Melquíades. Although it was a foreseeable event, the circumstances were not. A few months after his return, a process aging had taken place in him that was so rapid and critical that soon he was treated as one of those useless great-grandfathers who wander about the bedrooms like shades, dragging their feet, remembering better times aloud, and whom no one bothers about or remembers really until the morning they find them dead in their bed. At first José Arcadio Buendía helped him in his work, enthusiastic over the novelty of the daguerreotypes and the predictions of Nostradamus. But little by little he began abandoning him to his solitude, for communication was becoming Increasingly difficult. He was losing his sight and his hearing, he seemed to confuse the people he was speaking to with others he had known in remote epochs of mankind, and he would answer questions with a complex hodgepodge languages. He would walk along groping in the air, although he passed between objects with an inexplicable fluidity, as if be were endowed with some instinct of direction based on an immediate prescience. One day he forgot to put in his false teeth, which at night he left in a glass of water beside his bed, and he never put them in again. When úrsula undertook the enlargement of the house, she had them build him a special room next to Aureliano’s workshop, far from the noise and bustle of the house, with a window flooded with light and a bookcase where she herself put in order the books that were almost destroyed by dust and moths, the flaky stacks of paper covered with indecipherable signs, and the glass with his false teeth, where some aquatic plants with tiny yellow flowers had taken root. The new place seemed to please Melquíades, because he was never seen any more, not even in the dining room, He only went to Aureliano’s workshop, where he would spend hours on end scribbling his enigmatic literature on the parchments that he had brought with him and that seemed to have been made out of some dry material that crumpled like puff paste. There he ate the meals that Visitación brought him twice a day, although in the last days he lost his appetite and fed only on vegetables. He soon acquired the forlorn look that one sees in vegetarians. His skin became covered with a thin moss, similar to that which flourished on the antique vest that he never took off, and his breath exhaled the odor of a sleeping animal. Aureliano ended up forgetting about him, absorbed in the composition of his poems, but on one occasion he thought he understood something of what Melquíades was saying in his groping monologues, and he paid attention. In reality, the only thing that could be isolated in the rocky paragraphs was the insistent hammering on the word equinox, equinox, equinox, and the name of Alexander von Humboldt. Arcadio got a little closer to him when he began to help Aureliano in his silverwork. Melquíades answered that effort at communication at times by giving forth with phrases in Spanish that had very little to do reality. One afternoon, however, he seemed to be illuminated by a sudden emotion. Years later, facing the firing squad, Arcadio would remember the trembling with which Melquíades made him listen to several pages of his impenetrable writing, which course he did not understand, but which when read aloud were like encyclicals being chanted. Then he smiled for the first time in a long while and said in Spanish: "When I die, burn mercury in my room for three days." Arcadio told that to José Arcadio Buendía and the latter tried to get more explicit information, but he received only one answer: "I have found immortality." When Melquíades’ breathing began to smell, Arcadio took him to bathe in the river on Thursday mornings. He seemed to get better. He would undress and get into the water with the boys, and his mysterious sense of orientation would allow him to avoid the deep and dangerous spots. "We come from the water," he said on a certain occasion. Much time passed in that way without anyone’s seeing him in the house except on the night when he made a pathetic effort to fix the pianola, and when he would go to the river with Arcadio, carrying under his arm a gourd and a bar of palm oil soap wrapped in a towel. One Thursday before they called him to go to the river, Aureliano heard him say: "I have died of fever on the dunes of Singapore." That day he went into the water at a bad spot and they did not find him until the following day, a few miles downstream, washed up on a bright bend in the river and with a solitary vulture sitting on his stomach. Over the scandalized protests of úrsula, who wept with more grief than she had had for her own father, José Arcadio Buendía was opposed to their burying him. "He is immortal," he said, "and he himself revealed the formula of his resurrection." He brought out the forgotten water pipe and put a kettle mercury to boil next to the body, which little by little was filling with blue bubbles. Don Apolinar Moscote ventured to remind him that an unburied drowned man was a danger to public health. "None of that, because he’s alive," was the answer of José Arcadio Buendía, who finished the seventy-two hours with the mercurial incense as the body was already beginning to burst with a livid fluorescence, the soft whistles of which impregnated the house with a pestilential vapor. Only then did he permit them to bury him, not in any ordinary way, but the honors reserved for Macondo’s greatest benefactor. It was the first burial and the best-attended one that was ever seen in the town, only surpassed, a century later, by Big Mama’s funeral carnival. They buried him in a grave dug in the center of the plot destined for the cemetery, with a stone on which they wrote the only thing they knew about him: MELQUíADES. They gave him his nine nights of wake. In the tumult that gathered in the courtyard to drink coffee, tell jokes, and play cards. Amaranta found a chance to confess her love to Pietro Crespi, who a few weeks before had formalized his promise to Rebeca and had set up a store for musical instruments and mechanical toys in the same section where the Arabs had lingered in other times swapping knickknacks for macaws, and which the people called the Street of the Turks. The Italian, whose head covered with patent leather curls aroused in women an irrepressible need to sigh, dealt with Amaranta as with a capricious little girl who was not worth taking seriously.
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"I have a younger brother," he told her. "He’s coming to help me in the store."
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Amaranta felt humiliated and told Pietro Crespi with a virulent anger that she was prepared to stop her sister’s wedding even own dead body had to lie across the door. The Italian was so impressed by the dramatics of the threat that he could not resist the temptation to mention it to Rebeca. That was how Amaranta’s trip, always put off by úrsula’s work, was arranged in less than a week. Amaranta put up no resistance, but when she kissed Rebeca goodbye she whispered in her ear:
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"Don’t get your hopes up. Even if they send me to the ends of the earth I’ll find some way of stopping you from getting married, even if I have to kill you."
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With the absence of úrsula, with the invisible presence of Melquíades, who continued his stealthy shuffling through the rooms, the house seemed enormous and empty. Rebeca took charge of domestic order, while the Indian woman took care of the bakery. At dusk, when Pietro Crespi would arrive, preceded by a cool breath of lavender and always bringing a toy as a gift, his fiancée would receive the visitor in the main parlor with doors and windows open to be safe from any suspicion. It was an unnecessary precaution, for the Italian had shown himself to be so respectful that he did not even touch the hand of the woman who was going to be his wife within the year. Those visits were filling the house with remarkable toys. Mechanical ballerinas, music boxes, acrobatic monkeys, trotting horses, clowns who played the tambourine: the rich and startling mechanical fauna that Pietro Crespi brought dissipated José Arcadio Buendía’s affliction over the death of Melquíades and carried him back to his old days as an alchemist. He lived at that time in a paradise of disemboweled animals, of mechanisms that had been taken apart in an attempt to perfect them with a system of perpetual motion based upon the principles of the pendulum. Aureliano, for his part, had neglected the workshop in order to teach little Remedios to read and write. At first the child preferred her dolls to the man who would come every afternoon and who was responsi-ble for her being separated from her toys in order to be bathed and dressed and seated in the parlor to receive the visitor. But Aureliano’s patience and devotion final-ly won her over, up to the point where she would spend many hours with him studying the meaning of the letters and sketching in a notebook with colored pencils little houses with cows in the corral and round suns with yellow rays that hid behind the hills.
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"You will not be happy as long as your parents remain unburied."
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Rebeca shuddered. As in the memory of a dream she saw herself entering the house as a very small girl, with the trunk and the little rocker, a bag whose contents she had never known. She remembered a bald gentleman dressed in linen and with his collar closed by a gold button, who had nothing to do with the king of hearts. She remembered a very young and beautiful woman with warm and perfumed hands, who had nothing in common with the jack of diamonds and his rheumatic hands, who used to put flowers in her hair and take her out walking in the afternoon through a town with green streets.
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"I don’t understand," she said.
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Pilar Ternera seemed disconcerted:
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"I don’t either, but that’s what the cards say."
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Rebeca was so preoccupied the enigma that she told it to José Arcadio Buendía, and he scolded her for believing in the predictions of the cards, but he undertook the silent task of searching closets and trunks, moving furniture and turning over beds and floorboards looking for the bag of bones. He remembered that he had not seen it since the time of the rebuilding. He secretly summoned the masons and one of them revealed that he had walled up the bag in some bedroom because it bothered him in his work. After several days of listening, with their ears against the walls, they perceived the deep cloccloc. They penetrated the wall and there were the bones in the intact bag. They buried it the same day in a grave without a stone next to that of Melquíades, and José Arcadio Buendía returned home free of a burden that for a moment had weighed on his conscience as much as the memory of Prudencio Aguilar. When he went through the kitchen he kissed Rebeca on the forehead.
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The friendship with Rebeca opened up to Pilar Ternera the doors of the house, closed by úrsula since the birth of Arcadio. She would arrive at any hour of the day, like a flock of goats, and would unleash her feverish energy in the hardest tasks. Sometimes she would go into the workshop and help Arcadio sensitize the daguerreotype plates with an efficiency and a tenderness that ended up by confusing him. That woman bothered him. The tan of her skin, her smell of smoke, the disorder of her laughter in the darkroom distracted his attention and made him bump into things.
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On a certain occasion Aureliano was there working on his silver, and Pilar Ternera leaned over the table to admire his laborious patience. Suddenly it happened. Aureliano made sure that Arcadio was in the darkroom before raising his eyes and meeting those Pilar Ternera, whose thought was perfectly visible, as if exposed to the light of noon.
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"Well," Aureliano said. "Tell me what it is."
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Pilar Ternera bit her lips with a sad smile.
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"That you’d be good in a war," she said. "Where you put your eye, you put your bullet."
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Aureliano relaxed with the proof of the omen. He went back to concentrate on his work as if nothing had happened, and his voice took on a restful strength.
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"I will recognize him," he said. "He’ll bear my name."
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José Arcadio Buendía finally got what he was looking for: he connected the mechanism of the clock to a mechanical ballerina, and the toy danced uninterruptedly to the rhythm of her own music for three days. That discovery excited him much more than any of his other harebrained undertakings. He stopped eating. He stopped sleeping. Only the vigilance and care of Rebeca kept him from being dragged off by his imagination into a state of perpetual delirium from which he would not recover. He would spend the nights walking around the room thinking aloud, searching for a way to apply the principles of the pendulum to oxcarts, to harrows, to everything that was useful when put into motion. The fever of insomnia fatigued him so much that one dawn he could not recognize the old man with white hair and uncertain gestures who came into his bedroom. It was Prudencio Aguilar. When he finally identified him, startled that the dead also aged, José Arcadio Buendía felt himself shaken by nostalgia. "Prudencio," he exclaimed. "You’ve come from a long way off!" After many years of death the yearning for the living was so intense, the need for company so pressing, so terrifying the neatness that other death which exists within death, that Prudencio Aguilar had ended up loving his worst enemy. He had spent a great deal of time looking for him. He asked the dead from Riohacha about him, the dead who came from the Upar Valley, those who came from the swamp, and no one could tell him because Macondo was a town that was unknown to the dead until Melquíades arrived and marked it with a small black dot on the motley maps of death. José Arcadio Buendía conversed with Prudencio Aguilar until dawn. A few hours later, worn out by the vigil, he went into Aureliano’s workshop and asked him: "What day is today?" Aureliano told him that it was Tuesday. "I was thinking the same thing," José Arcadio Buendía said, "but suddenly I realized that it’s still Monday, like yesterday. Look at the sky, look at the walls, look at the begonias. Today is Monday too." Used to his manias, Aureliano paid no attention to him. On the next day, Wednesday, José Arcadio Buendía went back to the workshop. "This is a disaster," he said. "Look at the air, listen to the buzzing of the sun, the same as yesterday and the day before. Today is Monday too." That night Pietro Crespi found him on the porch, weeping for Prudencio Aguilar, for Melquíades, for Rebeca’s parents, for his mother and father, for all of those he could remember and who were now alone in death. He gave him a mechanical bear that walked on its hind legs on a tightrope, but he could not distract him from his obsession. He asked him what had happened to the project he had explained to him a few days before about the possibility of building a pendulum machine that would help men to fly and he answered that it was impossible because a pendulum could lift anything into the air but it could not lift itself. On Thursday he appeared in the workshop again with the painful look of plowed ground. "The time machine has broken," he almost sobbed, "úrsula and Amaranta so far away!" Aureliano scolded him like a child he adopted a contrite air. He spent six hours examining things, trying to find a difference from their appearance on the previous day in the hope of discovering in them some change that would reveal the passage of time. He spent the whole night in bed with his eyes open, calling to Prudencio Aguilar, to Melquíades, to all the dead, so that they would share his distress. But no one came. On Friday. before anyone arose, he watched the appearance of nature again until he did not have the slightest doubt but that it was Monday. Then he grabbed the bar from a door and with the savage violence his uncommon strength he smashed to dust the equipment in the alchemy laboratory, the daguerreotype room, the silver workshop, shouting like a man possessed in some high-sounding and fluent but completely incomprehensible language. He was about to finish off the rest of the house when Aureliano asked the neighbors for help. Ten men were needed to get him down, fourteen to tie him up, twenty to drag him to the chestnut tree in the courtyard, where they left him tied up, barking in the strange language and giving off a green froth at the mouth. When úrsula and Amaranta returned he was still tied to the trunk of the chestnut tree by his hands feet, soaked with rain and in a state of total innocence. They spoke to him and he looked at them without recognizing them, saying things they did not understand. úrsula untied his wrists and ankles, lacerated by the pressure of the rope, and left him tied only by the waist. Later on they built him a shelter of palm brandies to protect him from the sun and the rain.
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