百年孤独(英文版)-第10部分

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dedication　to　his　work；　the　good　judgment　with　which　he　directed　his　attention；　had　allowed　Aureliano　to　earn　in　a　short　time　more　money　than　？rsula　had　with　her　delicious　candy　fauna；　but　everybody　thought　it　strange　that　he　was　now　a　full…grown　man　and　had　not　known　a　woman。　It　was　true　that　he　had　never　had　one。
　　　Several　months　later　saw　the　return　of　Francisco　the　Man；　as　ancient　vagabond　who　was　almost　two　hundred　years　old　and　who　frequently　passed　through　Macondo　distributing　songs　that　he　posed　himself。　In　them　Francisco　the　Man　told　in　great　detail　the　things　that　had　happened　in　the　towns　along　his　route；　from　Manaure　to　the　edge　of　the　swamp；　so　that　if　anyone　had　a　message　to　send　or　an　event　to　make　public；　he　would　pay　him　two　cents　to　include　it　in　his　repertory。　That　was　how　？rsula　learned　of　the　death　of　her　mother；　as　a　simple　consequence　of　listening　to　the　songs　in　the　hope　that　they　would　say　something　about　her　son　Jos？Arcadio。　Francisco　the　Man；　called　that　because　he　had　once　defeated　the　devil　in　a　duel　of　improvisation；　and　whose　real　name　no　one　knew；　disappeared　from　Macondo　during　the　insomnia　plague　and　one　night　he　appeared　suddenly　in　Catarino’s　store。　The　whole　town　went　to　listen　to　him　to　find　out　what　had　happened　in　the　world。　On　that　occasion　there　arrived　with　him　a　woman　who　was　so　fat　that　four　Indians　had　to　carry　her　in　a　rocking　chair；　and　an　adolescent　mulatto　girl　with　a　forlorn　look　who　protected　her　from　the　sun　with　an　umbrella。　Aureliano　went　to　Catarino’s　store　that　night。　He　found　Francisco　the　Man；　like　a　monolithic　chameleon；　sitting　in　the　midst　of　a　circle　of　bystanders。　He　was　singing　the　news　with　his　old；　out…of…tune　voice；　acpanying　himself　with　the　same　archaic　accordion　that　Sir　Walter　Raleigh　had　given　him　in　the　Guianas　and　keeping　time　with　his　great　walking　feet　that　were　cracked　from　saltpeter。　In　front　of　a　door　at　the　rear　through　which　men　were　going　and　ing；　the　matron　of　the　rocking　chair　was　sitting　and　fanning　herself　in　silence。　Catarino；　with　a　felt　rose　behind　his　ear；　was　selling　the　gathering　mugs　of　fermented　cane　juice；　and　he　took　advantage　of　the　occasion　to　go　over　to　the　men　and　put　his　hand　on　them　where　he　should　not　have。　Toward　midnight　the　heat　was　unbearable。　Aureliano　listened　to　the　news　to　the　end　without　hearing　anything　that　was　of　interest　to　his　family。　He　was　getting　ready　to　go　home　when　the　matron　signaled　him　with　her　hand。
　　　“You　go　in　too。？she　told　him。　“It　only　costs　twenty　cents。？
　　　Aureliano　threw　a　coin　into　the　hopper　that　the　matron　had　in　her　lap　and　went　into　the　room　without　knowing　why。　The　adolescent　mulatto　girl；　with　her　small　bitch’s　teats；　was　naked　on　the　bed。　Before　Aureliano　sixty…three　men　had　passed　through　the　room　that　night。　From　being　used　so　much；　kneaded　with　sweat　and　sighs；　the　air　in　the　room　had　begun　to　turn　to　mud。　The　girl　took　off　the　soaked　sheet　and　asked　Aureliano　to　hold　it　by　one　side。　It　was　as　heavy　as　a　piece　of　canvas。　They　squeezed　it；　twisting　it　at　the　ends　until　it　regained　its　natural　weight。　They　turned　over　the　mat　and　the　sweat　came　out　of　the　other　side。　Aureliano　was　anxious　for　that　operation　never　to　end。　He　knew　the　theoretical　mechanics　of　love；　but　he　could　not　stay　on　his　feet　because　of　the　weakness　of　his　knees；　and　although　he　had　goose　pimples　on　his　burning　skin　he　could　not　resist　the　urgent　need　to　expel　the　weight　of　his　bowels。　When　the　girl　finished　fixing　up　the　bed　and　told　him　to　get　undressed；　he　gave　her　a　confused　explanation：　“They　made　me　e　in。　They　told　me　to　throw　twenty　cents　into　the　hopper　and　hurry　up。？The　girl　understood　his　confusion。　“If　you　throw　in　twenty　cents　more　when　you　go　out；　you　can　stay　a　little　longer；？she　said　softly。　Aureliano　got　undressed；　tormented　by　shame；　unable　to　get　rid　of　the　idea　that…his　nakedness　could　not　stand　parison　with　that　of　his　brother。　In　spite　of　the　girl’s　efforts　he　felt　more　and　more　indifferent　and　terribly　alone。　“I’ll　throw　in　other　twenty　cents；？he　said　with　a　desolate　voice。　The　girl　thanked　him　in　silence。　Her　back　was　raw。　Her　skin　was　stuck　to　her　ribs　and　her　breathing　was　forced　because　of　an　immeasurable　exhaustion。　Two　years　before；　far　away　from　there；　she　had　fallen　asleep　without　putting　out　the　candle　and　had　awakened　surrounded　by　flames。　The　house　where　she　lived　with　the　grandmother　who　had　raised　her　was　reduced　to　ashes。　Since　then　her　grandmother　carried　her　from　town　to　town；　putting　her　to　bed　for　twenty　cents　in　order　to　make　up　the　value　of　the　burned　house。　According　to　the　girl’s　calculations；　she　still　had　ten　years　of　seventy　men　per　night；　because　she　also　had　to　pay　the　expenses　of　the　trip　and　food　for　both　of　them　as　well　as　the　pay　of　the　Indians　who　carried　the　rocking　chair。　When　the　matron　knocked　on　the　door　the　second　time；　Aureliano　left　the　room　without　having　done　anything；　troubled　by　a　desire　to　weep。　That　night　he　could　not　sleep；　thinking　about　the　girl；　with　a　mixture　of　desire　and　pity。　He　felt　an　irresistible　need　to　love　her　and　protect　her。　At　dawn；　worn　out　by　insomnia　and　fever；　he　made　the　calm　decision　to　marry　her　in　order　to　free　her　from　the　despotism　of　her　grandmother　and　to　enjoy　all　the　nights　of　satisfaction　that　she　would　give　the　seventy　men。　But　at　ten　o’clock　in　the　morning；　when　he　reached　Catarino’s　store；　the　girl　had　left　town。
　　　Time　mitigated　his　mad　proposal；　but　it　aggravated　his　feelings　of　frustration。　He　took　refuge　in　work。　He　resigned　himself　to　being　a　womanless　man　for　all　his　life　in　order　to　hide　the　shame　of　his　uselessness。　In　the　meantime；　Melquíades　had　printed　on　his　plates　everything　that　was　printable　in　Macondo；　and　he　left　the　daguerreotype　laboratory　to　the　fantasies　of　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　　who　had　resolved　to　use　it　to　obtain　scientific　proof　of　the　existence　of　God。　Through　a　plicated　process　of　superimposed　exposures　taken　in　different　parts　of　the　house；　he　was　sure　that　sooner　or　later　he　would　get　a　daguerreotype　of　God；　if　He　existed；　or　put　an　end　once　and　for　all　to　the　supposition　of　His　existence。　Melquíades　got　deeper　into　his　interpretations　of　Nostradamus。　He　would　stay　up　until　very　late；　suffocating　in　his　faded　velvet　vest；　scribbling　with　his　tiny　sparrow　hands；　whose　rings　had　lost　the　glow　of　former　times。　One　night　he　thought　he　had　found　a　prediction　of　the　future　of　Macondo。　It　was　to　be　a　luminous　city　with　great　glass　houses　where　there　was　no　trace　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　fenced…in　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　s　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　ann