百年孤独(英文版)-第16部分

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ve　grandmother　with　a　look　of　pity。
　　　“You　have　brought　something　in　writing；　naturally；？he　said。
　　　“Naturally；？the　emissary　answered；　“I　have　brought　nothing　of　the　sort。　It’s　easy　to　understand　that　under　the　present　circumstances　a　person　can’t　carry　anything　that　would　promise　him。？
　　　As　he　was　speaking　he　reached　into　his　bodice　and　took　out　a　small　gold　fish。　“I　think　that　this　will　be　sufficient；？he　said。　Arcadio　could　see　that　indeed　it　was　one　of　the　little　fishes　made　by　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía。　But　anyone　could　have　bought　it　before　the　war　or　stolen　it；　and　it　had　no　merit　as　a　safeconduct　pass。　The　messenger　even　went　to　the　extreme　of　violating　a　military　secret　so　that　they　would　believe　his　identity。　He　revealed　that　he　was　on　a　mission　to　Cura？ao；　where　he　hoped　to　recruit　exiles　from　all　over　the　Caribbean　and　acquire　arms　and　supplies　sufficient　to　attempt　a　landing　at　the　end　of　the　year。　With　faith　in　that　plan；　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　was　not　in　favor　of　any　useless　sacrifices　at　that　time。　But　Arcadio　was　inflexible。　He　had　the　prisoner　put　into　the　stocks　until　he　could　prove　his　identity　and　he　resolved　to　defend　the　town　to　the　death。
　　　He　did　not　have　long　to　wait。　The　news　of　the　Liberal　defeat　was　more　and　more　concrete。　Toward　the　end　of　March；　before　a　dawn　of　premature　rain；　the　tense　calm　of　the　previous　weeks　was　abruptly　broken　by　the　desperate　sounds　of　a　cornet　and　a　cannon　shot　that　knocked　down　the　steeple　of　the　church。　Actually；　Arcadio’s　decision　to　resist　was　madness。　He　had　only　fifty　poorly　armed　men　with　a　ration　of　twenty　cartridges　apiece。　But　among　them；　his　former　pupils；　excited　by　the　highsounding　proclamations；　the　determination　reigned　to　sacrifice　their　skins　for　a　lost　cause。　In　the　midst　of　the　tramping　of　boots；　contradictory　mands；　cannon　shots　that　made　the　earth　tremble；　wild　shooting；　and　the　senseless　sound　of　cornets；　the　supposed　Colonel　Stevenson　managed　to　speak　to　Arcadio。　“Don’t　let　me　undergo　the　indignity　of　dying　in　the　stocks　in　these　women’s　clothes；？he　said　to　him。　“If　I　have　to　die；　let　me　die　fighting。？He　succeeded　in　convincing　him。　Arcadio　ordered　them　to　give　him　a　weapon　and　twenty　cartridges；　and　he　left　him　with　five　men　to　defend　headquarters　while　he　went　off　with　his　staff　to　head　up　the　resistance。　He　did　not　get　to　the　road　to　the　swamp。　The　barricades　had　been　broken　and　the　defenders　were　openly　fighting　in　the　streets；　first　until　they　used　up　their　ration　of　rifle　bullets；　then　with　pistols　against　rifles；　and　finally　hand　to　hand。　With　the　imminence　of　defeat；　some　women　went　into　the　street　armed　with　sticks　and　kitchen　knives。　In　that　confusion　Arcadio　found　Amaranta；　who　was　looking　for　him　like　a　madwoman；　in　her　nightgown　and　with　two　old　pistols　that　had　belonged　to　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía。　He　gave　his　rifle　to　an　officer　who　had　been　disarmed　in　the　fight　and　escaped　with　Amaranta　through　a　nearby　street　to　take　her　home。　？rsula　was；　in　the　doorway　waiting；　indifferent　to　the　cannon　shots　that　had　opened　up　a　hole　in　the　front　of　the　house　next　door。　The　rain　was　letting　up；　but　the　streets　were　as　slippery　and　as　smooth　as　melted　soap；　and　one　had　to　guess　distances　in　the　darkness。　Arcadio　left　Amaranta　with　？rsula　and　made　an　attempt　to　face　two　soldiers　who　had　opened　up　with　heavy　firing　from　the　corner。　The　old　pistols　that　had　been　kept　for　many　years　in　the　bureau　did　not　work。　Protecting　Arcadio　with　her　body；　？rsula　tried　to　drag　him　toward　the　house。
　　　“e　along　in　the　name　of　God；？she　shouted　at　him。　“There’s　been　enough　madness！？
　　　The　soldiers　aimed　at　them。
　　　“Let　go　of　that　man；　ma’am；？one　of　them　shouted；　“or　we　won’t　be　responsible！？
　　　Arcadio　pushed　？rsula　toward　the　house　and　surrendered。　A　short　time　later　the　shooting　stopped　and　the　bells　began　to　toll。　The　resistance　had　been　wiped　out　in　less　than　half　an　hour。　Not　a　single　one　of　Arcadio’s　men　had　survived　the　attack；　but　before　dying　they　had　killed　three　hundred　soldiers。　The　last　stronghold　was　the　barracks。　Before　being　attacked；　the　supposed　Colonel　Gregorio　Stevenson　had　freed　the　prisoners　and　ordered　his　men　to　go　out　and　fight　in　the　street。　The　extraordinary　mobility　and　accurate　aim　with　which　he　placed　his　twenty　cartridges　gave　the　impression　that　the　barracks　was　welldefended；　and　the　attackers　blew　it　to　pieces　with　cannon　fire。　The　captain　who　directed　the　operation　was　startled　to　find　the　rubble　deserted　and　a　single　dead　man　in　his　undershorts　with　an　empty　rifle　still　clutched　in　an　arm　that　had　been　blown　pletely　off。　He　had　a　woman’s　full　head　of　hair　held　at　the　neck　with　a　b　and　on　his　neck　a　chain　with　a　small　gold　fish。　When　he　turned　him　over　with　the　tip　of　his　boot　and　put　the　light　on　his　face；　the　captain　was　perplexed。　“Jesus　Christ；？he　exclaimed。　Other　officers　came　over。
　　　“Look　where　this　fellow　turned　up；？the　captain　said。　“It’s　Gregorio　Stevenson。？
　　　At　dawn；　after　a　summary　court　martial；　Arcadio　was　shot　against　the　wall　of　the　cemetery。　In　the　last　two　hours　of　his　life　he　did　not　manage　to　understand　why　the　fear　that　had　tormented　him　since　childhood　had　disappeared。　Impassive。　without　even　worrying　about　making　a　show　of　his　recent　bravery；　he　listened　to　the　interminable　charges　of　the　accusation。　He　thought　about　？rsula；　who　at　that　hour　must　have　been　under　the　chestnut　tree　having　coffee　with　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía。　He　thought　about　his　eightmonthold　daughter；　who　still　had　no　name；　and　about　the　child　who　was　going　to　be　born　in　August。　He　thought　about　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad；　whom　he　had　left　the　night　before　salting　down　a　deer　for　next　day’s　lunch；　and　he　missed　her　hair　pouring　over　her　shoulders　and　her　eyelashes；　which　looked　as　if　they　were　artificial。　He　thought　about　his　people　without　sentimentality；　with　a　strict　dosing　of　his　accounts　with　life；　beginning　to　understand　how　much　he　really　loved　the　people　he　hated　most。　The　president　of　the　courtmartial　began　his　final　speech　when　Arcadio　realized　that　two　hours　had　passed。　“Even　if　the　proven　charges　did　not　have　merit　enough；？the　president　was　saying；　“the　irresponsible　and　criminal　boldness　with　which　the　accused　drove　his　subordinates　on　to　a　useless　death　would　be　enough　to　deserve　capital　punishment。？In　the　shattered　schoolhouse　where　for　the　first　time　he　had　felt　the　security　of　power；　a　few　feet　from　the　room　where　he　had　e　to　know　the　uncertainty　of　love；　Arcadio　found　the　formality　of　death　ridiculous。　Death　really　did　not　matter　to　him　but　life　did；　and　therefore　the　sensation　he　felt　when　they　gave　their　decision　was　not　a　feeling　of　fear　but　of　nostalgia。　He　did　not　speak　until　they　asked　him　for　his　last　request。
　　　“Tell　my　wife；？he　answered　in　a　wellmodulated　voice；　“to　give　the　girl　the　name　of　？rsula。？He　paused　and　said　it　again：　“？rsula；　like　her　grandmother。　And　tell　her　also　that　if　the　child　that　is　to　be　born　is　a　boy；　they　should　name　him　Jos？Arcadio；　not　for　his　uncle；　but　for　his　grandfather。？
　　　Before　they　took　him　to　the　execution　wall　Father　Nicanor　tried　to　attend　him。　“I　have　nothing　to　repent；？Arcadio　said；　and　he　put　himself　under　the　orders　of　the　squad　after　drinking　a　cup　of　black　coffee。　The　leader　of　the　squad；　a　specialist　in　summary　executions；　had　a　name　that　had　much　more　about　it　than　chance：　Captain　Roque　Carnicero；　which　meant　butcher。　On　the　way　to　the　cemetery；　under　the　persistent　drizzle；　Arcadio　saw　that　a　radiant　Wednesday　was　breaking　out　on　the　horizon。　His　nostalgia　disappeared　with　the　mist　and　left　an　immense　curiosity　in　its　place。　Only　when　they　ordered　him　to　put　his　back　to　the　wall　did　Arcadio　see　Rebeca；　with　wet　hair　and　a　pink　flowered　dress；　opening　wide　the　door。　He　made　an　effort　to　get　her　to　recognize　him。　And　Rebeca　did　take　a　casual　look　toward　the　wall　and　was　paralyzed　with　stupor；　barely　able　to　react　and　wave　goodbye　to　Arcadio。　Arcadio　answered　her　the　same　way。　At　that　instant　the　smoking　mouths　of　the　rifles　were　aimed　at　him　and　letter　by　letter　he　heard　the　encyclicals　that　Melquíades　had　chanted　and　he　heard　the　lost　steps　of　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad；　a　virgin；　in　the　classroom；　and　in　his　nose　he　felt　the　same　icy　hardness　that　had　drawn　his　attention　in　the　nostrils　of　the　corpse　of　Remedios。　“Oh；　God　damn　it！？he　managed　to　think。　“I　fot　to　say　that　if　it　was　a　girl　they　should　name　her　Remedios。？Then；　all　accumulated　in　the　rip　of　a　claw；　he　felt　again　all　the　terror　that　had　tormented　him　in　his　life。　The　captain　gave　the　order　to　fire。　Arcadio　barely　had　time　to　put　out　his　chest　and　raise　his　head；　not　understanding　where　the　hot　liquid　that　burned　his　thighs　was　pouring　from。
　　　“Bastards！？he　shouted。　“Long　live　the　Liberal　Party！？

Chapter　7
THE　WAR　was　over　in　May。　Two　weeks　before　the　government　made　the　official　announcement　in　a　highsounding　proclamation；　which　promised　merciless　punishment　for　those　who　had　started　the　rebellion；　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　fell　prisoner　just　as　he　was　about　to　reach　the　western　frontier　disguised　as　an　Indian　witch　doctor。　Of　the　twentyone　men　who　had　followed　him　to　war；　fourteen　fell　in　bat；　six　were　wounded；　and　only　one　acpanied　him　at　the　moment　of　final　defeat：　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez。　The　news　of　his　capture　was　announced　in　Macondo　with　a　special　proclamation。　“He’s　alive；？？rsula　told　her　husband。　“Let’s　pray　to　God　for　his　enemies　to　show　him　clemency。？After　three　days　of　weeping；　one　afternoon　as　she　was　stirring　some　sweet　milk　candy　in　the　kitchen　she　heard　her　son’s　voice　clearly　in　her　ear。　“It　was　Aureliano；　？she　shouted；　running　toward　the　chestnut　tree　to　tell　her　husband　the　news。　“I　don’t　know　how　the　miracle　took　place；　but　he’s　alive　and　we’re　going　to　see　him　very　soon。？She　took　it　for　granted。　She　had　the　floors　of　the　house　scrubbed　and　changed　the　position　of　the　furniture。　One　week　later　a　rumor　from　somewhere　that　was　not　supported　by　any　proclamation　gave　dramatic　confirmation　to　the　prediction。　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　had　been　condemned　to　death　and　the　sentence　would　be　carried　out　in　Macondo　as　a　lesson　to　the　population。　On　Monday；　at　tenthirty　in　the　morning；　Amaranta　was　dressing　Aureliano　Jos？when　she　heard　the　sound　of　a　distant　troop　and　the　blast　of　a　cornet　one　second　before　？rsula　burst　into　the　room　with　the　shout：　“They’re　bringing　him　now！？The　troop　struggled　to　subdue　the　overflowing　crowd　with　their　rifle　butts。　？rsula　and　Amaranta　ran　to　the　corner；　pushing　their　way　through；　and　then　they　saw　him。　He　looked　like　a　beggar。　His　clothing　was　torn；　his　hair　and　beard　were　tangled；　and　he　was　barefoot。　He　was　walking　without　feeling　the　burning　dust；　his　hands　tied　behind　his　back　with　a　rope　that　a　mounted　officer　had　attached　to　the　head　of　his　horse。　Along　with　him；　also　ragged　and　defeated；　they　were　bringing　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez。　They　were　not　sad。　They　seemed　more　disturbed　by　the　crowd　that　was　shouting　all　kinds　of　insults　at　the　troops。
　　　“My　son！？？rsula　shouted　in　the　midst　of　the　uproar；　and　she　slapped　the　soldier　who　tried　to　hold　her　back。　The　officer’s　horse　reared。　Then　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　stopped；　tremulous；　avoided　the　arms　of　his　mother；　and　fixed　a　stern　look　on　her　eyes。
　　　“Go　home；　Mama；？he　said。　“Get　permission　from　the　authorities　to　e　see　me　in　jail。？
　　　He　looked　at　Amaranta；　who　stood　indecisively　two　steps　behind　？rsula；　and　he　smiled　as　he　asked　her；　“What　happened　to　your　hand？？Amaranta　raised　the　hand　with　the　black　bandage。　“A　burn；？she　said；　and　took　？rsula　away　so　that　the　horses　would　not　run　her　down。　The　troop　took　off。　A　special　guard　surrounded　the　prisoners　and　took　them　to　the　jail　at　a　trot。
　　　At　dusk　？rsula　visited　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　in　jail。　She　had　tried　to　get　permission　through　Don　Apolinar　Moscote；　but　he　had　lost　all　authority　in　the　face　of　the　military　omnipotence。　Father　Nicanor　was　in　bed　with　hepatic　fever。　The　parents　of　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez；　who　had　not　been　condemned　to　death；　had　tried　to　see　him　and　were　driven　off　with　rifle　butts。　Facing　the　impossibility　of　finding　anyone　to　intervene；　convinced　that　her　son　would　be　shot　at　dawn；　？rsula　wrapped　up　the　things　she　wanted　to　bring　him　and　went　to　the　jail　alone。
　　　“I　am　the　mother　of　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía；？she　announced。
　　　The　sentries　blocked　her　way。　“I’m　going　in　in　any　case；？？rsula　warned　them。　“So　if　you　have　orders　to　shoot；　start　right　in。？She　pushed　one　of　them　aside　and　went　into　the　former　classroom；　where　a　group　of　halfdressed　soldiers　were　oiling　their　weapons。　An　officer　in　a　field　uniform；　ruddyfaced；　with　very　thick　glasses　and　ceremonious　manners；　signaled　to　the　sentries　to　withdraw。
　　　“I　am　the　mother　of　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía；？？rsula　repeated。
　　　“You　must　mean；？the　officer　corrected　with　a　friendly　smile；　“that　you　are　the　mother　of　Mister　Aureliano　Buendía。？？rsula　recognized　in　his　affected　way　of　speaking　the　languid　cadence　of　the　stuckup　people　from　the　highlands。
　　　“As　you　say；　mister；？she　accepted；　“just　as　long　as　I　can　see　him。？
　　　There　were　superior　orders　that　prohibited　visits　to　prisoners　condemned　to　death；　but　the　officer　assumed　the　responsibility　of　letting　her　have　a　fifteenminute　stay。　？rsula　showed　him　what　she　had　in　the　bundle：　a　change　of　clean　clothing；　the　short　boots　that　her　son　had　worn　at　his　wedding；　and　the　sweet　milk　candy　that　she　had　kept　for　him　since　the　day　she　had　sensed　his　return。　She　found　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　in　the　room　that　was　used　as　a　cell；　lying　on　a　cot　with　his　arms　spread　out　because　his　armpits　were　paved　with　sores。　They　had　allowed　him　to　shave。　The　thick　mustache　with　twisted　ends　accentuated　the　sharp　angles　of　his　cheekbones。　He　looked　paler　to　？rsula　than　when　he　had　left；　a　little　taller；　and　more　solitary　than　ever。　He　knew　all　about　the　details　of　the　house：　Pietro　Crespi’s　suicide；　Arcadio’s　arbitrary　acts　and　execution。　the　dauntlessness　of　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　underneath　the　chestnut　tree。　He　knew　that　Amaranta　had　consecrated　her　virginal　widowhood　to　the　rearing　of　Aureliano　Jos？and　that　the　latter　was　beginning　to　show　signs　of　quite　good　judgment　and　that　he　had　learned　to　read　and　write　at　the　same　time　he　had　learned　to　speak。　From　the　moment　In　which　she　entered　the　room　？rsula　felt　inhibited　by　the　maturity　of　her　son；　by　his　aura　of　mand；　by　the　glow　of　authority　that　radiated　from　his　skin。　She　was　surprised　that　he　was　so　wellinformed。　“You　knew　all　along　that　I　was　a　wizard；？he　joked。　And　he　added　in　a　serious　tone；　“This　morning；　when　they　brought　me　here；　I　had　the　impression　that　I　had　already　been　through　all　that　before。？In　fact；　while　the　crowd　was　roaring　alongside　him；　he　had　been　concentrating　his　thoughts；　startled　at　how　the　town　had　aged。　The　leaves　of　the　almond　trees　were　broken。　The　houses；　painted　blue；　then　painted　red；　had　ended　up　with　an　indefinable　coloration。
　　　“What　did　you　expect？？？rsula　sighed。　“Time　passes。？
　　　“That’s　how　it　goes；？Aureliano　admitted；　“but　not　so　much。？
　　　In　that　way　the　longawaited　visit；　for　which　both　had　prepared　questions　and　had　even　anticipated　answers；　was　once　more　the　usual　everyday　conversation。　When　the　guard　announced　the　end　of　the　visit；　Aureliano　took　out　a　roll　of　sweaty　papers　f