百年孤独(英文版)-第2部分

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e；　and　lead。　He　put　it　all　to　boil　in　a　pot　of　castor　oil　until　he　got　a　thick　and　pestilential　syrup　which　was　more　like　mon　caramel　than　valuable　gold。　In　risky　and　desperate　processes　of　distillation；　melted　with　the　seven　planetary　metals；　mixed　with　hermetic　mercury　and　vitriol　of　Cyprus；　and　put　back　to　cook　in　hog　fat　for　lack　of　any　radish　oil；　？rsula’s　precious　inheritance　was　reduced　to　a　large　piece　of　burnt　hog　cracklings　that　was　firmly　stuck　to　the　bottom　of　the　pot。
　　　When　the　gypsies　came　back；　？rsula　had　turned　the　whole　population　of　the　village　against　them。　But　curiosity　was　greater　than　fear；　for　that　time　the　gypsies　went　about　the　town　making　a　deafening　noise　with　all　manner　of　musical　instruments　while　a　hawker　announced　the　exhibition　of　the　most　fabulous　discovery　of　the　Naciancenes。　So　that　everyone　went　to　the　tent　and　by　paying　one　cent　they　saw　a　youthful　Melquíades；　recovered；　unwrinkled；　with　a　new　and　flashing　set　of　teeth。　Those　who　remembered　his　gums　that　had　been　destroyed　by　scurvy；　his　flaccid　cheeks；　and　his　withered　lips　trembled　with　fear　at　the　final　proof　of　the　gypsy’s　supernatural　power。　The　fear　turned　into　panic　when　Melquíades　took　out　his　teeth；　intact；　encased　in　their　gums；　and　showed　them　to　the　audience　for　an　instant—a　fleeting　instant　in　which　he　went　back　to　being　the　same　decrepit　man　of　years　past—and　put　them　back　again　and　smiled　once　more　with　the　full　control　of　his　restored　youth。　Even　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　himself　considered　that　Melquíades？knowledge　had　reached　unbearable　extremes；　but　he　felt　a　healthy　excitement　when　the　gypsy　explained　to　him　atone　the　workings　of　his　false　teeth。　It　seemed　so　simple　and　so　prodigious　at　the　same　time　that　overnight　he　lost　all　interest　in　his　experiments　in　alchemy。　He　underwent　a　new　crisis　of　bad　humor。　He　did　not　go　back　to　eating　regularly；　and　he　would　spend　the　day　walking　through　the　house。　“Incredible　things　are　happening　in　the　world；？he　said　to　？rsula。　“Right　there　across　the　river　there　are　all　kinds　of　magical　instruments　while　we　keep　on　living　like　donkeys。？Those　who　had　known　him　since　the　foundation　of　Macondo　were　startled　at　how　much　he　had　changed　under　Melquíades？influence。
　　　At　first　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　had　been　a　kind　of　youthful　patriarch　who　would　give　instructions　for　planting　and　advice　for　the　raising　of　children　and　animals；　and　who　collaborated　with　everyone；　even　in　the　physical　work；　for　the　welfare　of　the　munity。　Since　his　house　from　the　very　first　had　been　the　best　in　the　village；　the　others　had　been　built　in　its　image　and　likeness。　It　had　a　small；　welllighted　living　roost；　a　dining　room　in　the　shape　of　a　terrace　with　gaily　colored　flowers；　two　bedrooms；　a　courtyard　with　a　gigantic　chestnut　tree；　a　well　kept　garden；　and　a　corral　where　goats；　pigs；　and　hens　lived　in　peaceful　munion。　The　only　animals　that　were　prohibited；　not　just　in　his　house　but　in　the　entire　settlement；　were　fighting　cocks。
　　　？rsula’s　capacity　for　work　was　the　same　as　that　of　her　husband。　Active；　small；　severe；　that　woman　of　unbreakable　nerves　who　at　no　moment　in　her　life　had　been　heard　to　sing　seemed　to　be　everywhere；　from　dawn　until　quite　late　at　night；　always　pursued　by　the　soft　whispering　of　her　stiff；　starched　petticoats。　Thanks　to　her　the　floors　of　tamped　earth；　the　unwhitewashed　mud　walls；　the　rustic；　wooden　furniture　they　had　built　themselves　were　always　dean；　and　the　old　chests　where　they　kept　their　clothes　exhaled　the　warm　smell　of　basil。
　　　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía；　who　was　the　most　enterprising　man　ever　to　be　seen　in　the　village；　had　set　up　the　placement　of　the　houses　in　such　a　way　that　from　all　of　them　one　could　reach　the　river　and　draw　water　with　the　same　effort；　and　he　had　lined　up　the　streets　with　such　good　sense　that　no　house　got　more　sun　than　another　during　the　hot　time　of　day。　Within　a　few　years　Macondo　was　a　village　that　was　more　orderly　and　hard　working　than　any　known　until　then　by　its　three　hundred　inhabitants。　It　was　a　truly　happy　village　where　no　one　was　over　thirty　years　of　age　and　where　no　one　had　died。
　　　Since　the　time　of　its　founding；　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　had　built　traps　and　cages。　In　a　short　time　he　filled　not　only　his　own　house　but　all　of　those　in　the　village　with　troupials；　canaries；　bee　eaters；　and　redbreasts。　The　concert　of　so　many　different　birds　became　so　disturbing　that　？rsula　would　plug　her　ears　with　beeswax　so　as　not　to　lose　her　sense　of　reality。　The　first　time　that　Melquíades？tribe　arrived；　selling　glass　balls　for　headaches；　everyone　was　surprised　that　they　had　been　able　to　find　that　village　lost　in　the　drowsiness　of　the　swamp；　and　the　gypsies　confessed　that　they　had　found　their　way　by　the　song　of　the　birds。
　　　That　spirit　of　social　initiative　disappeared　in　a　short　time；　pulled　away　by　the　fever　of　the　magnets；　the　astronomical　calculations；　the　dreams　of　transmutation；　and　the　urge　to　discover　the　wonders　of　the　world。　From　a　clean　and　active　man；　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　changed　into　a　man　lazy　in　appearance；　careless　in　his　dress；　with　a　wild　beard　that　？rsula　managed　to　trim　with　great　effort　and　a　kitchen　knife。　There　were　many　who　considered　him　the　victim　of　some　strange　spell。　But　even　those　most　convinced　of　his　madness　left　work　and　family　to　follow　him　when　he　brought　out　his　tools　to　clear　the　land　and　asked　the　assembled　group　to　open　a　way　that　would　put　Macondo　in　contact　with　the　great　inventions。
　　　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　was　pletely　ignorant　of　the　geography　of　the　region。　He　knew　that　to　the　east　there　lay　an　impenetrable　mountain　chain　and　that　on　the　other　side　of　the　mountains　there　was　the　ardent　city　of　Riohacha；　where　in　times　past—according　to　what　he　had　been　told　by　the　first　Aureliano　Buendía；　his　grandfather—Sir　Francis　Drake　had　gone　crocodile　hunting　with　cannons　and　that　he　repaired　hem　and　stuffed　them　with　straw　to　bring　to　Queen　Elizabeth。　In　his　youth；　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　and　his　men；　with　wives　and　children；　animals　and　all　kinds　of　domestic　implements；　had　crossed　the　mountains　in　search　of　an　outlet　to　the　sea；　and　after　twentysix　months　they　gave　up　the　expedition　and　founded　Macondo；　so　they　would　not　have　to　go　back。　It　was；　therefore；　a　route　that　did　not　interest　him；　for　it　could　lead　only　to　the　past。　To　the　south　lay　the　swamps；　covered　with　an　eternal　vegetable　scum　and　the　whole　vast　universe　of　the　great　swamp；　which；　according　to　what　the　gypsies　said；　had　no　limits。　The　great　swamp　in　the　west　mingled　with　a　boundless　extension　of　water　where　there　were　softskinned　cetaceans　that　had　the　head　and　torso　of　a　woman；　causing　the　ruination　of　sailors　with　the　charm　of　their　extraordinary　breasts。　The　gypsies　sailed　along　that　route　for　six　months　before　they　reached　the　strip　of　land　over　which　the　mules　that　carried　the　mail　passed。　According　to　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía’s　calculations；　the　only　possibility　of　contact　with　civilization　lay　along　the　northern　route。　So　he　handed　out　clearing　tools　and　hunting　weapons　to　the　same　men　who　had　been　with　him　during　the　founding　of　Macondo。　He　threw　his　directional　instruments　and　his　maps　into　a　knapsack；　and　he　undertook　the　reckless　adventure。
　　　During　the　first　days　they　did　not　e　across　any　appreciable　obstacle。　They　went　down　along　the　stony　bank　of　the　river　to　the　place　where　years　before　they　had　found　the　soldier’s　armor；　and　from　there　they　went　into　the　woods　along　a　path　between　wild　orange　trees。　At　the　end　of　the　first　week　they　killed　and　roasted　a　deer；　but　they　agreed　to　eat　only　half　of　it　and　salt　the　rest　for　the　days　that　lay　ahead。　With　that　precaution　they　tried　to　postpone　the　necessity　of　having　to　eat　macaws；　whose　blue　flesh　had　a　harsh　and　musky　taste。　Then；　for　more　than　ten　days；　they　did　not　see　the　sun　again。　The　ground　became　soft　and　damp；　like　volcanic　ash；　and　the　vegetation　was　thicker　and　thicker；　and　the　cries　of　the　birds　and　the　uproar　of　the　monkeys　became　more　and　more　remote；　and　the　world　became　eternally　sad。　The　men　on　the　expedition　felt　overwhelmed　by　their　most　ancient　memories　in　that　paradise　of　dampness　and　silence；　going　back　to　before　original　sin；　as　their　boots　sank　into　pools　of　steaming　oil　and　their　machetes　destroyed　bloody　lilies　and　golden　salamanders。　For　a　week；　almost　without　speaking；　they　went　ahead　like　sleepwalkers　through　a　universe　of　grief；　lighted　only　by　the　tenuous　reflection　of　luminous　insects；　and　their　lungs　were　overwhelmed　by　a　suffocating　smell　of　blood。　They　could　not　return　because　the　strip　that　they　were　opening　as　they　went　along　would　soon　close　up　with　a　new　vegetation　that。　almost　seemed　to　grow　before　their　eyes。　“It’s　all　right；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　would　say。　“The　main　thing　is　not　to　lose　our　bearings。？Always　following　his　pass；　he　kept　on　guiding　his　men　toward　the　invisible　north　so　that　they　would　be　able　to　get　out　of　that　enchanted　region。　It　was　a　thick　night；　starless；　but　the　darkness　was　being　impregnated　with　a　fresh　and　clear　air。　Exhausted　by　the　long　crossing；　they　hung　up　their　hammocks　and　slept　deeply　for　the　first　time　in　two　weeks。　When　they　woke　up；　with　the　sun　already　high　in　the　sky；　they　were　speechless　with　fascination。　Before　them；　surrounded　by　ferns　and　palm　trees；　white　and　powdery　in　the　silent　morning　light；　was　an　enormous　Spanish　galleon。　Tilted　slightly　to　the　starboard；　it　had　hanging　from　its　intact　masts　the　dirty　rags　of　its　sails　in　the　midst　of　its　rigging；　which　was　adorned　with　orchids。　The　hull；　covered　with　an　armor　of　petrified　barnacles　and　soft　moss；　was　firmly　fastened　into　a　surface　of　stones。　The　whole　structure　seemed　to　occupy　its　own　space；　one　of　solitude　and　oblivion；　protected　from　the　vices　of　time　and　the　habits　of　the　birds。　Inside；　where　the　expeditionaries　explored　with　careful　intent；　there　was　nothing　but　a　thick　forest　of　flowers。
　　　The　discovery　of　the　galleon；　an　indication　of　the　proximity　of　the　sea；　broke　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía’s　drive。　He　considered　it　a　trick　of　his　whimsical　fate　to　have　searched　for　the　sea　without　finding　it；　at　the　cost　of　countless　sacrifices　and　suffering；　and　to　have　found　it　all　of　a　sudden　without　looking　for　it；　as　if　it　lay　across　his　path　like　an　insurmountable　object。　Many　years　later　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　crossed　the　region　again；　when　it　was　already　a　regular　mail　route；　and　the　only　part　of　the　ship　he　found　was　its　burnedout　frame　in　the　midst　of　a　field　of　poppies。　Only　then；　convinced　that　the　story　had　not　been　some　product　of　his　father’s　imagination；　did　he　wonder　how　the　galleon　had　been　able　to　get　inland　to　that　spot。　But　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　did　not　concern　himself　with　that　when　he　found　the　sea　after　another　four　days？journey　from　the　galleon。　His　dreams　ended　as　he　faced　that　ashen；　foamy；　dirty　sea；　which　had　not　merited　the　risks　and　sacrifices　of　the　adventure。
　　　“God　damn　it！？he　shouted。　“Macondo　is　surrounded　by　water　on　all　sides。？
　　　The　idea　of　a　peninsular　Macondo　prevailed　for　a　long　time；　inspired　by　the　arbitrary　map　that　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　sketched　on　his　return　from　the　expedition。　He　drew　it　in　rage；　evilly；　exaggerating　the　difficulties　of　munication；　as　if　to　punish　himself　for　the　absolute　lack　of　sense　with　which　he　had　chosen　the　place。　“We’ll　never　get　anywhere；？he　lamented　to　？rsula。　“We’re　going　to　rot　our　lives　away　here　without　receiving　the　benefits　of　science。？That　certainty；　mulled　over　for　several　months　in　the　small　room　he　used　as　his　laboratory；　brought　him　to　the　conception　of　the　plan　to　move　Maeondo　to　a　better　place。　But　that　time　？rsula　had　anticipated　his　feverish　designs。　With　the　secret　and　implacable　labor　of　a　small　ant　she　predisposed　the　women　of　the　village　against　the　flightiness　of　their　husbands；　who　were　already　preparing　for　the　move。　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　did　not　know　at　what　moment　or　because　of　what　adverse　forces　his　plan　had　bee　enveloped　in　a　web　of　pretexts；　disappointments；　and　evasions　until　it　turned　into　nothing　but　an　illusion。　？rsula　watched　him　with　innocent　attention　and　even　felt　some　pity　for　him　on　the　morning　when　she　found　him　in　the　back　room　muttering　about　his　plans　for　moving　as　he　placed　his　laboratory　pieces　in　their　original　boxes。　She　let　him　finish。　She　let　him　nail　up　the　boxes　and　put　his　initials　on　them　with　an　inked　brush；　without　reproaching　him；　but　knowing　now　that　he　knew　（because　she　had　heard　him　say　so　in　his　soft　monologues）　that　the　men　of　the　village　would　not　back　him　up　in　his　undertaking。　Only　when　he　began　to　take　down　the　door　of　the　room　did　？rsula　dare　ask　him　what　he　was　doing；　and　he　answered　with　a　certain　bitterness。　“Since　no　one　wants　to　leave；　we’ll　leave　all　by　ourselves。？？rsula　did　not　bee　upset。
　　　“We　will　not　leave；？she　said。　“We　will　stay　here；　because　we　have　had　a　son　here。？
　　　“We　have　still　not　had　a　death；？he　said。　“A　person　does　not　belong　to　a　place　until　there　is　someone　dead　under　the　ground。？
　　　？rsula　replied　with　a　soft　firmness：
　　　“If　I　have　to　die　for　the　rest　of　you　to　stay　here；　I　will　die。？
　　　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　had　not　thought　that　his　wife’s　will　was　so　firm。　He　tried　to　seduce　her　with　the　charm　of　his　fantasy；　with　the　promise　of　a　prodigious　world　where　all　one　had　to　do　was　sprinkle　some　magic　liquid　on　the　ground　and　the　plants　would　bear　fruit　whenever　a　man　wished；　and　where　all　manner　of　instruments　against　pain　were　sold　at　bargain　prices。　But　？rsula　was　insensible　to　his　clairvoyance。
　　　“Instead　of　going　around　thinking　about　your　crazy　inventions；　you　should　be　worrying　about　your　sons；？she　replied。　“Look　at　the　state　they’re　in；　running　wild　just　like　donkeys。？
　　　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　took　his　wife’s　words　literally。　He　looked　out　the　window　and　saw　the　barefoot　children　in　the　sunny　garden　and　he　had　the　impression　that　only　at　that　instant　had　they　begun　to　exist；　conceived　by　？rsula’s　spell；　Something　occurred　inside　of　him　then；　something　mysterious　and　definitive　that　uprooted　him　from　his　own　time　and　carried　him　adrift　through　an　unexplored　region　of　his　memory。　While　？rsula　continued　sweeping　the　house；　which　was　safe　now　from　being　abandoned　for　the　rest　of　her　life；　he　stood　there　with　an　absorbed　look；　contemplating　the　children　until　his　eyes　became　moist　and　he　dried　them　with　the　back　of　his　hand；　exhaling　a　deep　sigh　of　resignation。
　　　“All　right；？he　said。　“Tell　them　to　e　help　me　take　the　things　out　of　the　boxes。？
　　　Jos？Arcadio；　the　older　of　the　children；　was　fourteen。　He　had　a　square　head；　thick　hair；　and　his　father’s　character。　Although　he　had　the　same　impulse　for　growth　and　physical　strength；　it　was　early　evident　that　he　lacked　imagination。　He　had　been　conceived　and　born　during　the　difficult　crossing　of　the　mountains；　before　the　founding　of　Macondo；　and　his　parents　gave　thanks　to　heaven　when　they　saw　he　had　no　animal　features。　Aureliano；　the　first　human　being　to　be　born　in　Macondo；　would　be　six　years　old　in　March。　He　was　silent　and　withdrawn。　He　had　wept　in　his　mother’s　womb　and　had　been　born　with　his　eyes　open。　As　they　were　cutting　the　umbilical　cord；　he　moved　his　head　from　side　to　side；　taking　in　the　things　in　the　room　and　examining　the　faces　of　the　people　with　a　fearless　curiosity。　Then；　indifferent　to　those　who　came　close　to　look　at　him；　he　kept　his　attention　concentrated　on　the　palm　roof；