百年孤独(英文版)-第56部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

spondence　with　the　invisible　doctors；　interrupted　by　frequent　disasters　of　the　mail。　During　the　first　months　when　it　was　learned　that　the　trains　were　jumping　their　tracks　in　the　rain；　a　letter　from　the　invisible　doctors　told　her　that　hers　were　not　arriving。　Later　on；　when　contact　with　the　unknown　correspondents　was　broken；　she　had　seriously　thought　of　putting　on　the　tiger　mask　that　her　husband　had　worn　in　the　bloody　carnival　and　having　herself　examined　under　a　fictitious　name　by　the　banana　pany　doctors。　But　one　of　the　many　people　who　regularly　brought　unpleasant　news　of　the　deluge　had　told　her　that　the　pany　was　dismantling　its　dispensaries　to　move　them　to　where　it　was　not　raining。　Then　she　gave　up　hope。　She　resigned　herself　to　waiting　until　the　rain　stopped　and　the　mail　service　was　back　to　normal；　and　in　the　meantime　she　sought　relief　from　her　secret　ailments　with　recourse　to　her　imagination；　because　she　would　rather　have　died　than　put　herself　in　the　hands　of　the　only　doctor　left　in　Macondo；　the　extravagant　Frenchman　who　ate　grass　like　a　donkey。　She　drew　close　to　？rsula；　trusting　that　she　would　know　of　some　palliative　for　her　attacks。　But　her　twisted　habit　of　not　calling　things　by　their　names　made　her　put　first　things　last　and　use　“expelled？for　“gave　birth？and　“burning？for　“flow？so　that　it　would　all　be　less　shameful；　with　the　result　that　？rsula　reached　the　reasonable　conclusion　that　her　trouble　was　intestinal　rather　than　uterine；　and　she　advised　her　to　take　a　dose　of　calomel　on　an　empty　stomach。　If　it　had　not　been　for　that　suffering；　which　would　have　had　nothing　shameful　about　it　for　someone　who　did　not　suffer　as　well　from　shamefulness；　and　if　it　had　not　been　for　the　loss　of　the　letters；　the　rain　would　not　have　bothered　Fernanda；　because；　after　all；　her　whole　life　had　been　spent　as　if　it　had　been　raining。　She　did　not　change　her　schedule　or　modify　her　ritual。　When　the　table　was　still　raised　up　on　bricks　and　the　chairs　put　on　planks　so　that　those　at　the　table　would　not　get　their　feet　wet；　she　still　served　with　linen　tablecloths　and　fine　chinaware　and　with　lighted　candles；　because　she　felt　that　the　calamities　should　not　be　used　as　a　pretext　for　any　relaxation　in　customs。　No　one　went　out　into　the　street　any　more。　If　it　had　depended　on　Fernanda；　they　would　never　have　done　so；　not　only　since　it　started　raining　but　since　long　before　that；　because　she　felt　that　doors　had　been　invented　to　stay　closed　and　that　curiosity　for　what　was　going　on　in　the　street　was　a　matter　for　harlots。　Yet　she　was　the　first　one　to　look　out　when　they　were　told　that　the　funeral　procession　for　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　was　passing　by　and　even　though　she　only　watched　it　through　the　halfopened　window　it　left　her　in　such　a　state　of　affliction　that　for　a　long　time　she　repented　in　her　weakness。
　　　She　could　not　have　conceived　of　a　more　desolate　cortege。　They　had　put　the　coffin　in　an　oxcart　over　which　they　built　a　canopy　of　banana　leaves；　but　the　pressure　of　the　rain　was　so　intense　and　the　streets　so　muddy　that　with　every　step　the　wheels　got　stuck　and　the　covering　was　on　the　verge　of　falling　apart。　The　streams　of　sad　water　that　fell　on　the　coffin　were　soaking　the　flag　that　had　been　placed　on　top　which　was　actually　the　flag　stained　with　blood　and　gunpowder　that　had　been　rejected　by　more　honorable　veterans。　On　the　coffin　they　had　also　placed　the　saber　with　tassels　of　silver　and　copper；　the　same　one　that　Colonel　Gerineldo　Márquez　used　to　hang　on　the　coat　rack　in　order　to　go　into　Amaranta’s　sewing　room　unarmed。　Behind　the　cart；　some　barefoot　and　all　of　them　with　their　pants　rolled　up；　splashing　in　the　mud　were　the　last　survivors　of　the　surrender　at　Neerlandia　carrying　a　drover’s　staff　in　one　hand　and　in　the　other　a　wreath　of　paper　flowers　that　had　bee　discolored　in　the　rain。　They　appeared　like　an　unreal　vision　along　the　street　which　still　bore　the　name　of　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía　and　they　all　looked　at　the　house　as　they　passed　and　turned　the　corner　at　the　square；　where　they　had　to　ask　for　help　to　move　the　cart；　which　was　stuck。　？rsula　had　herself　carried　to　the　door　by　Santa　Sofía　de　la　Piedad。　She　followed　the　difficulties　of　the　procession　with　such　attention　that　no　one　doubted　that　she　was　seeing　it；　especially　because　her　raised　hand　of　an　archangelic　messenger　was　moving　with　the　swaying　of　the　cart。
　　　“Goodbye；　Gerineldo；　my　son；？she　shouted。　“Say　hello　to　my　people　and　tell　them　I’ll　see　them　when　it　stops　raining。？
　　　Aureliano　Segundo　helped　her　back　to　bed　and　with　the　same　informality　with　which　he　always　treated　her；　he　asked　her　the　meaning　of　her　farewell。
　　　“It’s　true；？she　said。　“I’m　only　waiting　for　the　rain　to　stop　in　order　to　die。？
　　　The　condition　of　the　streets　alarmed　Aureliano　Segundo。　He　finally　became　worried　about　the　state　of　his　animals　and　he　threw　an　oilcloth　over　his　head　and　sent　to　Petra　Cotes’s　house。　He　found　her　in　the　courtyard；　in　the　water　up　to　her　waist；　trying　to　float　the　corpse　of　a　horse。　Aureliano　Segundo　helped　her　with　a　lever；　and　the　enormous　swollen　body　gave　a　turn　like　a　bell　and　was　dragged　away　by　the　torrent　of　liquid　mud。　Since　the　rain　began；　all　that　Petra　Cotes　had　done　was　to　clear　her　courtyard　of　dead　animals。　During　the　first　weeks　she　sent　messages　to　Aureliano　Segundo　for　him　to　take　urgent　measures　and　he　had　answered　that　there　was　no　rush；　that　the　situation　was　not　alarming；　that　there　would　be　plenty　of　time　to　think　about　something　when　it　cleared。　She　sent　him　word　that　the　horse　pastures　were　being　flooded；　that　the　cattle　were　fleeing　to　high　ground；　where　there　was　nothing　to　eat　and　where　they　were　at　the　mercy　of　jaguars　and　sickness。　“There’s　nothing　to　be　done；？Aureliano　Segundo　answered　her。　“Others　will　be　born　when　it　clears。？Petra　Cates　had　seen　them　die　in　dusters　and　the　was　able　to　butcher　only　those　stuck　in　the　mud。　She　saw　with　quiet　impotence　how　the　deluge　was　pitilessly　exterminating　a　fortune　that　at　one　time　was　considered　the　largest　and　most　solid　in　Macondo；　and　of　which　nothing　remained　but　pestilence。　When　Aureliano　Segundo　decided　to　go　see　what　was　going　on；　he　found　only　the　corpse　of　the　horse　and　a　squalid　mule　in　the　ruins　of　the　stable。　Petra　Cotes　watched　him　arrive　without　surprise；　joy；　or　resentment；　and　she　only　allowed　herself　an　ironic　smile。
　　　“It’s　about　time！？she　said。
　　　She　had　aged；　all　skin　and　bones；　and　her　tapered　eyes　of　a　carnivorous　animal　had　bee　sad　and　tame　from　looking　at　the　rain　so　much。　Aureliano　Segundo　stayed　at　her　house　more　than　three　months；　not　because　he　felt　better　there　than　in　that　of　his　family；　but　because　he　needed　all　that　time　to　make　the　decision　to　throw　the　piece　of　oilcloth　back　over　his　head。　“There’s　no　rush；？he　said；　as　he　had　said　in　the　other　home。　“Let’s　hope　that　it　clears　in　the　next　few　hours。？During　the　course　of　the　first　week　he　became　accustomed　to　the　inroads　that　time　and　the　rain　had　made　in　the　health　of　his　concubine；　and　little　by　little　he　was　seeing　her　as　she　had　been　before；　remembering　her　jubilant　excesses　and　the　delirious　fertility　that　her　love　provoked　in　the　animals；　and　partly　through　love；　partly　through　interest；　one　night　during　the　second　week　he　awoke　her　with　urgent　caresses。　Petra　Cotes　did　not　react。　“Go　back　to　sleep；？she　murmured。　“These　aren’t　times　for　things　like　that。？Aureliano　Segundo　saw　himself　in　the　mirrors　on　the　ceiling；　saw　Petra　Cotes’s　spinal　column　like　a　row　of　spools　strung　together　along　a　cluster　of　withered　nerves；　and　he　saw　that　she　was　right；　not　because　of　the　times　but　because　of　themselves；　who　were　no　longer　up　to　those　things。
　　　Aureliano　Segundo　returned　home　with　his　trunks；　convinced　that　not　only　？rsula　but　all　the　inhabitants　of　Macondo　were　waiting　for　it　to　dear　in　order　to　die。　He　had　seen　them　as　he　passed　by；　sitting　in　their　parlors　with　an　absorbed　look　and　folded　arms；　feeling　unbroken　time　pass；　relentless　times；　because　it　was　useless　to　divide　it　into　months　and　years；　and　the　days　into　hours；　when　one　could　do　nothing　but　contemplate　the　rain。　The　children　greeted　Aureliano　Segundo　with　excitement　because　he　was　playing　the　asthmatic　accordion　for　them　again。　But　the　concerts　did　not　attract　their　attention　as　much　as　the　sessions　with　the　encyclopedia；　and　once　more　they　got　together　in　Meme’s　room；　where　Aureliano　Segundo’s　imagination　changed　a　dirigible　into　a　flying　elephant　who　was　looking　for　a　place　to　sleep　among　the　clouds。　On　one　occasion　he　came　across　a　man　on　horseback　who　in　spite　of　his　strange　outfit　had　a　familiar　look；　and　after　examining　him　closely　he　came　to　the　conclusion　that　it　was　a　picture　of　Colonel　Aureliano　Buendía。　He　showed　it　to　Fernanda　and　she　also　admitted　the　resemblance　of　the　horseman　not　only　to　the　colonel　but　to　everybody　in　the　family；　although　he　was　actually　a　Tartar　warrior。　Time　passed　in　that　way　with　the　Colossus　of　Rhodes　and　snake　charmers　until　his　wife　told　him　that　there　were　only　three　pounds　of　dried　meat　and　a　sack　of　rice　left　in　the　pantry。
　　　And　what　do　you　want　me　to　do　about　it？？he　asked。
　　　“I　don’t　know；？Fernanda　answered。　“That’s　men’s　business。？
　　　“Well；？Aureliano　Segundo　said；　“something　will　be　done　when　it　clears。？
　　　He　was　more　interested　in　the　encyclopedia　than　In　the　domestic　problem；　even　when　he　had　to　content　himself　with　a　scrap　of　meat　and　a　little　rice　for　lunch。　“It’s　impossible　to　do　anything　now；？he　would　say。　“It　can’t　rain　for　the　rest　of　our　lives。？And　while　the　urgencies　of　the　pantry　grew　greater；　Fernanda’s　indignation　also　grew；　until　her　eventual　protests；　her　infrequent　outbursts　came　forth　in　an　uncontained；　unchained　torrent　that　begin　one　morning　like　the　monotonous　drone　of　a　guitar　and　as　the　day　advanced　rose　in　pitch；　richer　and　more　splendid。　Aureliano　Segundo　was　not　aware　of　the　singsong　until　the　following　day　after　breakfast　when　he　felt　himself　being　bothered　by　a　buzzing　that　was　by　then　more　fluid　and　louder　than　the　sound　of　the　rain；　and　it　was　Fernanda；　who　was　walking　throughout　the　house　plaining　that　they　had　raised　her　to　be　a　queen　only　to　have　her　end　up　as　a　servant　in　a　madhouse；　with　a　lazy；　idolatrous；　libertine　husband　who　lay　on　his　back　waiting　for　bread　to　rain　down　from　heaven　while　she　was　straining　her　kidneys　trying　to　keep　afloat　a　home　held　together　with　pins　where　there　was　so　much　to　do；　so　much　to　bear　up　under　and　repair　from　the　time　God　gave　his　morning　sunlight　until　it　was　time　to　go　to　bed　that　when　she　got　there　her　eyes　were　full　of　ground　glass；　and　yet　no　one　ever　said　to　her；　“Good　morning；　Fernanda；　did　you　sleep　well？？Nor　had　they　asked　her；　even　out　of　courtesy；　why　she　was　so　pale　or　why　she　awoke　with　purple　rings　under　her　eyes　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　she　expected　it；　of　course；　from　a　family　that　had　always　considered　her　a　nuisance；　an　old　rag；　a　booby　painted　on　the　wall；　and　who　were　always　going　around　saying　things　against　her　behind　her　back；　calling　her　church　mouse；　calling　her　Pharisee；　calling　her　crafty；　and　even　Amaranta；　may　she　rest　in　peace；　had　said　aloud　that　she　was　one　of　those　people　who　could　not　tell　their　rectums　from　their　ashes；　God　have　mercy；　such　words；　and　she　had　tolerated　everything　with　resignation　because　of