百年孤独这本书怎么样 世纪文学经典:《百年孤独》第13章Part10

世纪文学经典:《百年孤独》第13章Part10  

During those days José Arcadio Segun-do reappeared in the house. He went along the porch without greeting anyone and he shut himself up in the workshop to talk to the colonel. In spite of the fact that she could not see him
úrsula analyzed the clicking of his foreman's boots and was surprised at the unbridgeable distance that separated him from the family
even from the in brother with whom he had played ingenious games of confusion in childhood and with whom he no longer had any traits in mon. He was linear
solemn
and had a pensive air and the sadness of a Saracen and a mournful glow on his face that was the color of autumn. He was the one who most resembled his mother
Santa Sofía de la Piedad. úrsula reproached herself for the habit of fetting about him when she spoke about the family
but when she sensed him in the house again and noticed that the colonel let him into the workshop during working hours
she reexamined her old memories and confirmed the belief that at some moment in childhood he had changed places with his in brother
because it was he and not the other one who should have been called Aureli-ano. No one knew the details of his life. At one time it was discovered that he had no fixed abode
that he raised fighting cocks at Pilar Ternera's house and that sometimes he would stay there to sleep but that he almost always spent the night in the rooms of the French matrons. He drifted about
with no ties of affection
with no ambitions
like a wandering star in úrsula's plaary system.
In reality
José Arcadio Segun-do was not a member of the family
nor would he ever be of any other since that distant dawn when Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez took him to the barracks
not so that he could see an execution
but so that for the rest of his life he would never fet the sad and somewhat mocking smile of the man being shot. That was not only his oldest memory
but the only one he had of his childhood. The other one
that of an old man with an old-fashioned vest and a hat with a brim like a crow's wings who told him marvelous things framed in a dazzling window
he was unable to place in any period. It was an uncertain memory
entirely devoid of lessons or nostalgia
the opposite of the memory of the executed man
which had really set the direction of his life and would return to his memory clearer and dearer as he grew older
as if the passage of time were bringing him closer to it. úrsula tried to use José Arcadio Segun-do to get Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía. to give up his imprisonment. "Get him to go to the movies
" she said to him. "Even if he doesn't like the picture
as least he'll breathe a little fresh air." But it did not take her long to realize that he was as insensible to her begging as the colonel would have been
and that they were armored by the same impermeability of affection. Although she never knew
nor did anyone know
what they spoke about in their prolonged sessions shut up in the workshop
she understood that they were probably the only members of the family who seemed drawn together by some affinity.
The truth is that not even José Arcadio Segun-do would have been able to draw the colonel out of his confinement. The invasion of schoolgirls had lowered the limits of his patience. With the pretext that his wedding bedroom was at the mercy of the moths in spite of the destruction of Remedios' appetizing dolls
he hung a hammock in the workshop and then he would leave it only to go into the courtyard to take care of his necessities. úrsula was unable to string together even a trivial conversation with him. She knew that he did not look at the dishes of food but would put them at one end of his workbench while he finished a little fish and it did not matter to him if the soup curdled or if the meat got cold. He grew harder and harder ever since Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez refused to back him up in a senile war. He locked himself up inside himself and the family finally thought of him is if he were dead. No other human reaction was seen in him until one October eleventh
when he went to the. street door to watch a circus parade. For Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía it had been a day just like all those of his last years. At five o'clock in the morning the noise of the toads and crickets outside the wall woke him up. The drizzle had persisted since Saturday and there was no necessity for him to hear their tiny whispering among the leaves of the garden because he would have felt the cold in his bones in any case. He was
as always
wrapped in his woolen blanket and wearing his crude cotton long drawers
which he still wore for fort
even though because of their musty
old-fashioned style he called them his "Goth drawers." He put on his tight pants but did not button them up
nor did he put the gold button into his shirt collar as he always did
because he planned to take a bath. Then he put the blanket over his head like a cowl. brushed his dripping mustache with his fingers
and went to urinate in the courtyard. There was still so much time left for the sun to e out that José Arcadio Buendía was still dozing under the shelter of palm fronds that had been rotted by the rain. He did not see him
as he had never seen him
nor did he hear the inprehensible phrase that the ghost of his father addressed to him as he awakened
startled by the stream of hot urine that splattered his shoes. He put the bath off for later
not because of the cold and the dampness
but because of the oppressive October mist. On his way back to the workshop he noticed the odor of the wick that Santa Sofía de la Piedad was using to light the stoves
and he waited in the kitchen for the coffee to boil so that he could take along his mug without sugar. Santa Sofía de la Piedad asked him
as on every morning
what day of the week it was
and he answered that it was Tuesday
October eleventh. Watching the glow of the fire as it gilded the persistent woman who neither then nor in any instant of her life seemed to exist pletely
he suddenly remembered that on one October eleventh in the middle of the war he had awakened with the brutal certainty that the woman with whom he had slept was dead. She really was and he could not fet the date because she had asked him an hour before what day it was. In spite of the memory he did not have an awareness this time either of to what degree his omens had abandoned him and while the coffee was boiling he kept on thinking out of pure curiosity but without the slightest risk of nostalgia about the woman whose name he had never known and whose face he had not seen because she had stumbled to his hammock in the dark. Nevertheless
in the emptiness of so many women who came into his life in the same way
he did not remember that she was the one who in the delirium of that first meeting was on the point of foundering in her own tears and scarcely an hour before her death had sworn to love him until she died. He did not think about her again or about any of the others after he went into the workshop with the steaming cup
and he lighted the lamp in order to count the little gold fishes
which he kept in a tin pail. There were seventeen of them. Since he had decided not to sell any
he kept on making o fishes a day and when he finished enty-five he would melt them down and start all over again. He worked all morning
absorbed
without thinking about anything
without realizing that at ten o'clock the rain had grown stronger and someone ran past the workshop shouting to close the doors before the house was flooded
and without thinking even about himself until úrsula came in with his lunch and turned out the light.