THE EVENTS that would deal Macon-do its fatal blow were just showing themselves when they brought Meme Buendía's son home. The public situation was so uncertain then that no one had sufficient spirit to become involved with private scandals, so that Fernanda was able to count on an atmosphere that enabled her to keep the child hidden as if he had never existed. She had to take in because the circumstances under which they brought him made rejection impossible. She had to tolerate him against her will for the rest of her life because at the moment of truth she lacked the courage to go through inner determination to drown him in the bathroom cistern. She locked him up in Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía's old workshop. She succeeded in convincing Santa Sofía de la Piedad that she had found him floating in a basket. úrsula would die without ever knowing his origin. Little Amaranta úrsula, who went into the workshop once when Fernanda was feeding the child, also believed the version of the floating basket. Aureli-ano Segun-do, having broken finally with his wife because of the irrational way in which she handled Meme's tragedy, did not know of the existence of his grandson until three years after they brought him home, when the child escaped from captivity through an oversight on Fernanda's part and appeared on the porch for a fraction of a second, naked, with matted hair, and with an impressive sex organ that was like a turkey's wattles, as if he were not a human child but the encyclopedia definition of a cannibal.

Fernanda had not counted on that nasty trick of her incorrigible fate. The child was like the return of a shame that she had thought exiled by her from the house forever. As soon as they carried off Mauricio Babilonia with his shattered spinal column, Fernanda had worked out the most minute details of a plan destined to wipe out all traces of the burden. Without consulting her husband, she packed her bags, put the three changes of clothing that her daughter would need into a small suitcase, and went to get her in her bedroom a half hour before the train arrived.

"Let's go, Renata," she told her.

She gave no explanation. Meme, for her part, did not expect or want any. She not only did not know where they were going, but it would have been the same to her if they had been taking her to the slaughterhouse. She had not spoken again nor would she do so for the rest of her life from the time that she heard the shot in the backyard and the simultaneous cry pain from Mauricio Babilonia. When her mother ordered her out of the bedroom she did not comb her hair or wash her face and she got into the train as if she were walking in her sleep, not even noticing the yellow butterflies that were still accompanying her. Fernanda never found out nor did she take the trouble to, whether that stony silence was a determination of her will or whether she had become mute because of the impact of the tragedy. Meme barely took notice the journey through the formerly enchanted region. She did not see the shady, endless banana groves on both sides of the tracks. She did not see the white houses of the gringos or their gardens, dried out by dust and heat, or the women in shorts and blue-striped shirts playing cards on the terraces. She did not see the oxcarts on the dusty roads loaded down with bunches of bananas. She did not see the girls diving into the transparent rivers like tarpons, leaving the passengers on the train with the bitterness of their splendid breasts, or the miserable huts of the workers all huddled together where Mauricio Babilonia's yellow butterflies fluttered about and in the doorways of which there were green and squalid children sitting on their pots, and pregnant women who shouted insults at the train. That fleeting vision, which had been a celebration for her when she came home from school, passed through Meme's heart without a quiver. She did not look out of the window, not even when the burning dampness of the groves ended and the train went through a poppy-laden plain where the carbonized skeleton of the Spanish galleon still sat and then came out into the dear air alongside the frothy, dirty sea where almost a century before José Arcadio Buendía's illusions had met defeat.

"Come, Renata," she said to her.

Meme took her hand and let herself be led. The last time that Fernanda saw her, trying to keep up with the novice, the iron grating of the cloister had just closed behind her. She was still thinking about Mauricio Babilonia, his smell of grease, and his halo of butterflies, and she would keep on thinking about him for all the days of her life until the remote autumn morning when she died of old age, name changed and her head shaved and without ever having spoken a word, in a gloomy hospital in Cracow.

Fernanda returned to Macon-do on a train protected by armed police. During the trip she noticed the tension of the passengers, the military preparations in the towns along the line, and an atmosphere rarified by the certainty that something serious was going to happen, but she had no information until she reached Macon-do and they told her that José Arcadio Segun-do was inciting the workers the banana company to strike. "That's all we need," Fernanda said to herself. "An anarchist in the family." The strike broke out two weeks later and it did not have the dramatic consequences that had been feared. The workers demanded that they not be obliged to cut and load bananas on Sundays, and the position seemed so just that even Father Antonio Isabel interceded in its favor because he found it in accordance with the laws of God. That victory, along with other actions that were initiated during the following months, drew the colorless José Arcadio Segun-do out of his anonymity, for people had been accustomed to say that he was only good for filling up the town with French whores. With the same impulsive decision with which he had auctioned off his fighting cocks in order to organize a harebrained boat business, he gave up his position as foreman in the banana company and took the side of the workers. Quite soon he was pointed out as the agent of an international conspiracy against public order. One night, during the course a week darkened by somber rumors, he miraculously escaped four revolver shots taken at him by an unknown party as he was leaving a secret meeting. The atmosphere of the following months was so tense that even úrsula perceived it in her dark corner, and she had the impression that once more she was living through the dangerous times when her son Aureli-ano carried the home-opathic pills of subversion in his pocket. She tried to speak to José Arcadio Segun-do, to let him know about that precedent, but Aureli-ano Segun-do told her that since the night of the attempt on his life no one knew his whereabouts.

"Just like Aureli-ano," úrsula exclaimed. "It's as if the world were repeating itself."

Fernanda, was immune to the uncertainty of those days. She had no contact with the outside world since the violent altercation she had had with her husband over her having decided Memes fate without his consent. Aureli-ano Segun-do was prepared to rescue his daughter with the help of the police if necessary, but Fernanda showed him some papers that were proof that she had entered the convent of her own free will. Meme had indeed signed once she was already behind the iron grating and she did it with the same indifference with which she had allowed herself to be led away. Underneath it all, Aureli-ano Segun-do did not believe in the legitimacy of the proof. Just as he never believed that Mauricio Babilonia had gone into the yard to steal chickens, but both expedients served to ease his conscience, and thus he could go back without remorse under the shadow of Petra Cotes, where he revived his noisy revelry and unlimited gourmandizing. Foreign to the restlessness of the town, deaf to úrsula's quiet predictions. Fernanda gave the last tam to the screw of her preconceived plan. She wrote a long letter to her son José Arcadio, who was then about to take his first orders, and in it she told him that his sister Renata had expired in the peace of the Lord and as a consequence of the black vomit. Then she put Amaranta úrsula under the care of Santa Sofía de la Piedad and dedicated herself to organizing her correspondence with the invisible doctors, which had been upset by Meme's trouble. The first thing that she did was to set a definite date for the postponed telepathic operation. But the invisible doctors answered her that it was not wise so long as the state of social agitation continued in Macon-do. She was so urgent and so poorly Informed that she explained to them In another letter that there was no such state of agitation that everything was the result of the lunacy of a brother-in-law of hers who was fiddling around at that time in that labor union non-sense just as he had been involved with cockfighting and riverboats before. They were still not in agreement on the hot Wednesday when an aged nun knocked at the door bearing a small basket on her arm. When she opened the door Santa Sofía de la Piedad thought that it was a gift and tried to take the small basket that was covered with a lovely lace wrap. But the nun stopped her because she had instructions to give it personally the strictest secrecy to Do?a Fernanda del Carpio de Buendía. It was Meme's son. Fernanda's former spiritual director explained to her in a letter that he had been born two months before and that they had taken the privilege of baptizing him Aureli-ano, for his grandfather, because his mother would not open her lips to tell them her wishes. Fernanda rose up inside against that trick of fate, but she had sufficient strength to hide it in front of the nun.

"We'll tell them that we found him floating in the basket," she said smiling.

"No one will believe it," the nun said.

"If they believe it in the Bible," Fernanda replied, "I don't see why they shouldn't believe it from me.-"

The nun lunched at the house while she waited for the train back, and in accordance with the discretion they asked her, she did not mention the child again, but Fernanda viewed her as an undesirable witness of her shame and lamented the fact that they had abandoned the medieval custom of hanging a messenger who bore bad news. It was then that she decided to drown the child in the cistern as soon as the nun left, but her heart was not strong enough and she preferred to wait patiently until the infinite goodness of God would free her from the annoyance.

The new Aureli-ano was a year old when the tension of the people broke with no forewarning. José Arcadio Segun-do and other union leaders who had remained underground until then suddenly appeared one weekend and organized demonstrations in towns throughout the banana region. The police merely maintained public order. But on Monday night the leaders were taken from their homes and sent to jail in the capital of the province with two-pound irons on their legs. Taken among them were José Arcadio Segun-do Lorenzo Gavilán, a colonel in the Mexican revolution, exiled in Macon-do, who said that he had been witness to the heroism of his comrade Artemio Cruz. They were set free, however, within three months because of the fact that the government and the banana company could not reach an agreement as to who should feed them in jail. The protests of the workers this time were based on the lack of sanitary facilities in their living quarters, the nonexistence of medical services, and terrible working conditions. They stated, furthermore, that they were not being paid in real money but in scrip, which was good only to buy Virginia ham in the company commissaries. José Arcadio Segun-do was put in jail because he revealed that the scrip system was a way for the company to finance its fruit ships; which without the commissary merchandise would have to return empty from New Orleans to the banana ports. The otcomplaints were common knowledge. The company physicians did not examine the sick but had them line up behind one another in the dispensaries and a nurse would put a pill the color copper sulfate on their tongues, whether they had malaria, gonorrhea, or constipation. It was a cure that was so common that children would stand in line several times and instead of swallowing the pills would take them home to use as bingo markers. The company workers were crowded together in miserable barracks. The engineers, instead of putting in toilets, had a portable latrine for every fifty people brought to the camps at Christmas time and they held public demonstrations of how to use them so that they would last longer. The decrepit lawyers dressed in black who during other times had besieged Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía and who now were controlled by the banana company dismissed those demands with decisions that seemed like acts of magic. When the workers drew up a list of unanimous petitions, a long time passed before they were able to notify the banana company officially. As soon as he found out about the agreement Mr. Brown hitched his luxurious glassed-in coach to the train and disappeared from Macon-do along with the more prominent representatives of his company. Nonetheless some workers found one of them the following Saturday in a brothel and they made him sign a copy the sheet with the demands while he was naked with the women who had helped to entrap him. The mournful lawyers showed in court that that man had nothing to do with the company and in order that no one doubt their arguments they had him jailed as an impostor. Later on, Mr. Brown was surprised traveling incognito, in a third-class coach and they made him sign another copy of the demands. On the following day he appeared before the judges with his hair dyed black and speaking flawless Spanish. The lawyers showed that the man was not Mr. Jack Brown, the superintendent of the banana company, born in Prattville Alabama, but a harmless vendor of medicinal plants, born in Macon-do and baptized there with the name of Dagoberto Fonseca. A while later, faced with a new attempt by the workers the lawyers publicly exhibited Mr. Brown's death certificate, attested to by consuls and foreign ministers which bore witness that on June ninth last he had been run over by a fire engine in Chicago. Tired of that hermeneutical delirium, the workers turned away from the authorities in Macon-do and brought their complaints up to the higher courts. It was there that the sleight-of-hand lawyers proved that the demands lacked all validity for the simple reason that the banana company did not have, never had had, and never would have any workers in its service because they were all hired on a temporary and occasional basis. So that the fable of the Virginia ham was nonsense, the same as that of the miraculous pills and the Yuletide toilets, and by a decision of the court it was established and set down in solemn decrees that the workers did not exist.

The great strike broke out. Cultivation stopped halfway, the fruit rotted on the trees and the hundred--twenty-car trains remained on the sidings. The idle workers overflowed the towns. The Street of the Turks echoed with a Saturday that lasted for several days and in the poolroom at the Hotel Jacob they had to arrange twenty-four-hour shifts. That was where José Arcadio Segun-do was on the day it was announced that the army had been assigned to reestablish public order. Although he was not a man given to omens, the news was like an announcement of death that he had been waiting for ever since that distant morning when Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez had let see an execution. The bad omen did not change his solemnity, however. He took the shot he had planned and it was good. A short time later the drumbeats, the shrill of the bugle, the shouting and running of the people told him that not only had the game of pool come to an end, but also the silent and solitary game that he had been playing with himself ever since that dawn execution. Then he went out into the street and saw them. There were three regiments, whose march in time to a galley drum made the earth tremble. Their snorting of a many-headed dragon filled the glow noon with a pestilential vapor. They were short, stocky, and brutelike. They perspired with the sweat of a horse and had a smell of suntanned hide and the taciturn and impenetrable perseverance of men from the uplands. Although it took them over an hour to pass by, one might have thought that they were only a few squads marching in a circle, because they were all identical, sons of the same bitch, and with the same stolidity they all bore the weight of their packs and canteens, the shame of their rifles with fixed bayonets, and the chancre of blind obedience a sense of honor. úrsula heard them pass from her bed in the shadows and she made a crow with her fingers. Santa Sofía de la Piedad existed for an instant, leaning over the embroidered tablecloth that she had just ironed, and she thought son, José Arcadio Segun-do, who without changing expression watched the last soldiers pass by the door of the Hotel Jacob.

Martial law enabled the army to assume the functions of arbitrator in the controversy, but no effort at conciliation was made. As soon as they appeared in Macon-do, the soldiers put aside their rifles and cut and loaded the bananas and started the trains running. The workers, who had been content to wait until then, went into the woods with no other weapons but their working machetes and they began to sabotage the sabotage. They burned plantations and commissaries, tore up tracks to impede the passage of the trains that began to open their path with machine-gun fire, and they cut telegraph and telephone wires. The irrigation ditches were stained with blood. Mr. Brown, who was alive in the electrified chicken coop, was taken out of Macon-do with his family and those of his fellow countrymen and brought to a safe place under the protection of the army. The situation was threatening to lead to a bloody and unequal civil war when the authorities called upon the workers to gather in Macon-do. The summons announced that the civil and military leader of the province would arrive on the following Friday ready to intercede in the conflict.

José Arcadio Segun-do was in the crowd that had gathered at the station on Friday since early in the morning. He had taken part in a meeting of union leaders and had been commissioned, along with Colonel Gavilán, to mingle in the crowd and orient it according to how things went. He did not feel well and a salty paste was beginning to collect on his palate when he noticed that the army had set up machine-gun emplacements around the small square and that the wired city of the banana company was protected by artillery pieces. Around twelve o'clock, waiting for a train that was not arriving, more than three thousand people, workers, women, and children, had spilled out of the open space in front of the station were pressing into the neighboring streets, which the army had closed off with rows of machine guns. At that time it all seemed more like a jubilant fair than a waiting crowd. They had brought over the fritter and drink stands from the Street of the Turks and the people were in good spirits as they bore the tedium of waiting and the scorching sun. A short time before three o'clock the rumor spread that the official train would not arrive until the following day. The crowd let out a sigh of disappointment. An army lieutenant then climbed up onto the roof of the station where there were four machine-gun emplacements aiming at the crowd and called for silence. Next to José Arcadio Segun-do there was a barefooted woman, very fat, two children between the ages of four and seven. She was carrying the smaller one and she asked José Arcadio Segun-do, without knowing him, if he would lift up the other one so that he could hear better. José Arcadio Segun-do put the child on his shoulders. Many years later that child would still tell, to the disbelief of all, that he had seen the lieutenant reading Decree No. 4 of the civil and military leader of the province through an old phonograph horn. It had been signed by General Carlos Cortes Vargas and his secretary, Major Enrique García Isaza, and in three articles eighty words he declared the strikers to be a "bunch of hoodlums" and he authorized the army to shoot to kill.

After the decree was read, in the midst of a deafening hoot of protest, a captain took the place of the lieutenant on the roof of the station and with the horn he signaled that he wanted to speak. The crowd was quiet again.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain said in a low voice that was slow and a little tired. "you have five minutes to withdraw."

The redoubled hooting and shouting drowned out the bugle call that announced the start of the count. No one moved.

José Arcadio Segun-do, sweating ice, lowered the child and gave him to the woman. "Those bastards might just shoot," she murmured. José Arcadio Segun-do did not have time to speak because at that instant he recognized the hoarse voice of Colonel Gavilán echoing the words of the woman with a shout. Intoxicated by the tension, by the miraculous depth of the silence, and furthermore convinced that nothing could move that crowd held tight in a fascination with death, José Arcadio Segun-do raised himself up over the heads in front of him and for the first time in his life he raised his voice.

"You bastards!" he shouted. "Take the extra minute and stick it up your ass!"

After his shout something happened that did not bring on fright but a kind of hallucination. The captain gave the order to fire and fourteen machine guns answered at once. But it all seemed like a farce. It was as if the machine guns had been loaded with caps, because their panting rattle could be heard and their incandescent spitting could be seen, but not the slightest reaction was perceived, not a cry, not even a sigh among the compact crowd that seemed petrified by an instantaneous invulnerability. Suddenly, on one side-of the station, a cry of death tore open the enchantment: "Aaaagh, Mother." A seismic voice, a volcanic breath. the roar of a cataclysm broke out in the center of the crowd with a great potential of expansion. José Arca-dio Segun-do barely had time to pick up the child while the motthe other one was swallowed up by the crowd that swirled about in panic.

"Get down! Get down!"

The people in front had already done so, swept down by the wave of bullets. The survivors, instead of getting down, tried to go back to the small square, and the panic became a dragon's tail as one compact wave ran against another which was moving in the opposite direction, toward the other dragon's tail In the street across the way, where the machine guns were also firing without cease. They were Penned in. swirling about in a gigantic whirlwind that little by little was being reduced to its epicenter as the edges were systematically being cut off all around like an onion being peeled by the insatiable and methodical shears of the machine guns. -The child saw a woman kneeling with her arms in the shape of a cross in an open space, mysteriously free of the stampede. José Arcadio Segun-do put him up there at the moment he fell with his face bathed in blood, before the colossal troop wiped out the empty space, the kneeling woman, the light of the high, drought-stricken sky, and the whorish world where úrsula Iguarán had sold so many little candy animals.

When José Arcadio Segun-do came to he was lying face up in the darkness. He realized that he was riding on an endless and silent train and that his head was caked with dry blood and that all his bones ached. He felt an intolerable desire to sleep. Prepared to sleep for many hours, safe from the terror and the horror, he made himself comfortable on the side that pained less, and only then did he discover that he was lying against dead people. There was no free space in the car except for an aisle in the middle. Several hours must have passed since the massacre because the corpses had the same temperature as a plaster in autumn and the same consistency of petrified foam that it had, and those who had put them in the car had had time to pile them up in the same way in which they transported bunches of bananas. Trying to flee from the nightmare, José Arcadio Segun-do dragged himself from one car to an other in the direction in which the train was heading, and in the flashes of light that broke through the wooden slats as they went through sleeping towns he saw the man corpses, woman corpses, child corpses who would be thrown into the sea like rejected bananas. He recognized only a woman who sold drinks in the square and Colonel Gavilán, who still held wrapped in his hand the belt with a buckle of Morelia silver with which he had tried to open his way through the panic. When he got to the first car he jumped into the darkness and lay beside the tracks until the train had passed. It was the longest one he had ever seen, with almost two hundred freight cars and a locomotive at either end and a third one in the middle. It had no lights, not even the red and green running lights, and it slipped off with a nocturnal and stealthy velocity. On top of the cars there could be seen the dark shapes of the soldiers their emplaced machine guns.

After midnight a torrential cloudburst came up. José Arcadio Segun-do did not know where it was that he had jumped off, but he knew that by going in the opposite direction to that of the train he would reach Macon-do. After walking for more than three hours, soaked to the skin, with a terrible headache, he was able to make out the first houses in the light of dawn. Attracted by the smell of coffee, he went into a kitchen where a woman with a child in her arms was leaning over the stove.

"Hello," he said, exhausted. "I'm José Arcadio Segun-do Buendía."

José Arcadio Segun-do did not speak until he had finished drinking his coffee.

"What?"

"The dead," he clarified. "It must have been an of the people who were at the station."

The woman measured him with a pitying look. "There haven't been any dead here," she said. "Since the time of your uncle, the colonel, nothing has happened in Macon-do." In the three kitchens where José Arcadio Segun-do stopped before reaching home they told him the same thing. "There weren't any dead. He went through the small square by the station and he saw the fritter stands piled one on top of the othe could find no trace of the massacre. The streets were deserted under the persistent rain and the houses locked up with no trace of life inside. The only human note was the first tolling of the bells for mass. He knocked at the door at Colonel Gavilán's house. A pregnant woman whom he had seen several times closed the door in his face. "He left," she said, frightened. "He went back to his own country." The main entrance to the wire chicken coop was guarded as always by two local policemen who looked as if they were made of stone under the rain, with raincoats rubber boots. On their marginal street the West Indian Negroes were singing Saturday psalms. José Arcadio Segun-do jumped over the courtyard wall and entered the house through the kitchen. Santa Sofía de la Piedad barely raised her voice. "Don't let Fernanda see you," she said. "She's just getting up." As if she were fulfilling an implicit pact, she took her son to the "chamberpot room." arranged Melquíades' broken-down cot for him and at two in the afternoon, while Fernanda was taking her siesta, she passed a plate of food in to him through the window.

Aureli-ano Segun-do had slept at home because the rain had caught him time and at three in the afternoon he was still waiting for it to clear. Informed in secret by Santa Sofía de la Piedad, he visited his brother in Melquíades' room at that time. He did not believe the version of the massacre or the nightmare trip of the train loaded with corpses traveling toward the sea either. The night before he had read an extraordinary proclamation to the nation which said that the workers had left the station and had returned home in peaceful groups. The proclamation also stated that the union leaders, with great patriotic spirit, had reduced their demands to two points: a reform of medical services and the building of latrines in the living quarters. It was stated later that when the military authorities obtained the agreement with the workers, they hastened to tell Mr. Brown and he not only accepted the new conditions but offered to pay for three days of public festivities to celebrate the end of the conflict. Except that when the military asked him on what date they could announce the signing of the agreement, he looked out the window at the sky crossed with lightning flashes and made a profound gesture of doubt.

"When the rain stops," he said. "As long as the rain lasts we're suspending all activities."

It had not rained for three months and there had been a drought. But when Mr. Brown announced his decision a torrential downpour spread over the whole banana region. It was the one that caught José Arcadio Segun-do on his way to Macon-do. A week later it was still raining. The official version, repeated a thousand times and mangled out all over the country by every means of communication the government found at hand, was finally accepted: there were no dead, the satisfied workers had gone back to their families, and the banana company was suspending all activity until the rains stopped. Martial law continued an eye to the necessity of taking emergency measures for the public disaster of the endless downpour, but the troops were confined to quarters. During the day the soldiers walked through the torrents in the streets with their pant legs rolled up, playing with boats with the children. At night after taps, they knocked doors down with their rifle butts, hauled suspects out of their beds, and took them off on trips from which there was no return. The search for extermination of the hoodlums, murderers, arsonists, and rebels of Decree No. 4 was still going on, but the military denied it even to the relatives of the victims who crowded the commandant's offices in search of news. "You must have been dreaming," the officers insisted. "Nothing has happened in Macon-do, nothing has ever happened, and nothing ever will happen. "This is a happy town." In that way they were finally able to wipe out the union leaders.

The only survivor was José Arcadio Segun-do. One February night the unmistakable blows of rifle butts were heard at the door. Aureli-ano Segun-do, who was still waiting for it to clear, opened the door to six soldiers under the command of an officer. Soaking from the rain, without saying a word, they searched the house room by room, closet by closet, from parlor to pantry. úrsula woke up when they turned on the light in her room and she did not breathe while the march went on but held her fingers in the shape of a cross, pointing them to where the soldiers were moving about. Santa Sofía de la Piedad managed to warn José Arcadio Segun-do, who was sleeping in Melquíades' room, but he could see that it was too late to try to escape. So Santa Sofía de la Piedad locked the door again and he put on his shirt and his shoes and sat down on the cot to wait for them. At that moment they were searching the gold workshop. The officer made them open the padlock and with a quick sweep of his lantern he saw the workbench and the glass cupboard with bottles of acid and instruments that were still where their owner had left them and he seemed to understand that no one lived in that room. He wisely asked Aureli-ano Segun-do if he was a silversmith, however, and the latter explained to him that it had been Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía's workshop. "Oho," the officer said, turned on the lights, and ordered such a minute search that they did not miss the eighteen little gold fishes that had not been melted down and that were hidden behind the bottles Is their tin can. The officer examined them one by one on the workbench and then he turned human. "I'd like to take one, if I may," he said. "At one time they were a mark of subversion, but now they're relics." -He was young, almost an adolescent, with no sign of timidity and with a natural pleasant manner that had not shown itself until then. Aureli-ano Segun-do gave him the little fish. The officer put it in his shirt pocket with a childlike glow in his eyes and he put the others back in the can and set it back where it had been.

"It's a wonderful memento," he said. "Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía was one of our greatest men."

Nevertheless, that surge of humanity did not alter his professional conduct. At Melquíades' room, which was locked up again with the padlock, Santa Sofía de la Piedad tried one last hope. "No one has lived in that room for a century," she said. The officer had it opened and flashed the beam the lantern over it, and Aureli-ano Segun-do and Santa Sofía de la Piedad saw the Arab eyes of José Arcadio Segun-do at the moment when the ray of light passed over his face they understood that it was the end of one anxiety and the beginning of another which would find relief only in resignation. But the officer continued examining the room with the lantern and showed no sign of interest until he discovered the seventy-two chamberpots piled up in the cupboards. Then he turned on the light. José Arcadio Segun-do was sitting on the edge of the cot, ready to go, more solemn and pensive than ever. In the background were the shelves with the shredded books, the rolls of parchment, and the clean and orderly worktable with the ink still fresh in the inkwells. There was the same pureness in the air, the same clarity, the same respite from dust and destruction that Aureli-ano Segun-do had known in childhood and that only Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía could not perceive. But the officer was only interested in the chamberpots.

"How many people live in this house?' he asked.

"Five."

The officer obviously did not understand. He paused with his glance on the space where Aureli-ano Segun-do and Santa Soft de la Piedad were still seeing José Arcadio Segun-do and the latter also realized that the soldier was looking at him without seeing him. Then he turned out the light and closed the door. When he spoke to the soldiers, Aureli-ano, Segun-do understood that the young officer had seen the room with the same eyes as Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía.

"It's obvious that no one has been in that room for at least a hundred years." the officer said to the soldiers. "There must even be snakes in there."

整个马孔多将要遭到致命打击的那些事情刚露苗头，梅梅的儿子就给送到家里来了。全镇处于惊惶不安的状态，谁也不愿去管别人的家庭丑事，因此，菲兰达决定利用这种有利情况把孩子藏起来，仿佛肚上没有他这个人似的。她不得不收留这个孙子，因为周围的环境不容许她拒绝。事与愿违，她到死的一天都得承认这个孩子；她本来暗中决定在浴宝水池里把他溺毙，可是在最后时刻她又失去了这种勇气。她把他关在奥雷连诺上校往日的作坊里，她让圣索菲娅.德拉佩德相信，她是在河上漂来的一只柳条筐里发现这个孩子的。乌苏娜直到临终的时候，始终都不知道他的出生秘密。有一天，小姑娘阿玛兰塔。乌苏娜偶然走进作坊，菲兰达正在那儿喂孩子，小姑娘也相信了关于柳条筐的说法。因为妻子的荒唐行为毁了梅梅的一生，奥雷连诺第二终于离开了妻子，他是三年以后才知道这个孙子的，那时由于菲兰达的疏忽，孩子跑出了作坊，在长廊上呆了一会儿——这孩子全身赤裸裸的，头发乱蓬蓬的，他的男性器官犹如火鸡的垂肉；他不象人，而象百科全书中野人的图像。

菲兰达没有料到无可避免的命运会这样残酷地捉弄她。她认为已经永远雪洗了的耻辱，仿佛又跟这个孩子一起回到了家里。当初还没抬走负伤的毛里西奥·巴比洛尼亚时，菲兰达已经周密地想好了消灭一切可耻痕迹的计划，她没跟丈夫商量，第二天就收拾好了行李，把女儿的三套换洗衣服放进一口小提箱，在列车开行之前半小时来到梅梅的卧室。

“走吧，雷纳塔，”她说。

菲兰达未作任何解释，梅梅也没要求和希望解释。梅梅不知道她俩要去哪儿，然而，即使带她到屠宰场去，她也是不在乎的。自从她听到后院的枪声，同时听到毛里西奥·巴比洛尼亚疼痛的叫声，她就没说一句话，至死都没有再说什么。母亲叫她走出卧室的时候，她没杭头，没洗脸，就象梦游入似的坐上火车，甚至没去注意还在她头上飞来飞去的黄蝴蝶。菲兰达决不知道，而且不想知道，女儿死不吭声是表示她的决心呢，还足她遭到打击之后变成了哑巴。梅梅几乎没有注意她们经过了往日的“魔区”，她没看见铁道两边绿荫如盖的、广亵无边的香蕉园，她没看见外国佬白色的儿园房子，由于炎热和尘上，这些口子显出一派干旱的景象；她没看见穿着短裤和蓝白条纹上衣、在露台上玩纸牌的女人；她没看见尘土飞扬的道路上满载香蕉的牛车，她没看见象鱼儿一样在清澈的河里嬉戏的姑娘，她们那高耸的乳房真叫火车上的乘客感到难受；她没看见工人们居住的肮脏简陋的棚屋——毛里西奥·巴比洛尼亚的黄蝴蝶正在棚屋周围飞舞，而棚屋门前却何一些又瘦又脏的孩子坐在自己的瓦罐上，几个怀孕的女人正在朝着驶过的列车臭骂，从前，梅梅从修道院学校回家的时候，这些一晃而过的景象是叫她愉快的，现在却没使她的胸怀恢复生气。她没朝窗外看上一眼，即使散发着热气和潮气的种植园已到尽头，列车穿越一片罂粟地（罂粟中间仍然立若烧焦的西班牙大帆船骨架），然后驶人泡沫直翻、污浊混沌的大海旁边清新空气里的时候，她都没朝窗外瞧上一眼；几乎一百年前，霍·阿·布恩蒂亚的幻想曾在这大海之滨遭到破灭。

下午1点钟，她们到了沼泽地带的终点站，菲兰达把梅梅领出车厢，她们坐上一辆蝙蝠似的小马车，穿过一座荒凉的城市，驾车的马象气喘病人一样直喘粗气，在城内宽长的街道上空，在海盐摧裂的土地上空，回荡着菲兰达青年时代每天午休时听到的钢琴声。她俩登上一艘内河轮船，轮船包着生锈的外壳，象火炉似的冒着热气，而木制蹼轮的叶片划着河水的时候，却象消防唧筒那样发出噗哧噗哧的响声。梅梅躲在自己的船舱里。菲兰达每天两次拿一碟食物放在梅梅床边，每天两次又把原封未动的食物拿走，这倒不是因为梅梅决心饿死，而是因为她厌恶食物的气味，她的胃甚至把水都倒了出来。梅梅还不怀疑用芥未膏沐浴对她并无帮助，就象菲兰达几乎一年以后见到了孩子才明白真相一样。在闷热的船舱里，铁舱壁不住地震动，蹼轮搅起的淤泥臭得难闻，梅梅已经记不得日子了。过了许多时间，她才看见最后一只黄蝴蝶在电扇的叶片里丧生，终于意识到毛里西奥·巴比洛尼亚已经死了，这是无法挽回的事了。可是梅梅没有忘记自己钟爱的人。她一路上都不断想到他。接着，她和母亲骑着骡子经过幻景幢幢的荒漠（奥雷连诺第二寻找世上最美的女人时曾在这儿徘徊过），然后沿着印第安人的小径爬上山岗，进入一座阴森的城市；这里都是石铺的、陡峭的街道，三十二个钟楼都敲起了丧钟，她俩在一座古老荒弃的宅子里过夜，房间里长满了杂草，菲兰达铺在地上的木板成了她俩的卧铺，菲兰达把早已变成破布的窗帘取下来，铺在光木板上，身体一动破布就成了碎片。梅梅已经猜到她们是在哪儿了，因为她睡不着觉，浑身战栗，看见一个身穿黑衣的先生从旁走过，这就是很久以前的一个圣诞节前夕用铅制的箱子抬到她们家中的那个人。第二天弥撒以后，菲兰达把她带到一座阴暗的房子。梅梅凭她多次听到的母亲讲过的修道院（她母亲家中曾想在这儿把她母亲培养成为女王），立即认出了它，知道旅行到了终点。菲兰达在隔壁房间里跟什么人谈话的时候，梅梅就在客厅里等候；客厅里挂着西班牙人主教古老的大幅油画。梅梅冷得发抖，因为他还穿若满是黑色小花朵的薄衣服，高腰皮鞋也给荒原上的冰弄得翘起来了。她站在客厅中间彩绘玻璃透过来的昏黄的灯光下面，想着毛里西奥.巴比洛尼亚；随后，隔壁房间里走出一个很美的修女，手里拎着梅梅的衣箱。她走过梅梅面前的时候，停都没停一下，拉着梅梅的手，说：

“走吧，雷纳塔。”

梅梅抓住修女的手，顺从地让她把她带走。菲兰达最后一次看见女儿的时候，这姑娘跟上修女的脚步，已经到了刚刚关上的修道院铁栅栏另一面。梅梅仍在思念毛里西奥.巴比洛尼亚——想着他身上发出的机油气味，想着他头上的一群黄蝴蝶——，而且终生都想着他，直到很久以后一个秋天的早晨，她老死在克拉科夫一个阴暗的医院里；她是化名死去的，始终没说什么。

菲兰达是搭乘武装警察保护的列车返回马孔多的。旅途上，她惊异地看出了乘客们紧张的面孔，发现了铁路沿线城镇的军事戒备状态，闻到了山雨欲来风满楼的气息，然而菲兰达并不明白这是怎么一回事，回到马孔多之后她才听说，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二正在鼓动香焦园工人罢工。“我们家里就是需要一个无政府主义者嘛，”菲兰达自言自语。两个星期之后，罢工就开始了，没有发生大家担心的悲惨后果。工人们拒绝在星期天收割和运送香蕉，这个要求似乎是十分合理的，就连伊萨贝尔神父也表示赞许，认为它是符合圣规的。这次罢工的胜利，犹如随后几个月爆发的罢工，使得霍·阿卡蒂奥第二的苍白形象有了光彩，因为人家一贯说他只会让法国妓女充斥整个市镇。就象从前突然决定卖掉自己的斗鸡，准备建立毫无意义的航行企业那样，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二现在决定放弃香蕉公司监工的职务，站在工人方面。没过多久，政府就宣称他是国际阴谋集团的走狗，说他破坏社会秩序。在谣言纷纷的一周间，有一天夜晚，在离开秘密会议的路上，他神奇地逃脱了一个陌生人暗中向他射来的四颗手枪子弹。随后几个月的空气是那么紧张，就连乌苏娜在她黑暗的角落里也感觉到了，她仿佛又处在儿子奥雷连诺上校衣兜里塞满“顺势疗法”药丸掩护颠覆活动的那种危险时代。她想跟霍.阿卡蒂奥第二谈谈，让他知道过去的经验教训，可是奥雷连诺第二告诉她说，从他兄弟遭到暗杀的那一夜起，谁也不知道他到哪儿去了。

“跟奥雷连诺上校一模一样，”乌苏娜慨叹一声。“仿佛世上的一切都在循环。”

这些日子的惶惶不安并没有使菲兰达受到影响。由于她未经丈夫同意就决定了梅梅的命运，丈夫生气地跟她大吵了一顿，她就不跟外界接触了。奥雷连诺第二威胁她，说他要把女儿从修道院里弄出来——必要时就请警察帮忙——，可是菲兰达给他看了几张纸儿，证明梅梅是自愿进修道院的，其实，梅梅在这些纸儿上签字时，已在铁栅栏里边了，而且象她让母亲带她出来一样，她在纸上签个字儿也是无所谓的，奥雷连诺第二内心深处并不相信这种证明是真的，就象他决不相信毛里西奥.巴比洛尼亚钻进院子是想偷鸡。但是两种解释都帮助他安了心，使他毫不懊悔地回到佩特娜·柯特的卵翼下，在她家里重新狂欢作乐和大摆酒宴。菲兰达对全镇的恐慌毫不过问，对乌苏娜可怕的预言充耳不闻，加紧实现自己的计划。她写了一封长信给霍.阿卡蒂奥（他很快就成了牧师），说他妹妹雷纳塔患了黄热病，已经安谧地长眠了。然后，她把阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜交给圣索菲娅.德拉佩德照顾，就重新跟没有见过的医生通信，因为这样的通信被梅梅的不幸事故打断了。她首先确定了接受心灵感应术治疗的最后日期。可是没有见过的医生回答她说，马孔多的混乱状态还没结束的时候，施行这种手术是轻率的。菲兰达心情急切，消息很不灵通，便在下一封信里向他们说，镇上没有任何混乱，现在一切都怪她狂妄的夫兄极端愚蠢，着迷地去干工会的事儿，就象从前狂热地爱上斗鸡和航行那样。在一个炎热的星期三，她和医生们还没取得一致的意见，就有一个手上挎着小筐子的老修女来敲房门。圣索菲娅·德拉佩德把门打开以后，以为这是谁送来的礼物，想从修女手中接过雅致的花边餐巾遮住的筐子。可是老修女阻止了她，因为人家嘱咐她把筐子秘密地亲自交给菲兰达·德卡皮奥·布恩蒂亚太太。躺在筐子里的是梅梅的儿子。菲兰达往日的忏悔神父在信里向她说，孩子是两个月前出生的，他们已经给他取名叫奥雷连诺.布恩蒂亚，以纪念他的祖父，因为他的母亲根本不愿张嘴表示自己的意愿。菲兰达心中痛恨命运的捉弄，但她还有足够的力量在修女面前加以遮掩。

“咱们就说是在河上漂来的筐子里发现他的吧，”她微笑着说。

“谁也不会相信这种说法，”修女说。

“如果大家相信《圣经》里的说法，”菲兰达回答，“我看不出人家为什么不相信我的说法。”

为了等候返回的列车，修女留在布恩蒂亚家中吃午饭，并且根据修道院里的嘱咐，再也没有提孩子的事，可是菲兰达把她看做是不受欢迎的丑事见证人，就抱怨中世纪的风俗已经过时了，按照那种风俗是要把传递坏消息的人吊死的。于是菲兰达拿定主意，只要修女一走，就把婴儿淹死在水池里，但她没有这种勇气，只好耐心等待仁慈的上帝让她摆脱这个累赘。

新生的奥雷连诺.布恩蒂亚满周岁的时候，马孔多突然又出现了紧张的空气。霍.阿卡蒂奥第二和其他的工会头头是一直处于地下状态的，周末忽然到了镇上，并且在香蕉地区的城镇里组织示威游行。警察只是维持社会秩序。然而，星期一夜间，一伙士兵把工会头头们从床上拖了起来，给他们戴上五公斤重的脚镣，投进了省城的监狱。被捕的还有霍·阿卡蒂奥第二和洛伦索.加维兰上校；这个上校参加过墨西哥的革命，流亡到了马孔多，说他目睹过他的朋友阿特米奥·克鲁斯的英雄壮举。可是不过三个月，他们就获释了。因为谁该支付犯人的伙食费，政府和香蕉公司未能达成协议。食品质量恶劣和劳动条件不好又引起了不满的浪潮。此外，工人们抱怨说，他们领到的布是真正的钱，而是临时购货券，只能在香蕉公司的商店里购买弗吉尼亚（注：美国地名）火腿。霍.阿卡蒂奥第二关进监狱，正是因为他揭露了临时购货券制度，说它是香蕉公司为水果船筹措资金的办法，如果没有商店的买卖，水果船就会空空如也地从新奥尔良回到香蕉港。工人们其余的要求是有关生活条件和医务工作的。公司的医生们不给病人诊断，光叫他们在门诊所前面排队，而且护士只给每个病人口里放一粒硫酸铜颜色的药丸，不管病人患的是什么病——疟疾、淋病或者便秘。还有一种普遍的疗法是，孩子们排了几次队，医生们却不给他们吞药丸，而把他们带到自己家里去当做“宾戈*”赌博的“筹码”。工人们都极端拥挤地住在快要倒塌的板棚里，工程师们不给他们修建茅房，而是每逢圣诞节在镇上安置若干活动厕所，每五十个人使用一个厕所，而且这些工程师还当众表演如何使用厕所，以使它们寿命长久一些。身穿黑衣服的老朽的律师们，从前曾经围着奥雷连诺上校打转，现在却代表香蕉公司的利益，好象耍魔术一样巧妙地驳斥了工人们的控诉。工人们拟了一份一致同意的请愿书，过了很久官方才通知香蕉公司。布劳恩先生刚刚听到请愿书的事，立即把玻璃顶棚的华丽车厢挂在列车上，带着公司中最重要的代表人物悄悄地离开了马孔多。但在下个星期六，工人们在妓院里找到了其中一个人物，强迫他在请愿书副本上签了字，这个人物是一个妓女同意把他诱入陷阱的，他还赤身露体地跟这个女人躺在一起就给抓住了。然而气急败坏的律师们在法庭上证明，这个人跟香蕉公司毫无关系，为了不让任何人怀疑他们的论证，他们要政府把这个人当做骗子关进监狱。随后，工人们抓到了在三等车厢里化名旅行的布劳恩先生本人，强迫他在请愿书的另一副本上签了字。第二天，他就把头发染黑，出现在法官们面前，说一口无可指摘的西班牙语。律师们证明，这并不是亚拉巴马州普拉特维尔城出生的杰克·布劳恩先生——香蕉公司总经理，而是马孔多出生的、无辜的药材商人，名叫达戈贝托·冯塞卡。嗣后，工人们又想去抓布劳恩先生的时候，律师们在各个公共场所张贴了他的死亡证明书，证明书是由驻外使馆领事和参赞签字的，证明六月九号杰克·布劳恩先生在芝加哥被救火车轧死了。工人们厌恶这种诡辩的胡言，就不理会地方政权，向上级法院提出控诉。可是那里的法学魔术师证明，工人的要求是完全非法的，香蕉公司没有、从来没有、也决不会有任何正式工人，——公司只是偶尔雇佣他们来做些临时性的工作。所以，弗吉尼亚火腿，神奇药丸以及圣诞节厕所都是无稽之谈，法院裁定并庄严宣布：根本没有什么工人。

*宾戈，一种赌博，从袋子里取出标有号码的牌子，放在手中纸板上的相同号码上，谁先摆满纸板号码，谁就获胜。

大罢工爆发了。种植园的工作停顿下来，香蕉在树上烂掉，一百二十节车厢的列车凝然不动地停在铁道侧线上。城乡到处都是失业工人。土耳其人街上开始了没完没了的星期六，在雅各旅馆的台球房里，球台旁边昼夜都拥聚着人，轮流上场玩耍。军队奉命恢复社会秩序的消息宣布那一天，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二正在台球房里。他虽没有预见才能，但把这个消息看做是死亡的预兆，从格林列尔多·马克斯上校让他去看行刑的那个遥远的早晨起，他就在等候这种死亡。但是，凶兆并没有使他失去自己固有的坚忍精神。他拿球杆一碰台球，如愿地击中了两个球。过了片刻，街上的鼓声、喇叭声、叫喊声和奔跑声都向他说明，不仅台球游戏，而且从那天黎明看了行刑以后自己玩的沉默和孤独的“游戏”，全都结束了。于是他走上街头，便看见了他们。在街上经过的有三个团的士兵，他们在鼓声下整齐地行进，把大地都震动了。这是明亮的晌午，空气中充满了这条多头巨龙吐出的臭气。士兵们都很矮壮、粗犷。他们身上发出马汗气味和阳光晒软的揉皮的味儿，在他们身上可以感到山地人默不作声的，不可战胜的大无畏精神。尽管他们在霍.阿.阿卡蒂奥第二面前走过了整整一个小时，然而可以认为这不过是几个班，他们都在兜着圈儿走，他们彼此相似，仿佛是一个母亲养的儿子。他们同样显得呆头呆脑，带着沉重的背包和水壶，扛着插上刺刀的可耻的步枪，患着盲目服从的淋巴腺鼠疫症，怀着荣誉感。乌苏娜从晦暗的床上听到他们的脚步声，就举起双手合成十字。圣索菲娅·德拉佩德俯身在刚刚熨完的绣花桌布上愣了片刻，想到了自己的儿子霍·阿卡蒂奥第二，而他却站在雅各旅馆门口，不动声色地望着最后一些士兵走过。

根据戒严令，军队应当在争执中起到仲裁者的作用，决不能在争执者之间当和事佬。士兵们耀武扬威地经过马孔多之后，就架起了枪支，开始收割香蕉，装上列车运走了。至今还在静待的工人们，进入了树林，仅用大砍刀武装起来，展开了反对工贼的斗争。他们焚烧公司的庄园和商店，拆毁铁路路基，阻挠用机枪开辟道路的列车通行，割断电话线和电报线。灌溉渠里的水被血染红了。安然无恙地呆在“电气化养鸡场”里的布劳恩先生，在士兵们保护下，带着自己的和同国人的家眷逃出了马孔多，给送到了安全地点。正当事态将要发展成为力量悬殊的、血腥的内战时，政府号召工人们在马孔多集中起来。号召书声称，省城的军政首脑将在下星期蔽临镇上，调解冲突。

星期五清早聚集在车站上的人群中，也有霍·阿卡蒂奥第二。前一天，他参加了工会头头们的会议，会上指示他和加维兰上校混在群众中间，根据情况引导他们的行动。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二觉得不大自在：因为军队在车站广场周围架起了机枪，香蕉公司的、铁栅栏围着的小镇也用大炮保护起来;他一发现这个情况，总是觉得嘴里有一种苦咸味儿。约莫中午十二点钟，三千多人——工人、妇女和儿童——为了等候还没到达的列车，拥满了车站前面的广场，聚集在邻近的街道上，街道是由士兵们用机枪封锁住的。起初，这更象是节日的游艺会。从土耳其人街上，搬来了出售食品饮料的摊子，人们精神抖擞地忍受着令人困倦的等待和灼热的太阳。三点钟之前有人传说，载着政府官员的列车最早明天才能到达。疲乏的群众失望地叹了叹气。车站房屋顶上有四挺机枪的枪口对准人群，一名中尉爬上屋顶，让大家肃静。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二身边站着一个赤脚的胖女人，还有两个大约四岁和七岁的孩子。她牵着小的一个，要求她不认识的霍·阿卡蒂奥第二抱起另一个，让这孩子能够听得清楚一些。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二把孩子放在自己肩上。多年以后，这个孩子还向大家说（虽然谁也不相信他的话），中尉用扩音喇叭宣读了省城军政首脑的第四号命令。命令是由卡洛斯·柯特斯·伐加斯将军和他的秘书恩里克·加西亚·伊萨扎少校签署的，在八十个字的三条命令里，把罢工者说成是“一伙强盗”，授命军队不惜子弹，打死他们。

命令引起了震耳欲聋的抗议声，可是一名上尉立即代替了屋顶上的中尉，挥着扩音喇叭表示他想讲话。人群又安静了。

“女士们和先生们，”上尉低声、缓和地说，显得有点困倦。“限你们五分钟离开。”

唿哨声和喊叫声压倒了宣布时限开始的喇叭声，谁也没动。

“五分钟过了，”上尉用同样的声调说。“再过一分钟就开枪啦。”

霍·阿卡蒂奥第二浑身冷汗，放下孩子，把他交给他母亲。“这帮坏蛋要开枪啦，”她嘟哝地说。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二来不及回答，因为他立刻听出了加维兰上校嘶哑的嗓音，上校象回音似的大声重复了女人所说的话，时刻紧急，周围静得出奇，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二象喝醉了酒似的，但他相信没有任何力量能够挪动在死神凝视下岿然不动的群众，就踮起脚尖，越过前面的头顶，平生第一次提高嗓门叫道：

“杂种！你们趁早滚蛋吧！”

话音刚落，事情就发生了；这时，霍·阿卡蒂奥第二产生的不是恐惧，而是一种幻觉。上尉发出了开枪的命令，十四挺机枪立即响应。但这一切象是滑稽戏。他们仿佛在作空弹射击，因为机枪的哒哒声可以听到，闪闪的火舌可以看见，但是紧紧挤在一起的群众既没叫喊一声，也没叹息一声，他们都象石化了，变得刀枪不入了。蓦然间，在车站另一边，一声临死的嚎叫，使大家从迷糊状态中清醒过来：“啊一啊一啊一啊，妈妈呀！”好象强烈的地震，好象火山的轰鸣，好象洪水的咆哮，震动了人群的中心，顷刻间扩及整个广场。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二刚刚拉住一个孩子，母亲和另一个孩子就被混乱中奔跑的人群卷走了。

多年以后，尽管大家认为这孩子已经是个昏聩的老头儿，但他还在说，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二如何把他举在头上，几乎让他悬在空中，仿佛在人群的恐怖浪潮中漂浮似的，把他带到邻近的一条街上。举过人们头顶的孩子从上面望见，慌乱的人群开始接近街角，那里的一排机枪开火了。几个人同时叫喊：

“卧倒！卧倒！”

前面的人已给机枪子弹击倒了，活着的人没有卧倒，试图回到广场上去。于是，在惊惶失措的状态中，好象有一条龙的尾巴把人群象浪涛似的扫去，迎头碰上了另一条街的另一条龙尾扫来的浪涛，因为那儿的机枪也在不停地扫射。人们好象栏里的牲畜似的给关住了：他们在一个巨大的漩涡中旋转，这个漩涡逐渐向自己的中心收缩，因为它的周边被机枪火力象剪刀似的毫不停辍地剪掉了——就象剥洋葱头那样。孩子看见，一个女人双手合成十字，跪在空地中间，神秘地摆脱了蜂拥的人群。霍.阿卡蒂奥第二也把孩子摔在这儿了，他倒在地上，满脸是血，汹涌的巨大人流扫荡了空地，扫荡了跪着的女人，扫荡了酷热的天穹投下的阳光，扫荡了这个卑鄙龌龊的世界；在这个世界上，乌苏娜曾经卖过那么多的糖动物啊。

霍.阿卡蒂奥第二苏醒的时候，是仰面躺着的，周围一片漆黑。他明白自己是在一列颀长、寂静的火车上，他的头上凝着一块血，浑身的骨头都在发痛。他耐不住想睡。他想在这儿连续睡它许多小时，因为他离开了恐怖场面，在安全的地方了，于是他朝不太痛的一边侧过身去，这才发现自己是躺在一些尸体上的。尸体塞满了整个车厢，只是车厢中间留了一条通道。大屠杀之后大概已过了几个小时，因为尸体的温度就象秋天的石膏，也象硬化的泡沫塑料。把他们搬上车来的那些人，甚至还有时间把他们一排排地堆叠起来，就象通常运送香蕉那样。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二打算摆脱这种可怕的处境，就从一个车厢爬到另一个车厢，爬到列车前去；列车驶过沉睡的村庄时，壁板之间的缝隙透进了闪烁的亮光，他便看见死了的男人、女人和孩子，他们将象报废的香蕉给扔进大海。他只认出了两个人：一个是在广场上出售清凉饮料的女人，一个是加维兰上校——上校手上依然绕着莫雷利亚（注：墨西哥地名）银色扣子的皮带，他曾试图在混乱的人群中用它给自己开辟道路。到了第一节车厢，霍.阿卡蒂奥第二往列车外面的黑暗中纵身一跳，便躺在轨道旁边的沟里，等着列车驶过。这是他见过的最长的列车——几乎有二百节运货车厢，列车头尾各有一个机车，中间还有一个机车。列车上没有一点儿灯光，甚至没有红色和绿色信号灯，他沿着钢轨悄悄地、迅捷地溜过去。列车顶上隐约现出机枪旁边士兵的身影。

半夜以后，大雨倾盆而下。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二不知道他跳下的地方是哪儿，但他明白，如果逆着列车驶去的方向前进，就能到达马孔多。经过三个多小时的路程，浑身湿透，头痛已极，他在黎明的亮光中看见了市镇边上的一些房子。受到咖啡气味的引诱，他走进了一户人家的厨房，一个抱着孩子的妇人正俯身在炉灶上。

“您好，”他精疲力尽地说。“我是霍·阿卡蒂奥第二·布恩蒂亚。”

他逐字地说出自己的整个姓名，想让她相信他是活人。他做得挺聪明，因为她看见他走进屋来时，面色阴沉，疲惫不堪，浑身是血，死死板板，还当他是个幽灵哩。她认出了霍·阿卡蒂奥第二。她拿来一条毯子，让他裹在身上，就在灶边烘干他的衣服，烧水给他洗伤口（他只是破了点皮），并且给了他一块干净尿布缠在头上。然后，她又把一杯无糖的咖啡放在他面前（因为她曾听说布恩蒂亚家的人喜欢喝这种咖啡），便将衣服挂在炉灶旁边。

霍.阿卡蒂奥第二喝完咖啡之前，一句话也没说。

“那儿大概有三千，”他咕哝着说。

“什么？”

“死人，”他解释说，“大概全是聚在车站上的人。”

妇人怜悯地看了看他。“这里不曾有过死人，”她说。“自从你的亲戚——奥雷连诺上校去世以来，马孔多啥事也没发生过。”在回到家里之前，霍·阿卡蒂奥第二去过三家人的厨房，人家都同样告诉他：“这儿不曾有过死人。”他经过车站广场，看见了一些乱堆着的食品摊子，没有发现大屠杀的任何痕迹。雨还在下个不停，街道空荡荡的，在一间间紧闭的房子里，甚至看不出生命的迹象。唯一证明这里有人的，是叫人去做早祷的钟声。霍·阿卡蒂奥第二敲了敲加维兰上校家的门。他以前见过多次的这个怀孕的女人，在他面前砰地把门关上。“他走啦，”她惶惑地说，“回他的国家去啦。”在“电气化养鸡场”的大门口，照常站着两个本地的警察，穿着雨衣和长统胶靴，活象雨下的石雕像。在镇郊的小街上，印第安黑人正在唱圣歌。霍.阿卡蒂奥第二越过院墙，钻进布恩蒂亚家的厨房。圣索菲娅.德拉佩德低声向他说：“当心，别让菲兰达看见你。她已经起床啦。”仿佛履行某种无言的协议，圣索菲娅·德拉佩德领着儿子进了“便盆间”，把梅尔加德斯那个破了的折叠床安排给他睡觉；下午两点，当菲兰达睡午觉的时候，她就从窗口递