Chapter 16
IT RAINED FOR four years, eleven months, and two days. There were periods of drizzle during which everyone put on his full dress a convalescent look to celebrate the clearing, but the people soon grew accustomed to interpret the pauses as a sign of redoubled rain. The sky crumbled into a set of destructive storms and out of the north came hurricanes that scattered roofs about and knocked down walls and uprooted every last plant of the banana groves. Just as during the insomnia plague, as úrsula came to remember during those days, the calamity itself inspired defenses against boredom. Aureli-ano Segun-do was one of those who worked hardest not to be conquered by idleness. He had gone home for some minor matter on the night that Mr. Brown unleashed the storm, and Fernanda tried to help him with a half-blown-out umbrella that she found in a closet. "I don't need it," he said. "I'll stay until it clears." That was not, of course, an ironclad promise, but he would accomplish it literally. Since his clothes were at Petra Cotes's, every three days he would take off what he had on and wait in his shorts until they washed. In order not to become bored, he dedicated himself to the task of repairing the many things that needed fixing in the house. He adjusted hinges, oiled locks, screwed knockers tight, and planed doorjambs. For several months he was seen wandering about with a toolbox that the gypsies must have left behind in José Arcadio Buendía's days, and no one knew whether because of the involuntary exercise, the winter tedium or the imposed abstinence, but his belly was deflating little by little like a wineskin and his face of a beatific tortoise was becoming less bloodshot and his double chin less prominent until he became less pachydermic all over and was able to tie his own shoes again. Watching him putting in latches and repairing clocks, Fernanda wondered whether or not he too might be falling into the vice of building so that he could take apart like Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía and his little gold fishes, Amaranta and her shroud and her buttons, José Arca-dio and the parchments, and úrsula and her memories. But that was not the case. The worst part was that the rain was affecting everything and the driest of machines would have flowers popping out among their gears they were not oiled every three days, and the threads in brocades rusted, and wet clothing would break out in a rash of saffron-colored moss. The air was so damp that fish could have come in through the doors and swum out the windows, floating through the atmosphere in the rooms. One morning úrsula woke up feeling that she was reaching her end in a placid swoon and she had already asked them to take her to Father Antonio Isabel, even if it had to be on a stretcher, when Santa Sofía de la Piedad discovered that her back was paved with leeches. She took them off one by one, crushing them with a firebrand before they bled her to death. It was necessary to dig canals to get the water out of the house and rid it of the frogs and snails so that they could dry the floors and take the bricks from under the bedposts and walk in shoes once more. Occupied with the many small details that called for his attention, Aureli-ano Segun-do did not realize that he was getting old until one afternoon when he found himself contemplating the premature dusk from a rocking chair and thinking about Petra Cotes without quivering. There would have been no problem in going back to Fernan-da's insipid love, because her beauty had become solemn with age, but the rain had spared him from all emergencies of passion and had filled him with the spongy serenity of a lack of appetite. He amused himself thinking about the things that he could have done in other times with that rain which had already lasted a year. He had been one of the first to bring zinc sheets to Macon-do, much earlier than their popularization by the banana company, simply to roof Petra Cotes's bedroom with them and to take pleasure in the feeling of deep intimacy that the sprinkling of the rain produced at that time. But even those wild memories of his mad youth left him unmoved, just as during his last debauch he had exhausted his quota of salaciousness and all he had left was the marvelous gift of being able to remember it without bitterness or repentance. It might have been thought that the deluge had given him the opportunity to sit and reflect and that the business of the pliers and the oilcan had awakened in him the tardy yearning of so many useful trades that he might have followed in his life and did not; but neither case was true, because the temptation of a sedentary domesticity that was besieging him was not the result of any rediscovery or moral lesion. it came from much farther off, unearthed by the rain's pitchfork from the days when in Melquíades' room he would read the prodigious fables about flying carpets and whales that fed on entire ships and their crews. It was during those days that in a moment of carelessness little Aureli-ano appeared on the porch and his grandfather recognized the secret of his identity. He cut his hair, dressed him taught him not to be afraid of people, and very soon it was evident that he was a legitimate Aureli-ano Buendía, with his high cheekbones, his startled look, and his solitary air. It was a relief for Fernanda. For some time she had measured the extent of her pridefulness, but she could not find any way to remedy it because the more she thought of solutions the less rational they seemed to her. If she had known that Aureli-ano Segun-do was going to take things the way he did, with the fine pleasure of a grandfather, she would not have taken so many turns or got so mixed up, but would have freed herself from mortification the year before Amaranta úrsula, who already had her second teeth, thought of her nephew as a scurrying toy who was a consolation for the tedium of the rain. Aureli-ano Segun-do remembered then the English ency-clopedia that no one had since touched in Meme's old room. He began to show the children the pictures, especially those of animals, and later on the maps and photographs remote countries and famous people. Since he did not know any English and could identify only the most famous cities and people, he would invent names and legends to satisfy the children's insatiable curiosity.
Fernanda really believed that her husband was waiting for it to clear to return to his concubine. During the first months of the rain she was afraid that he would try to slip into her bedroom that she would have to undergo the shame revealing to him that she was incapable of reconciliation since the birth of Amaranta úrsula. That was the reason for her anxious correspondence 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 company doctors. But one of the many people who regularly brought unpleasant news of the deluge had told her that the company 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 Macon-do, the extravagant Frenchman who ate grass like a donkey. She drew close to úrsula, 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 úrsula 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 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 Geri-neldo Márquez was passing by and even though she only watched it through the half-opened 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 Geri-neldo 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 become discolored in the rain. They appeared like an unreal vision along the street which still bore the name of Colonel Aureli-ano 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. úrsula 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 raised hand of an archangelic messenger was moving with the swaying of the cart.
"goodbye, Geri-neldo, my son," she shouted. "Say hello to my people and tell them I'll see them when it stops raining."
Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 Aureli-ano Segun-do. 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 court-yard, in the water up to her waist, trying to float the corpse of a horse. Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 courtyard of dead animals. During the first weeks she sent messages to Aureli-ano Segun-do 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," Aureli-ano Segun-do an-swered 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 Macon-do, and of which nothing remained but pestilence. When Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 become sad and tame from looking at the rain so much. Aureli-ano Segun-do stayed at her house more than three months, not because he felt better there than in that 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." Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 the times but because of themselves, who were no longer up to those things.
Aureli-ano Segun-do returned home with his trunks, convinced that not only úrsula but all the inhabitants Macon-do 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 Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 Aureli-ano Segun-do'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, after examining him closely he came to the conclusion that it was a picture of Colonel Aureli-ano 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 rice left in the pantry.
Chapter 16 Page 2
Chapter 16 Page 2
And what do you want me to do about it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Fernanda answered. "That's men's business."
"Well," Aureli-ano Segun-do 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." 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. Aureli-ano Segun-do 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 complaining that they had raised her to be a queen only to have her end up as a servant in a madhouse, with a lazy, idola-trous, 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 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, call-ing 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 resig-nation because of the Holy Father, but she had not been able to tolerate it any more when that evil José Arcadio Segun-do said that the damnation of the family had come when it opened its doors to a stuck-up highlander, just imagine, a bossy highlander, Lord save us, a highlander daughter of evil spit of the same stripe as the highlanders the government sent to kill workers, you tell me, and he was referring to no one but her, the godchild of the Duke of Alba, a lady of such lineage that she made the liver of presidents' wives quiver, a noble dame of fine blood like her, who had the right to sign eleven peninsular names and who was the only mortal creature in that town full of bastards who did not feel all confused at the sight of sixteen pieces of silverware, so that her adulterous husband could die of laughter afterward and say that so many knives and forks spoons were not meant for a human being but for a centipede, and the only one who could tell with her eyes closed when the white wine was served and on what side and in which glass and when the red wine and on what side in which glass, and not like that peasant of an Amaranta, may she rest in peace, who thought that white wine was served in the daytime and red wine at night, and the only one on the whole coast who could take pride in the fact that she took care of her bodily needs only in golden chamberpots, so that Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía, may he rest in peace, could have the effrontery to ask her with his Masonic Ill humor where she had received that privilege wheth-er she did not shit shit but shat sweet basil, just imag-ine, with those very words, and so that Renata, own daughter, who through an oversight had seen her stool in the bedroom, had answered that even if the pot was all gold and with a coat of arms, what was inside was pure shit, physical shit, and worse even than any other kind because it was stuck-up highland shit, just imagine, her own daughter, so that she never had any illusions about the rest of the family, but in any case she had the right to expect a little more consideration from her husband because, for better or for worse, he was her consecrated spouse her helpmate, her legal despoiler, who took upon himself of his own free and sovereign will the grave responsibility taking her away from her paternal home, where she never wanted for or suffered from anything, where she wove funeral wreaths as a pastime, since godfather had sent a letter his signature and the stamp of his ring on the sealing wax simply to say that the hands of his goddaughter were not meant for tasks of this world except to play the clavichord, and, nevertheless, her insane husband had taken her from her home with all manner of admoni-tions and warnings and had brought her to that frying pan of hell where a person could not breathe because of the heat, and before she had completed her Pentecostal fast he had gone off with his wandering trunks and his wastrel's accordion to loaf in adultery with a wretch of whom it was only enough to see her behind, well, that's been said, to see her wiggle her mare's behind in order to guess that she was a, that she was a, just the opposite of her, who was a lady in a palace or a pigsty, at the table or in bed, a lady of breeding, God-fearing, obeying His laws and submissive to His wishes, whom he could not perform, naturally, the acrobatics and trampish antics that he did with the other one, who, of course, was ready for anything like the French matrons, and even worse, if one considers well, because they at least had the honesty to put a red light at their door, swinishness like that, just imagine, and that was all that was needed by the only and beloved daughter of Do?a Renata Argote and Don Fernando del Carpio, and especially the latter, an upright man, a fine Christian, a Knight of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher, those who receive direct from God the privilege of remaining intact in their graves with their skin smooth like the cheeks of a bride and their eyes alive and clear like emeralds.
"That's not true," Aureli-ano Segun-do interrupted her. "He was already beginning to smell when they brought him here."
He had the patience to listen to her for a whole day until he caught her in a slip. Fernanda did not pay him any mind, but she lowered her voice. That night at dinner the exasperating buzzing of the singsong had conquered the sound of the rain. Aureli-ano, Segun-do ate very little, with his head down, and he went to his room early. At breakfast on the following day Fernanda was trembling, with a look of not having slept well, and she seemed completely exhausted by her rancor. Nevertheless, when her husband asked if it was not possible to have a soft-boiled egg, she did not answer simply that they had run out of eggs the week before, but she worked up a violent diatribe against men who spent their time contemplating their navels then had the gall to ask for larks' livers at the table. Aureli-ano Segun-do took the children to look at the encyclopedia, as always, and Fer-nanda pretended to straighten out Meme's room just so that he could listen to her muttering, of course, that it certainly took cheek for him to tell the poor innocents that there was a picture of Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía in the encyclopedia. During the afternoon, while the children were having their nap, Aureli-ano Segun-do sat on the porch and Fernanda pursued him even there, provoking him, tormenting him, hovering about him with her implacable horsefly buzzing, saying that, of course, while there was nothing to eat except stones, her husband was sitting there like a sultan of Persia, watching it rain, because that was all he was, a slob, a sponge, a good-for-nothing, softer than cotton batting, used to living off women and convinced that he had married Jonah's wife, who was so content with the story of the whale. Aureli-ano Segun-do listened to her for more than two hours, impassive, as if he were deaf. He did not interrupt her until late in the afternoon, when he could no longer bear the echo of the bass drum that was tormenting his head.
"Please shut up," he begged.
Fernanda, quite the contrary, raised her pitch. "I don't have any reason to shut up," she said. "Anyone who doesn't want to listen to me can go someplace else." Then Aureli-ano Segun-do lost control. He stood up unhurriedly, as if he only intended to stretch, and with a perfectly regulated and methodical fury he grabbed the pots with the begonias one after the other, those with the ferns, the oregano, and one after the other he smashed them onto the floor. Fernanda was frightened because until then she had really not had a clear indication of the tremendous inner force of her singsong, but it was too late for any attempt at rectification. Intoxicated by the uncontained torrent of relief, Aureli-ano Segun-do broke the glass on the china closet and piece by piece, without hurrying, he took out the chinaware and shattered it on the floor. Systematically, serenely, in the same parsimonious way in which he had papered the house with banknotes, he then set about smashing the Bohemian crystal ware against the walls, the hand-painted vases, the pictures of maidens in flower-laden boats, the mirrors in their gilded frames, everything that was breakable, from parlor to pantry, and he finished with the large earthen jar in the kitchen, which exploded in the middle of the courtyard with a hollow boom. Then he washed his hands, threw the oilcloth over himself, and before midnight he returned with a few strings of dried meat, several bags of rice, corn with weevils, and some emaciated bunches of bananas. From then on there was no more lack of food.
Amaranta úrsula little Aureli-ano would remember the rains as a happy time. In spite of Fernanda's strictness, they would splash in the puddles in the courtyard, catch lizards and dissect them, and pretend that they were poisoning the soup with dust from butterfly wings when Santa Sofía de la Piedad was not looking úrsula was their most amusing plaything. They looked upon her as a big,. broken-down doll that they carried back and forth from one corner to another wrapped in colored cloth and with her face painted with soot and annatto, and once they were on the point of plucking out her eyes with the pruning shears as they had done with the frogs. Nothing gave them as much excitement as the wanderings of her mind. Something, indeed, must have happened to her mind during the third year of the rain, for she was gradually losing her sense of reality and confusing present time with remote periods of her life to the point where, on one occasion, she spent three days weeping deeply over the death of Petronila Iguarán, her great-grandmother, buried for over a century. She sank into such an insane state of confusion that she thought little Aureli-ano was her son the colonel during the time he was taken to see ice, and that the José Arcadio who was at that time in the seminary was her firstborn who had gone off with the gypsies. She spoke so much about the family that the children learned to make up imaginary visits with beings who had not only been dead for a long time, but who had existed at different times. Sitting on the bed, her hair covered with ashes and her face wrapped in a red kerchief, úrsula was happy in the midst of the unreal relatives whom the children described in all detail, as if they had really known them. úrsula would converse with her forebears about events that took place before her own existence, enjoying the news they gave her, and she would weep with them over deaths that were much more recent than the guests themselves. The children did not take long to notice that in the course of those ghostly visits úrsula would always ask a question destined to establish the one who had brought a life-size plaster Saint Joseph to the house to be kept until the rains stopped. It was in that way that Aureli-ano Segun-do remembered the fortune buried in some place that only úrsula knew, but the questions and astute maneuvering that occurred to him were no use because in the labyrinth of her madness she seemed to preserve enough of a margin of lucidity to keep the secret which she would reveal only to the one who could prove that he was the real owner of the buried gold. She was so skillful and strict that when Aureli-ano Segun-do instructed one of his carousing companions to pass himself off as the owner of the fortune, she got all caught up in a minute interrogation sown with subtle traps.
Convinced that úrsula would carry the secret to her grave, Aureli-ano Segun-do hired a crew of diggers under the pretext that they were making some drainage canals in the courtyard and the backyard, and he himself took soundings in the earth with iron bars and all manner of metal-detectors without finding anything that resembled gold in three months of exhaustive exploration. Later on he went to Pilar Ternera with the hope that the cards would we more than the diggers, but she began by explaining that any attempt would be useless unless úrsula cut the cards. On the other hand, she confirmed the existence of the treasure the precision of its consisting of seven thousand two hundred fourteen coins buried in three canvas sacks reinforced with copper wire within a circle with a radius of three hundred eighty--eight feet with úrsula's bed as the center, but she warned that it would not be found until it stopped raining and the suns of three consecutive Junes had changed the piles of mud into dust. The profusion and meticulous vagueness of the information seemed to Aureli-ano Segun-do so similar to the tales of spiritualists that he kept on with his enterprise in spite of the fact that they were in August and they would have to wait at least three years in order to satisfy the conditions of the prediction. The first thing that startled him, even though it increased his confusion at the same time, was the fact that it was precisely three hundred eighty-eight feet from úrsula's bed to the backyard wall. Fernanda feared that he was as crazy as his twin brother when she saw him taking the measurements, even more when he told the digging crew to make the ditches three feet deeper. Overcome by an exploratory delirium comparable only to that of his great-grandfather when he was searching for the route of inventions, Aureli-ano Segun-do lost the last layers of fat that he had left and the old resemblance to his twin brother was becoming accentuated again, not only because of his slim figure, but also because of the distant air and the withdrawn attitude. He no longer bothered with the children. He ate at odd hours, muddled from head to toe, and he did so in a corner in the kitchen, barely answering the occasional questions asked by Santa Sofía de la Piedad. Seeing him work that way, as she had never dreamed him capable of doing, Fernanda thought that his stubbornness was diligence, his greed abnegation, and his thickheadedness perseverance, and her insides tightened with remorse over the virulence with which she had attacked his idleness. But Aureli-ano Segun-do was in no mood for merciful reconciliations at that time. Sunk up to his neck in a morass of dead brandies and rotting flowers, he flung the dirt of the garden all about after having finished with the courtyard and the backyard, and he excavated so deeply under the foundations of the east wing of the house that one night they woke up in terror at what seemed to be an earthquake, as much because of the trembling as the fearful underground creaking. Three of the rooms were collapsing a frightening crack had opened up from the porch to Fernanda's room. Aureli-ano Segun-do did not give up the search because of that. Even when his last hopes had been extinguished the only thing that seemed to make any sense was what the cards had predicted, he reinforced the jagged foundation, repaired the crack with mortar, and continued on the side to the west. He was still there on the second week of the following June when the rain began to abate and the clouds began to lift and it was obvious from one moment to the next that it was going to clear. That was what happened. On Friday at two in the afternoon the world lighted up with a crazy crimson sun as harsh as brick dust and almost as cool as water, it did not rain again for ten years.
Macon-do was in ruins. In the swampy streets there were the remains of furniture, animal skeletons covered with red lilies, the last memories of the hordes of newcomers who had fled Macon-do as wildly as they had arrived. The houses that had been built with such haste during the banana fever had been abandoned. The banana company tore down its installations. All that remained of the former wiredin city were the ruins. The wooden houses, the cool terraces for breezy card-playing afternoons, seemed to have been blown away in an anticipation of the prophetic wind that years later would wipe Macon-do off the face of the earth. The only human trace left by that voracious blast was a glove belonging to Patricia Brown in an automobile smothered in wild pansies. The enchanted region explored by José Arcadio Buendía in the days of the founding, where later on the banana plantations flourished, was a bog of rotting roots, on the horizon of which one could manage to see the silent foam of the sea. Aureli-ano Segun-do went through a crisis of affliction on the first Sunday that he put on dry clothes and went out to renew his acquaintance with the town. The survivors of the catastrophe, the same ones who had been living in Macon-do before it had been struck by the banana company hurricane, were sitting in the middle of the street enjoying their first sunshine. They still had the green of the algae on their skin and the musty smell of a corner that had been stamped on them by the rain, but in their hearts they seemed happy to have recovered the town in which they had been born. The Street of the Turks was again what it had been earlier, in the days when the Arabs with slippers and rings in their ears were going about the world swapping knickknacks for macaws and had found in Macon-do a good bend in the road where they could find respite from their age--old lot as wanderers. Having crossed through to the other side of the rain. the merchandise in the booths was falling apart, the cloths spread over the doors were splotched with mold, the counters undermined by termites, the walls eaten away by dampness, but the Arabs of the third generation were sitting in the same place and in the same position as their fathers and grandfathers, taciturn, dauntless, invulnerable to time and disaster, as alive or as dead as they had been after the insomnia plague and Colonel Aureli-ano Buendía's thirty-two wars. Their strength of spirit in the face of ruins of the gaming tables, the fritter stands, the shooting galleries, and the alley where they interpreted dreams and predicted the future made Aureli-ano Segun-do ask them with his usual informality what mysterious resources they had relied upon so as not to have gone awash in the storm, the devil they had done so as not to drown, and one after the other, from door to door, they returned a crafty smile and a dreamy look, and without any previous consultation they all gave the answer:
"Swimming."
Petra Cotes was perhaps the only native who had an Arab heart. She had seen the final destruction of her stables, her barns dragged off by the storm. but she had managed to keep her house standing. During the second year she had sent pressing messages to Aureli-ano Segun-do and he had answered that he did not know when he would go back to her house, but that in any case he would bring along a box of gold coins to pave the bedroom floor with. At that time she had dug deep into her heart, searching for the strength that would allow her to survive the misfortune, and she had discovered a reflective and just rage with which she had sworn to restore the fortune squandered by her lover and then wiped out by the deluge. It was such an unbreakable decision that Aureli-ano Segun-do went back to her house eight months after the last message found her green disheveled, sunken eyelids and skin spangled with mange, but she was writing out numbers on small pieces of paper to make a raffle. Aureli-ano Segun-do was astonished, and he was so dirty and so solemn that Petra Cotes almost believed that the one who had come to see her was not the lover of all her life but his twin brother.
"You're crazy," he told her. "Unless you plan to raffle off bones."
Then she told him to look in the bedroom and Aureli-ano Segun-do saw the mule. Its skin was clinging to its bones like that of its mistress, but it was just as alive and resolute as she. Petra Cotes had fed it with her wrath, and when there was no more hay or corn or roots, she had given it shelter in her own bedroom and fed it on the percale sheets, the Persian rugs, the plush bedspreads, the velvet drapes, and the canopy embroidered with gold thread and silk tassels on the episcopal bed.
雨，下了四年十一个月零两夭。有时，它仿佛停息了，居民们就象久病初愈那样满脸笑容，穿上整齐的衣服，准备庆祝睛天的来临；但在这样的间隙之后，雨却更猛，大家很快也就习惯了。隆隆的雷声响彻了天空，狂烈的北风向马孔多袭来，掀开了屋顶，刮倒了墙垣，连根拔起了种植园最后剩下的几棵香蕉树。但是，犹如乌苏娜这些日子经常想起的失眠症流行时期那样，灾难本身也能对付苦闷。在跟无所事事进行斗争的人当中，奥雷连诺第二是最顽强的一个。那天晚上，为了一点儿小事，他顺便来到菲兰达家里，正巧碰上了布劳恩先生话说不吉利招来的狂风暴雨。菲兰达在壁橱里找到一把破伞，打算拿给丈夫。“用不着雨伞，”奥雷连诺第二说。“我要在这儿等到雨停。”当然，这句话不能认为是不可违背的誓言，然而奥雷连诺第二打算坚决履行自己的诺言，他的衣服是在佩特娜·柯特家里的，每三天他都脱下身上的衣服．光是穿着短裤，等着把衣服洗干净。他怕闲得无聊，开始修理家中需要修理的许多东西。他配好了门上的铰链，在锁上涂了油，拧紧了门闩的螺钉，矫正了房门的侧柱。在几个月中都可以看见，他腋下挟着一个工具箱（这个工具箱大概是霍·阿·布恩蒂亚在世时吉卜赛人留下的），在房子里忙未忙去，谁也不知道怎么回事——由于体力劳动呢，还是由于极度的忧闷，或者由于不得不节欲——他的肚子逐渐瘪了，象个空扁的皮酒囊；他那大乌龟似的傻里傻气的嘴脸，失去了原来的紫红色；双下巴也消失了；奥雷连诺第二终于瘦得那么厉害，能够自个儿系鞋带了。看见他一鼓作气地修理门闩，拆散挂钟，菲兰达就怀疑丈夫是否也染上了瞎折腾的恶习，象奥雷连诺上校做他的金鱼，象阿玛兰塔缝她的钮扣和殓衣，象霍·阿卡蒂奥第二看他的羊皮纸手稿，象乌苏娜反复唠叨她的往事。但是事情并非如此。原因只是暴雨把一切都搅乱了，甚至不会孕育的机器，如果三天不擦一次油，齿轮之间也会开出花朵；锦缎绣品的丝绒也会生锈；湿衣服也会长出番红花颜色的水草。空气充满了水分，鱼儿可以经过敞开的房门钻进屋子，穿过房间，游出窗子。有一天早晨乌苏娜醒来，感到非常虚弱——临终的预兆——，本来已经要求把她放上担架，抬到安东尼奥·伊萨贝尔神父那儿去，可是圣索菲娅.德拉佩德立即发现，老太婆的整个背上都布满了水蛭。她就用一根燃烧着的木头烧灼它们，把它们一个一个地除掉，免得它们吸干乌苏娜最后剩下的血。这就不得不挖一条水沟，排出屋里的水，消除屋里的癞蛤模和蜗牛，然后才能弄干地面，搬走床脚下面的砖头，穿着鞋子走动。奥雷连诺第二忙于许多需要他注意的小事，没有察觉自己渐渐老了，可是有一天晚上，他一动动地坐在摇椅里，望着早临的夜色，想着佩特娜.柯特，虽未感到任何激动，却突然觉得自己老了。看来，没有什么妨碍他回到菲兰达索然寡昧的怀抱（她虽上了年纪，姿容倒更焕发了），可是雨水冲掉了他的一切欲望，使他象个吃得过饱的人那样平平静静。从前，在这种延续整整一年的雨中，他是什么都干得出来的，他一想到此就不禁一笑。在香蕉公司推广锌板屋顶之前很久，他是第一个把锌板带到马孔多的。他把它们弄来，就是为了给佩特娜·柯特盖屋顶，因为听到雨水浇到屋顶的响声，他就觉得跟她亲亲热热特别舒服。然而，即使忆起青年时代那些荒唐怪诞的事儿，奥雷连诺第二也无动于衷，好象他在最后一次放荡时已经发泄完了自己的情欲，现在想起过去的快活就没有苦恼和懊悔了。乍一看来，雨终于使他能够安静地坐”下来，悠闲地左右思量，但是装着注油器和平口钳的箱子却使他过迟地想到了那些有益的事情，那些事情是他能做而未做的。但是情况并不如此。奥雷连诺第二喜欢舒适的家庭生活，既不是由于回忆起往事，也不是由于痛苦的生活经历。他对家庭生活的喜爱是在雨中产生的，是很久以前的童年时代产生的，当时他曾在梅尔加德斯的房间里阅读神话故事，那些故事谈到了飞毯，谈到了吞下整只整只轮船和乘员的鲸鱼。有一天，因为菲兰达的疏忽，小奥雷连诺溜到了氏廊上。奥雷连诺第二立即认出这小孩儿是他的孙子。他给他理发，帮他穿衣服．叫他不要怕人；不久之后，谁也不怀疑这是布恩蒂亚家中合法的孩子了，他具有这家人的共同特点：突出的颧骨，惊异的眼神，孤僻的模样儿。菲兰达从此也就放心了。她早就想克制骄做，可是不知道怎么办才好，因为她越考虑解决办法，就越觉得这些办法不合适。如果她知道奥雷连诺第二会用祖父的宽厚态度对待意外的孙子，她就不会采取各种搪塞和拖延的花招，一年前就会放弃把亲骨肉弄死的打算了。这时，阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜的乳齿已经换成恒齿，侄儿成了她闷倦的下雨时刻用来消遣的活玩具。奥雷连诺第二有一次想起，在梅梅昔日的卧室里，扔着大家忘记了的英国百科全书。他开始让孩子们看图画：起初是动物画，然后是地图、其他国家的风景画以及名人的肖像。奥雷连诺第二不懂英语，勉强能够认出的只是最有名的城市和最著名的人物，囚此他不得不自己想出一些名字和说法，来满足孩子们无限的好奇心。
菲兰达真的相信，天一放晴，她的丈夫准会回到恰妇那儿去。开头，她生怕他试图钻进她自己的卧宝：如果他钻了进来，她就得羞涩地向他解释，在阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜出生以后，她已失去了夫妻生活的能力。这种恐惧也成了菲兰达跟没有见过的医生加紧通信的原因，由于邮务工作遭到阻碍，她和他们的通信是经常中断的。在最初几个月里，暴风雨造成了几次铁道事故，菲兰达从没有见过的医生的信中知道，她的几封信都没送到收信地点。随后，跟陌生医生的联系终于断了，她忧认真考虑是不是戴上她大夫在血腥的狂欢节戴过的老虎面具，化名去找香蕉公司的医生诊治。可是，有一个经常把暴雨中的不幸消息带到她家来的女人告诉她，香蕉公司已把门诊所迁到无雨的地方去了。于是菲兰达只好放弃自己的希望，听天由命，等候雨停和邮务恢复正常，这时她就用土方土药治疗自己的暗疾，因为她宁死也不让自己落到最后留在马孔多的一个医生手里，那医生是个有点古怪的法国人，象马或驴一样用草充饥。她跟乌苏娜亲近起来，希望从老太婆那儿探出什么救命药方。可是菲兰达有一种拐弯抹角的习惯，不愿直呼事物的名称，她把原因换成了结果，说是因为太热，所以出血。这样，她就觉得自己的病不太可羞了。乌苏娜很有道理地诊断说，病不在肚子里，而在胃里，劝她服用甘汞。其他任何一个没有反常差耻心的女人，都不会觉得这种疾病对自己有什么可耻，而菲兰达却不是这样。如果不是这种病症，如果她的信函没有遗失，她眈不会理睬缠绵的雨了，因为她度过的一生终归象是窗外的滂沱大雨。她没改变用餐的时间，也没放弃自己的任何习惯。别人在桌于脚下垫上砖头，将椅子放在厚木板上，免得吃饭时弄湿了脚，菲兰达照旧铺上荷兰桌布，摆上中国餐具，晚餐之前点上枝形烛台的蜡烛，因为她以为自然灾害不能作为破坏常规的借口。家里的任何人都没上街。如果菲兰达能够做到的话，她在大雨开始之前很久就会把所有的房门永远关上，冈为照她看来，房门发明出来就是为了关闭的，而对街上的事感到兴趣的只是那些妓女。但是，听说格林列尔多·马克斯上校的送葬队伍经过房屋前面，第一个扑到窗口去的就是她：但是，通过半开的窗子看见的景象使得菲兰达难过到了那种程度，以至许多个月以后她还在懊悔自己一时的脆弱。
凄清的送葬队伍是难以想象的。棺材放在一辆普通半车上，上面用香蕉叶搭了个篷顶，雨水不断地落下，车轮经常陷在泥里，篷顶勉强没垮。一股股悲凉的南水掉到盖着棺材的旗帜上，把旗帜都浸得透湿了；这是一面布满硝烟和血迹的战斗旗帜，更加荣耀的老军人是不会要它的，棺材上放着一把银丝和铜丝穗子的军刀，从前格林列尔多·马克斯上校为了空手走进阿玛兰塔的缝纫室，挂在客厅衣架上的就是这把军刀。棺材后面，在泥浆里啪呛啪哒走着的，是在尼兰德投降以后活下来的最后几名老军人，他们卷着裤腿，有的甚至光着脚，一只手拄着芦苇杆，另一只手拿着雨水淋得变了色的纸花圈。这象是幽灵的队伍。在仍以奥雷连诺上校命名的街上，他们好象按照口令一样齐步走过，掉头看了看上校的房子，然后拐过街角，到了广场——在这儿他们不得不请人帮忙，因为临时搭成的柩车陷在泥里了。乌苏娜要求圣索菲娅·德拉佩德扶她到门边去。谁也不能怀疑她看见了什么，因为她那么注意地望着送葬队伍，柩车在泥坑里左右摇晃，她象报告佳音的天使民一样伸出的一只手也左右挥动。
“再见吧，格林列尔多，我的孩子，”乌苏娜叫了一声。“向咱们的人转达我的问候吧，并且告诉他们，天一晴我就要去看望他们了。”
奥雷连诺第二把为祖母扶回床上，用往常那种不礼貌的态度问她这些话是什么意思。
“那是真的，”乌苏娜回答。“雨一停，我就要去了。”
淹没街道的泥流引起了奥雷连诺第二的不安。他终于担心起自己的牲畜，把一块油布披在头上，就到佩特娜·柯特家里去了。佩特娜.柯特站在院里齐腰深的水中，正在推动一匹死马。奥雷连诺第二拿着一根木棍帮助她。胀鼓鼓的巨大尸体象钟摆一样晃晃荡荡，立亥就被泥流卷走了。大雨刚一开始，佩特娜．柯特就在清除院子里死了的牲畜。最初几个星期，她曾捎信给奥雷连诺第二，要他迅速采取什么措施，可他回答说，不必着急，情况并不那么坏，雨一停，他就想办法。佩特娜·柯特又请人告诉他，牧场给淹没了，牲口都跑到山里去了，它们在那儿没有吃的，还会被豹于吃掉，或者病死。“甭担心，”奥雷连诺第二回答她。“只要雨停，其他的牲畜又会生下来了。”在佩特娜.柯特眼前，牲畜成群死去，她好不容易才把陷在泥淖里的剁成了块。她束手无策地望着洪水无情地消灭了她的财产－－以前被认为是马孔多最可靠的财产，现在剩下的只是臭气了。当奥雷连诺第二终于决定去看看那里的情况时，他在畜栏的废墟里仅仅发现了一匹死马和一匹衰竭的骡子。佩特娜·柯特见他来了，既没表示惊讶，也没表示高兴或怨恨，，光是讥笑了一声。
“欢迎光临！”佩特娜·柯特说。
睡得好吗？”也没有人问过她，哪怕出于礼貌，她为什么那么苍白，醒来以后她的眼睛下面为什么会有青紫斑，当然罗，尽管她没指望这家人的任何照顾，归根到底，他们总把她看做是一个障碍，看做是从炉灶上取下热锅的一块破布，看做是一个乱、涂墙壁的蠢货，这家人总是背地里说她的坏话，把她叫做伪善者，叫做法利赛人（注：《新约》里所谓的伪善者），叫做假惺惺的人，甚至阿玛兰塔——愿她安息吧——还大声地说，她菲兰达是一个荤素不分的人（注：意指大斋禁忌期间也不忘男女关系的人）——仁慈的上帝，这是什么话啊——她服从上帝的意志，屈辱地忍受了一切，可是她再也不能忍耐了，因为霍·阿卡蒂奥第二这个混蛋说，家庭毁灭了，因为家里放进了一个山地女人，试想一下吧，一个专横跋扈的山地女人，——上帝啊，宽恕我的罪孽吧，——一个狗杂种的山地女人，就象政府派来屠杀工人的那帮山地人一样——真难设想——他说的就是她菲兰达，阿尔巴公爵的教女，名门出身的女人，总统夫妇都羡慕她，一个纯种的贵族女人，她有权用十一个西班牙名字签字，她在这个杂种的小镇上是唯一正经的女人，摆着十六套餐具的桌子也难不倒她，而她那通奸的丈夫却笑得要死地说，需要这么多刀叉、匙子和茶勺的不是人，而是娱蚣，可是只有她一个人知道，什么时候应当送上白酒，用哪一只手，斟在什么杯子里；什么时候应当送上红酒，用哪一只手，斟在什么杯子里，那个乡巴佬阿玛兰塔却不一样——愿她安息吧，——她认为白酒是白天喝的，而红酒是晚上喝的，她菲兰达是唯一到过整个沿海地带的，可以夸口说，她只能在金便盆里撒尿，而那个可恶的共济会会员，奥雷连诺上校——愿他安息吧，——竟敢粗鲁地问她，她为什么得到了这种特权，她拉屎拉出的是不是菊花，你瞧，他竟说出这种话来，——而雷纳塔呢，她自己的女儿，却偷看她在卧室里大便，然后说便盆确实完全是金的，上面还有许多徽记，可里面是普通的大便，最寻常的大便，甚至比寻常的大便还糟糕——山地人的大便——你瞧，这是她自己的女儿；说实在的，她对家中其他的人从来不抱任何幻想，但是，无论如何，有权期待丈夫的一点儿尊重，因为，不管怎么说，他是她合法的配偶，她的主子，她的保护人，按照自己的愿望和上帝的意志承担了重大的责任，把她从父母的家里弄来，她本来在那儿无忧无虑地生活，她编织花圈不过是为了消磨时光，因为她的教父捎了一封信给她，信上是他亲手签名的，而且用他的宝石戒指盖了个火漆印，信里说他教女的双手生来不是从事尘世劳动的，而是为了弹钢琴的，然而这个无情的家伙——她的丈夫，虽然临行时得到过好心的劝说和警告，却从她父母家中把她带到这个地狱里来，这儿热得喘不上气，而且她还来不及遵守斋期的节欲规定，他已经拎起他的流动衣箱和讨厌的手风琴，去跟他的姘头——那个不要脸的淫妇——住在一起了，只要看看她的屁股——也就是说，看看她扭动她那母马似的大屁股，立刻就能知道这是个什么货色，是个什么畜生，——跟她菲兰达恰恰相反，她菲兰达在家里，在猪圈里，在桌边，在床上，都是个天生的好女人，敬畏神灵，奉公守法，顺从命运，她当然不能去干各种肮脏的事儿，能干那些龌龊勾当的自然只有那个婊子，她象法国妓女一样什么都干得出来，甚至比法国妓女恶劣一千倍，法国妓女干得正大光明，至少还在门上挂个红灯，可他却对她菲兰达忘恩负义，她菲兰达是雷纳塔.阿尔戈特夫人和菲兰达.德卡皮奥先生唯一钟爱的女儿，尤其她父亲是个虔诚的人，真正的基督徒，获得过“圣墓（注：耶稣的墓）勋章”；由于上帝的特殊恩惠，他们在坟墓里不会腐烂，皮肤还会象新娘的缎子衣服那么光洁，眼睛还会象绿宝石那么晶莹透亮。
“这说得不准确，”奥雷连诺第二打断她。“人家把你父亲送到这儿的时候，他已经臭得相当厉害了。”
他耐着性子听了整整一天，最后才揭穿菲兰达说得不准。菲兰达什么也没回答，只是降低了嗓门。这天吃晚饭的时候，她那恼怒的聒噪声把雨声都给压住了。奥雷连诺第二耷拉着脑袋，坐在桌边，吃得很少，很早就到自己的卧室里去了。第二天早餐时，菲兰达浑身发抖，显然过了一个不眠之夜，她反复回忆过去受到的委屈，似乎已经精疲力尽。然而，奥雷连诺第二问她能不能给他一个煮熟的鸡蛋时，她不只是说前一个星期就没有鸡蛋了，而且尖酸刻薄地指摘一帮男人，说他们只会把时间用来欣赏自己肮脏的肚脐眼，然后恬不知耻地要求别人把百灵鸟的心肝给他们送上桌子。奥雷连诺第二照旧和孩子们一起浏览百科全书里的图画，可是菲兰达假装拾掇梅梅的卧室，其实她只想让他听见她唠叨，自然罗，只有失去了最后一点羞耻心的人才会告诉天真无邪的孩子，仿佛百科全书里有奥雷连诺上校的画像。白天午休时刻，孩子们睡觉的时候，奥雷连诺第二坐在长廊上，可是菲兰达又在那儿找到了他，刺激他，揶揄他，在他周围转来转去，象牛虻一样不停地轰轰嗡嗡，说了又说，家里除了石头什么吃的都没有了，而她漂亮的丈夫却象波斯苏丹那么坐着，盯着下雨，因为他是个懒汉、食客、废物、孱头，靠女人过活已经习惯了，以为他讨了约拿②的老婆，那②见《圣经》．”约拿的老婆”意即不祥的人，带来坏运气的人。个女人只要听听鲸鱼的故事就满足了。奥雷连诺第二听菲兰达罗唆了两个多小时，无动于衷，象个聋子。他一直没有打断她的絮聒，直到傍晚才失去了耐心。她的话象鼓声似地震动着他的脑筋。
“看在基督的面上，请你住嘴。”他央求道。
菲兰达提高嗓门回答：“我不住嘴，”她说。“谁不愿意听我的话，就让他滚蛋。”这下子，奥雷连诺第二按捺不住了。他慢慢地站立起来，仿佛想伸个懒腰似的，平静而恼怒地从架子上拿起一个个秋海棠、欧洲蕨、牛至花盆，一个个地摔在地上，砸得粉碎。菲兰达吓坏了——她直到此刻还不明白她的气话包含着多么可怕的力量。奥雷连诺第二突然不可遏制地感到自由了，发狂地击碎了玻璃橱，从里面拿出一个个杯盘碗盏，不慌不忙地都把它们往地上扔。他的样儿平平静静，神情严肃、专注，而且象从前用钞票裱糊房子那么仔细，把波希米亚水晶玻璃器皿、手绘彩色花瓶、蔷薇船美女图、金框镜子都往墙上砸，凡是这座房子——从客厅到储藏室——可以砸碎的东西都在墙上砸得稀烂。最后落到他手里的是厨房里立着的一个大瓦罐。象炸弹爆炸一样，这只瓦罐轰隆一声在院子里砸成了无数碎片。最后，奥雷连诺第二洗了洗手，披上油布就出门去了，可是半夜以前又回来了，带来了几大块青筋嶙嶙的腌肉、几袋大米、玉米和象鼻虫（注：可以食用的一种害虫），还有几串干瘪的香蕉。从这时起，家里就不缺少吃的了。
阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜和小奥雷连诺忆起下雨的那些年月，都觉得那是他俩一生中最快活的时候。尽管菲兰达禁止，他俩还是在院子的泥潭里啪哒啪哒走着玩儿，捉到了蜥蜴就把它们肢解，并且在圣索菲娅·德拉佩德注意不到的时候，悄悄地把蝴蝶翅膀上的粉末撒到锅里，假装在汤里下毒。乌苏娜是他们最喜爱的玩具。他们拿她当做老朽的大玩偶，把她从一个角落拖到另一个角落，给她穿上花衣服，在她脸上涂抹油烟，有一次差点儿用修剪花木的剪刀扎破了她的眼睛，就象对付癫蛤蟆那样。老太婆神志恍惚的时候，他俩特别开心。下雨的第三年，乌苏娜脑子里显然真的发生了一些变化，她逐渐失去了现实感，把现时和早就过去的生活年代混在一起，伤心地号啕大哭了整整三天，哀悼一百多年前埋掉的她的曾祖母佩特罗尼娜·伊古阿兰。她的脑海里一切都搅乱了：她把小奥雷连诺当做是去参观冰块时的儿子——奥雷连诺上校，而把神学院学生霍·阿卡蒂奥错看成她那跟吉卜赛人一起跑掉的头生子。乌苏娜大谈特谈自己的家庭，孩子们就假想出一些亲戚来看望她，这些亲戚不仅是许多年前去世的，而且是生活在不同时代的。她的头发给撒上了灰，眼睛系上了一块红手绢，可她坐在床上，和亲戚们在一起，感到非常高兴；阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜和小奥雷连诺细致地描绘这些亲戚，仿佛真的看见了他们似的。乌苏娜跟自己的远祖闲聊她出生之前的那些事情，对他们告诉她的那些消息很感兴趣，跟他们一块儿哀悼在这些想象的客人已经死后的那些亲戚。孩子们很快发现，乌苏娜极力想弄清楚一个人，那个人在战争时期有一次曾把圣约瑟夫的等身石膏像带到这儿，要求存放到雨停以后就把它取走。于是，奥雷连诺第二想起了藏在什么地方的财宝，那个地方只有乌苏娜一个人知道，但他的一切探问和诡计都没有奏效，因为，她在梦幻的迷宫里瞎闯，似乎仍有足够的理智来保守自己的秘密；她拿定了主意，谁能证明自己是财宝的真正主人，她就把秘密告诉谁。乌苏娜是那么机灵和固执，奥雷连诺第二试图拿自己的一个酒友冒充财宝的主人，她便向他作了细致的盘问，设置了许多不易觉察的陷阱，就把冒充者戳穿了。
相信乌苏娜将把自己的秘密带进坟墓，奥雷连诺第二就雇了一些掘土工人，好象要在庭院和后院挖排水沟似的，他自己则拿着一根铁钎在地上打眼试探，并且用各种金属探测器到处勘察，可是经过三个月疲劳的勘探，没有发现任何金子似的东西。随后，他认为纸牌比掘土工人更有眼力，就去找皮拉·苔列娜帮忙，但她向他解释，除非乌苏娜亲手抽牌，否则任何企图都是无用的。不过，她毕竟肯定了财宝的存在，甚至准确地说出这批财宝包括七千二百十四个金币，是装在三只帆布口袋里的，口袋上系了铜丝，埋藏在半径为一百二十公尺的范围之内，乌苏娜的床铺就是半径的中心。然而皮拉·苔列娜警告说，要等雨停了，连续三个六月的太阳把成堆的泥土变成了灰尘，才能弄到财宝。奥雷连诺第二觉得这些说法既玄奥又含糊，犹如鬼怪故事，于是立即决定继续探索，虽然现在已是八月，要符合预言的条件至少还有三年，有一种情况特别使他惊异，甚至叫他莫名其妙，那就是从乌苏娜的床铺到后院篱垣的距离正好是一百二十公尺。菲兰达看见奥雷连诺第二测量房间，听到他吩咐掘土工人把沟再挖深一公尺，她就生怕她丈夫象他兄弟那样疯了。
他怀着一种“勘探热”，这种“勘探热”象他的曾祖父去寻找伟大发明时一样，耗尽了自己最后剩下的脂肪，从前和孪生兄弟相似之处就又突出了：不仅瘦骨嶙嶙的身体，而且漫不经心的眼神和孤僻的样儿，都象霍·阿卡蒂奥第二。他不再关心孩子们，他从头到脚满是污泥，该吃饭的时候，就坐在厨房角落里吃，而且勉强回答圣索菲娅·德拉佩德偶然提出的问题。菲兰达看见奥雷连诺第二拼命干活（这种拼命精神是她以前在他身上没有料到的），就把他的狂热看做是爱好劳动，把他的黄金梦看做是忘我精神，把他的顽固看做是坚定。现在她一想起，为了使他摆脱消极状态，在他前面说过一些刻薄话，就感到良心的谴责。可是奥雷连诺第二这时顾不上原谅与和解。他立在齐颈的枯枝败叶和烂花莠草的泥坑里，在花园里不停地挖呀挖呀，最后挖到了庭院和后院，就这样深深地挖空了长廊东边的地基，有一天夜里，家里的人被地下发出的震动声和折裂声惊醒起来；他们以为是地震，其实是三个房间的地面塌陷了，长廊的地面出现很长的裂缝，裂缝一直到了菲兰达的卧室。然而奥雷连诺第二并不放弃自己的勘探。尽管最后的希望破灭了，似乎只有依靠纸牌的预卜了，但他加固了摇摇欲坠的房基，用石灰浆填满了裂缝，又在房屋两边继续挖掘。在这儿，他挖到了下一年六月的第二个星期，雨终于开始停息。雨云消散，每一天都可能放晴了。事情果然如此。星期五下午两点，吉祥的红太阳普照大地，它象砖头一样粗糙，几乎象水那样清澈。从这一天起，整整十年没有下雨。
马孔多成了一片废墟。街道上是一个个水潭，污泥里到处都露出破烂的家具和牲畜的骸骨，骸骨上长出了红百合花一－这是一群外国佬最后的纪念品，他们匆忙地来到马孔多，又匆忙地逃离了马孔多。“香蕉热”时期急速建筑起来的房屋已经抛弃了。香蕉公司运走了自己所有的东西。在铁丝网围着的小镇那儿，只留下了一堆堆垃圾，那一座座木房子，从前每天傍晚凉台上都有人无忧无虑地玩纸牌，也象被狂风刮走了，这种狂风是未来十二级飓风的前奏；多年以后，那种飓风注定要把马孔多从地面上一扫而光。在这一次致命的狂风之后，从前这儿住过人的唯一证明。是帕特里西娅.布劳恩忘在小汽车里的一只手套，小汽车上爬满了三色茧。霍. 阿布恩蒂亚建村时期勘探过的“魔区”，嗣后香蕉园曾在这儿繁荣起来，现在却是一片沼泽，到处都隐藏着烂掉的树根，在远处露出的地平线上，这片海洋在好几年中仍然无声地翻着泡沫。第一个礼拜日，奥雷连诺第二穿着干衣服，出门看见这个市镇的样子，感到十分惊愕。雨后活下来的那些人——全是早在香蕉公司侵入之前定居马孔多的人——都坐在街道中间，享受初露的阳光。他们的皮肤仍象水藻那样微微发绿，下雨年间渗进皮肤的储藏室