世紀文學經典:《百年孤獨》第6章Part 4

úrsula decreed that the wake would be in her house. Father Nicanor was against a religious ceremony and burial in consecrated ground. úrsula stood up to him. "In a way that neither you nor I can understand, that man was a saint," she said. "So I am going to bury him, against your wishes, beside Melquíades' grave." She did it with the support of the whole town and with a magnificent funeral. Amaranta did not leave her bedroom. From her bed she heard úrsula's weeping, the steps and whispers of the multitude that invaded the house, the wailing of the mourners, and then a deep silence that smelled of trampled flowers. For a long time she kept on smelling Pietro Crespi's lavender breath at dusk, but she had the strength not to succumb to delirium. úrsula abandoned her. She did not even raise her eyes to pity her on the afternoon when Amaranta went into the kitchen and put her hand into the coals of the stove until it hurt her so much that she felt no more pain but instead smelled the pestilence of her own singed flesh. It was a stupid cure for her remorse. For several days she went about the house with her hand in a pot of egg whites, and when the burns healed it appeared as if the whites had also scarred over the sores on her heart. The only external trace that the tragedy left was the bandage of black gauze that she put on her burned hand and that she wore until her death.
Arcadio gave a rare display of generosity by decreeing official mourning for Pietro Crespi. úrsula interpreted it as the return of the strayed lamb. But she was mistaken. She had lost Arcadio, not when he had put on his military uniform, but from the beginning. She thought she had raised him as a son, as she had raised Rebeca, with no privileges or discrimination. Nevertheless, Arcadio was a solitary and frightened child during the insomnia plague, in the midst of úrsula's utilitarian fervor, during the delirium of José Arcadio Buendía, the hermetism of Aureliano, and the mortal rivalry between Amaranta and Rebeca. Aureliano had taught him to read and write, thinking about other things, as he would have done with a stranger. He gave him his clothing so that Visitación could take it in when it was ready to be thrown away. Arcadio suffered from shoes that were too large, from his patched pants, from his female buttocks. He never succeeded in communicating with anyone better than he did with Visitación andCataure in their language. Melquíades was the only one who really was concerned with him as he made him listen to his incomprehensible texts and gave him lessons in the art of daguerreotype. No one imagined how much he wept in secret and the desperation with which he tried to revive Melquíades with the useless study of his papers. The school, where they paid attention to him and respected him, and then power, with his endless decrees and his glorious uniform, freed him from the weight of an old bitterness. One night in Catarino's store someone dared tell him, "you don't deserve the last name you carry." Contrary to what everyone expected, Arcadio did not have him shot.
"To my great honor," he said, "I am not a Buendía."
Those who knew the secret of his parentage thought that the answer meant that he too was aware of it, but he had really never been. Pilar Ternera, his mother, who had made his blood boil in the darkroom, was as much an irresistible obsession for him as she had been first for José Arcadio and then for Aureliano. In spite of her having lost her charms and the splendor of her laugh, he sought her out and found her by the trail of her smell of smoke. A short time before the war, one noon when she was later than usual in coming for her younger son at school, Arcadio was waiting for her in the room where he was accustomed to take his siesta and where he later set up the stocks. While the child played in the courtyard, he waited in his hammock, trembling with anxiety, knowing that Pillar Ternera would have to pass through there. She arrived. Arcadio grabbed her by the wrist and tried to pull her into the hammock. "I can't, I can't," Pilar Ternera said in horror. "You can't imagine how much I would like to make youhappy, but as God is my witness I can't." Arcadio took her by the waist with his tremendous hereditary strength and he felt the world disappear with the contact of her skin. "Don't play the saint," he said. "After all, everybody knows that you're a whore." Pilar overcame the disgust that her miserable fate inspired in her.
"The children will find out," she murmured. "It will be better if you leave the bar off the door tonight."

烏蘇娜吩咐把靈樞放在她的家裏，尼康諾神父既反對爲自殺者舉行宗教儀式，也反對把人埋在聖地。烏蘇娜跟神父爭論起來。“這個人成了聖徒，”她說。“這是怎麼一回事，你我都不瞭解。不管你想咋辦，我都要把他埋在梅爾加德斯旁邊。”舉行了隆重的葬禮之後，在全鎮的人一致同意下，她就那樣做了。阿瑪蘭塔沒有走出臥室。她從自己的牀鋪上，聽到了烏蘇娜的號啕聲、人們的腳步聲和低低的談話聲，以及哭靈女人的數落聲，然後是一片深沉的寂靜，寂靜中充滿了踩爛的花朵的氣味。在頗長一段時間裏。阿瑪蘭塔每到晚上都還感到薰衣草的味兒，但她竭力不讓自己精神錯亂。烏蘇娜不理睬她了。那天傍晚，阿瑪蘭塔走進廚房，把一隻手放在爐竈的炭火上，過了一會兒，她感到的已經不只是疼痛，而是燒焦的肉發出的臭味了，這時，烏蘇娜連眼睛都不揚一揚，一點也不憐憫女兒。這是對付良心不安的人最激烈的辦法。一連幾天，阿瑪蘭塔都在家中把手放在一隻盛着蛋清的盆子裏，的傷就逐漸痊癒了，而且在蛋清的良好作用下，她心靈的創傷也好了。這場悲劇留下的唯一痕跡，是纏在她那的傷的手上的黑色繃帶，她至死都是把它纏在手上的。
阿卡蒂奧表現了意外的寬厚態度，發佈了正式哀悼皮埃特羅·克列斯比的命令。烏蘇娜認爲這是浪子回頭的舉動，但她想錯了。她失去了他，根本不是從他穿上軍服時開始的，而是老早開始的，她認爲，她把他當做自己的孫子撫養成人，就象養育雷貝卡一樣，既沒優待他，也沒虧待他。然而，阿卡蒂奧卻長成了個乖僻、膽怯的孩子，因爲在他童年的時候，正好失眠症廣泛流行，烏蘇娜大興土木，霍·阿·布恩蒂亞精神錯亂，奧雷連諾遁居家門，阿瑪蘭塔和雷貝卡彼此仇視。奧雷連諾教他讀書寫字時，彷彿對待一個陌生人似的，他心中所想的完全是另一碼事。他拿自己的衣服給阿卡蒂奧（讓維希塔香加以修改），因爲這些衣服準備扔掉了。阿卡蒂奧感到苦惱的是一雙不合腳的大鞋、褲子上的補丁以及女人的屁股。他跟維希塔香和卡塔烏爾談話時，多半是用他們的語言。唯一真正關心他的人是梅爾加德斯：這老頭兒把令人不解的筆記念給他聽，教他照相術。誰也沒有猜到，他在大家面前如何掩飾自己的痛苦，如何哀悼老頭兒的去世；他翻閱老頭兒的筆記，拼命尋找使這吉卜賽人復活的辦法，但是毫無結果。在學校裏，他受到大家的尊敬；掌握市鎮大權以後，他穿上神氣的軍服，發佈嚴厲的命令，他那經常落落寡歡的感覺才消失了。有天晚上在卡塔林諾遊藝場裏，有人大膽地向他說：“你配不上你現在的這個姓。”出乎大家的預料，阿卡蒂奧沒有槍斃這個魯莽的人。
“我不是布恩蒂亞家的人，”他說，“那倒榮幸得很。”
瞭解他那出身祕密的人聽了這個回答，以爲他一切都明白了，其實他永遠都不知道誰是他的父母。象霍·阿卡蒂奧和奧雷連諾一樣，他對自己的母親皮拉·苔列娜感到一種不可遏止的慾望：當她走進他正在修飾照相底版的暗室時，他那血管裏的熱血竟然沸騰起來。儘管皮拉·苔列娜已經失去魅力，已經沒有朗朗的笑聲，他還是尋煙的苦味找到她。戰前不久，有一天中午，比往常稍遲一些，她到學校裏去找自己的小兒子。阿卡蒂奧在房間裏等候她——平常他都在這兒睡午覺，後來他命令把這兒變成把拘留室。孩子在院子裏玩耍，他卻躺在吊牀上急躁得發顫，因他知道皮拉·苔列娜準會經過這個房間。她來了。阿卡蒂奧一把抓住她的手，試圖把她拉上吊牀。“我不能，我不能，”皮拉·苔列娜驚恐地說。“你不知道，我多想讓你快活，可是上帝作證，我不能。”阿卡蒂奧用他祖傳的膂力攔腰把她抱住，一接觸她的身體，他的兩眼都開始模糊了，“別裝聖女啦，”他說。“大家都知道你是個婊子。”皮拉·苔列娜竭力忍受悲慘的命運在她身上引起的厭惡。
“孩子們會看見的，”她低聲說。“今兒晚上你最好不要閂上房門。”