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Amaranta
and
Pietro
Crespi
had
,
in
fact
,
deepened
their
friendship
,
protected
by
úrsula
,
who
this
time
did
not
think
it
necessary
to
watch
over
the
visits
.
It
was
a
twilight
engagement
.
The
Italian
would
arrive
at
dusk
,
with
a
gardenia
in
his
buttonhole
,
and
he
would
translate
Petrarch
's
sonnets
for
Amaranta
.
They
would
sit
on
the
porch
,
suffocated
by
the
oregano
and
the
roses
,
he
reading
and
she
sewing
lace
cuffs
,
indifferent
to
the
shocks
and
bad
news
the
war
,
until
the
mosquitoes
made
them
take
refuge
in
the
parlor
.
Amaranta
's
sensibility
,
her
discreet
but
enveloping
tenderness
had
been
wearing
an
invisible
web
about
her
fiancé
,
which
he
had
to
push
aside
materially
his
pale
and
ringless
fingers
in
order
to
leave
the
house
at
eight
o'clock
.
They
had
put
together
a
delightful
album
with
the
postcards
that
Pietro
Crespi
received
from
Italy
.
They
were
pictures
of
lovers
in
lonely
parks
,
vignettes
of
hearts
pierced
with
arrows
and
golden
ribbons
held
by
doves
.
"
I
've
been
to
this
park
in
Florence
,
"
Pietro
Crespi
would
say
,
going
through
the
cards
.
"
A
person
can
put
out
his
hand
and
the
birds
will
come
to
feed
.
"
Sometimes
,
over
a
watercolor
of
Venice
,
nostalgia
would
transform
the
smell
of
mud
and
putrefying
shellfish
of
the
canals
into
the
warm
aroma
of
flowers
.
Amaranta
would
sigh
,
laugh
,
and
dream
of
a
second
homeland
of
handsome
men
and
beautiful
women
who
spoke
a
childlike
language
with
ancient
cities
of
whose
past
grandeur
only
the
cats
among
the
rubble
remained
.
After
crossing
the
ocean
in
search
of
it
,
after
having
confused
passion
with
the
vehement
stroking
of
Rebeca
,
Pietro
Crespi
had
found
love
.
Happiness
was
accompanied
by
prosperity
.
His
warehouse
at
that
time
occupied
almost
a
whole
block
and
it
was
a
hothouse
of
fantasy
,
with
reproductions
of
the
bell
tower
of
Florence
that
told
time
with
a
concert
of
carillons
,
and
music
boxes
from
Sorrento
and
compacts
from
China
that
sang
five-note
melodies
when
they
were
opened
,
and
all
the
musical
instruments
imaginable
and
all
the
mechanical
toys
that
could
be
conceived
.
Bruno
Crespi
,
his
younger
brother
,
was
in
charge
of
the
store
because
Pietro
Crespi
barely
had
enough
time
to
take
care
the
music
school
.
Thanks
to
him
the
Street
of
the
Turks
,
with
its
dazzling
display
of
knickknacks
,
became
a
melodic
oasis
where
one
could
forget
Arcadio
's
arbitrary
acts
and
the
distant
nightmare
of
the
war
.
When
úrsula
ordered
the
revival
of
Sunday
mass
,
Pietro
Crespi
donated
a
German
harmonium
to
the
church
,
organized
a
children
's
chorus
,
and
prepared
a
Gregorian
repertory
that
added
a
note
of
splendor
to
Father
Nicanor
's
quiet
rite
.
No
one
doubted
that
he
would
make
Amaranta
a
fortunate
mate
.
Not
pushing
their
feelings
,
letting
themselves
be
borne
along
by
the
natural
flow
of
their
hearth
they
reached
a
point
where
all
that
was
left
to
do
was
set
a
wedding
date
.
They
did
not
encounter
any
obstacles
.
úrsula
accused
herself
inwardly
of
having
twisted
Rebecca
's
destiny
with
repeated
postponements
and
she
was
not
about
to
add
more
remorse
.
The
rigor
of
the
mourning
for
Remedios
had
been
relegated
to
the
background
by
the
mortifications
of
the
war
,
Aureliano
's
absence
,
Arcadio
's
brutality
,
and
the
expulsion
José
Arcadio
and
Rebeca
.
With
the
imminence
of
the
wedding
,
Pietro
Crespi
had
hinted
that
Aureliano
José
,
in
whom
he
had
stirred
up
a
love
that
was
almost
filial
,
would
be
considered
their
oldest
child
.
Everything
made
Amaranta
think
that
she
was
heading
toward
a
smooth
happiness
.
But
unlike
Rebeca
,
she
did
not
reveal
the
slightest
anxiety
.
With
the
same
patience
with
which
she
dyed
tablecloths
,
sewed
lace
masterpieces
,
embroidered
needlepoint
peacocks
,
she
waited
for
Pietro
Crespi
to
be
unable
to
bear
the
urges
of
his
heart
and
more
.
Her
day
came
with
the
illfated
October
rains
.
Pietro
Crespi
took
the
sewing
basket
from
her
lap
and
he
told
her
,
"
We
'll
get
married
next
month
.
"
Amaranta
did
not
tremble
at
the
contact
with
his
icy
hands
.
She
withdrew
hers
like
a
timid
little
animal
and
went
back
to
her
work
.
"
Do
n't
be
simple
,
Crespi
.
"
She
smiled
.
"
I
would
n't
marry
you
even
if
I
were
dead
.
"
Pietro
Crespi
lost
control
of
himself
.
He
wept
shamelessly
,
almost
breaking
his
fingers
with
desperation
,
but
he
could
not
break
her
down
.
"
Do
n't
waste
your
time
,
"
was
all
that
Amaranta
said
.
"
If
you
really
love
me
so
much
,
do
n't
set
foot
in
this
house
again
.
"
úrsula
thought
she
would
go
mad
with
shame
.
Pietro
Crespi
exhausted
all
manner
of
pleas
.
He
went
through
incredible
extremes
of
humiliation
.
He
wept
one
whole
afternoon
in
úrsula
's
lap
and
she
would
have
sold
her
soul
in
order
to
comfort
him
.
On
rainy
nights
he
could
be
seen
prowling
about
the
house
with
an
umbrella
,
waiting
for
a
light
in
Amaranta
's
bedroom
.
He
was
never
better
dressed
than
at
that
time
.
His
august
head
of
a
tormented
emperor
had
acquired
a
strange
air
of
grandeur
.
He
begged
Amaranta
's
friends
,
the
ones
who
sewed
with
her
on
the
porch
,
to
try
to
persuade
her
.
He
neglected
his
business
.
He
would
spend
the
day
in
the
rear
of
the
store
writing
wild
notes
,
which
he
would
send
to
Amaranta
with
flower
petals
and
dried
butterflies
,
and
which
she
would
return
unopened
.
He
would
shut
himself
up
for
hours
on
end
to
play
the
zither
.
One
night
he
sang
.
Macondo
woke
up
in
a
kind
of
angelic
stupor
that
was
caused
by
a
zither
that
deserved
more
than
this
world
and
a
voice
that
led
one
to
believe
that
no
other
person
on
earth
could
feel
such
love
.
Pietro
Crespi
then
saw
the
lights
go
on
in
every
window
in
town
except
that
of
Amaranta
.
On
November
second
,
All
Souls
'
Day
,
his
brother
opened
the
store
and
found
all
the
lamps
lighted
,
all
the
music
boxes
opened
,
and
all
the
docks
striking
an
interminable
hour
,
in
the
midst
of
that
mad
concert
he
found
Pietro
Crespi
at
the
desk
in
the
rear
with
his
wrists
cut
by
a
razor
and
his
hands
thrust
into
a
basin
of
benzoin
.
úrsula
decreed
that
the
wake
would
be
in
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
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
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
and
Cataure
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
do
n't
deserve
the
last
name
you
carry
.
"
Contrary
to
what
everyone
expected
,
Arcadio
did
not
have
him
shot
.
