d gone to get him at his house and had shot at him with their revolvers but they had missed the cross of ashes。 Aureliano Amador had been able to leap over the wall of the courtyard and was lost in the labyrinth of the mountains； which he knew like the back of his hand thanks to the friendship he maintained with the Indians； from whom he bought wood。 Nothing more was heard of him。
Those were dark days for Colonel Aureliano Buendía。 The president of the republic sent him a telegram of condolence in which he promised an exhaustive investigation and paid homage to the dead men。 At his mand； the mayor appeared at the services with four funeral wreaths； which he tried to place on the coffins； but the colonel ordered him into the street。 After the burial he drew up and personally submitted to the president of the republic a violent telegram； which the telegrapher refused to send。 Then he enriched it with terms of singular aggressiveness； put it in an envelope； and mailed it。 As had happened with the death of his wife； as had happened to him so many times during the war with the deaths of his best friends； he did not have a feeling of sorrow but a blind and directionless rage； a broad feeling of impotence。 He even accused Father Antonio Isabel of plicity for having marked his sons with indelible ashes so that they…could be identified by their enemies。 The decrepit priest； who could no longer string ideas together and who was beginning to startle his parishioners with the wild interpretations he gave from the pulpit； appeared one afternoon at the house with the goblet in which he had prepared the ashes that Wednesday and he tried to anoint the whole family with them to show that they could be washed off with water。 But the horror of the misfortune had penetrated so deeply that not even Fernanda would let him experiment on her and never again was a Buendía seen to kneel at the altar rail on Ash Wednesday。
Colonel Aureliano Buendía did not recover his calm for a long time。 He abandoned the manufacture of little fishes； ate with great difficulty； and wandered all through the house as if walking in his sleep； dragging his blanket and chewing on his quiet rage。 At the end of three months his hair was ashen； his old waxed mustache poured down beside his colorless lips； but； on the other hand； his eyes were once more the burning coals that had startled those who had seen him born and that in other days had made chairs rock with a simple glance。 In the fury of his torment he tried futilely to rouse the omens that had guided his youth along dangerous paths into the desolate wasteland of glory。 He was lost； astray in a strange house where nothing and no one now stirred in him the slightest vestige of affection。 Once he opened Melquíades？room； looking for the traces of a past from before the war； and he found only rubble； trash； piles of waste accumulated over all the years of abandonment。 Between the covers of the books that no one had ever read again； in the old parchments damaged by dampness； a livid flower had prospered； and in the air that had been the purest and brightest in the house an unbearable smell of rotten memories floated。 One morning he found ？rsula weeping under the chestnut tree at the knees of her dead husband。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía was the only inhabitant of the house who still did not see the powerful old man who had been beaten down by half a century in the open air。 “Say hello to your father；？？rsula told him。 He stopped for an instant in front of the chestnut tree and once again he saw that the empty space before him did not arouse an affection either。
“What does he say？？he asked。
“He’s very sad；？？rsula answered； “because he thinks that you’re going to die。？
“Tell him；？the colonel said； smiling； “that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can。？
The omen of the； dead father stirred up the last remnant of pride that was left in his heart； but he confused it with a sudden gust of strength。 It was for that reason that he hounded ？rsula to tell him where in the courtyard the gold coins that they had found inside the plaster Saint Joseph were buried。 “You’ll never know；？she told him with a firmness inspired by an old lesson。 “One day；？she added； “the owner of that fortune will appear and only he can dig it up。？No one knew why a man who had always been so generous had begun to covet money with such anxiety； and not the modest amounts that would have been enough to resolve an emergency； but a fortune of such mad size that the mere mention of it left Aureliano Segundo awash in amazement。 His old fellow party members； to whom he went asking for help； hid so as not to receive him。 It was around that time that he was heard to say。 “The only difference today between Liberals and Conservatives is that the Liberals go to mass at five o’clock and the Conservatives at eight。？Nevertheless he insisted with such perseverance； begged in such a way； broke his code of dignity to such a degree； that with a little help from here and a little more from there； sneaking about everywhere； with a slippery diligence and a pitiless perseverance； he managed to put together in eight months more money than ？rsula had buried。 Then he visited the ailing Colonel Gerineldo Márquez so that he would help him start the total war。
At a certain time Colonel Gerineldo Márquez was really the only one who could have pulled； even from his paralytics chair； the musty strings of rebellion。 After the armistice of Neerlandia； while Colonel Aureliano Buendía took refuge with his little gold fishes； he kept in touch with the rebel officers who had been faithful to him until the defeat。 With them he waged the sad war of daily humiliation； of entreaties and petitions； of e…back…tomorrow； of any…time…now； of we’re…studying…your…case…with…the…proper…attention； the war hopelessly lost against the many yours…most…trulys who should have signed and would never sign the lifetime pensions。 The other war； the bloody one of twenty years； did not cause them as much damage as the corrosive war of eternal postponements。 Even Colonel Gerineldo Márquez； who escaped three attempts on his life； survived five wounds； and emerged unscathed from innumerable battles； succumbed to that atrocious siege of waiting and sank into the miserable defeat of old age； thinking of Amaranta among the diamond…shaped patches of light in a borrowed house。 The last veterans of whom he had word had appeared photographed in a newspaper with their faces shamelessly raised beside an anonymous president of the republic who gave them buttons with his likeness on them to wear in their lapels and returned to them a flag soiled with blood and gunpowder so that they could place it on their coffins。 The others； more honorable。 were still waiting for a letter in the shadow of public charity； dying of hunger； living through rage； ratting of old age amid the exquisite shit of glory。 So that when Colonel Aureliano Buendía invited him to start a mortal conflagration that would wipe out all vestiges of a regime of corruption and scandal backed by the foreign invader； Colonel Gerineldo Márquez could not hold back a shudder of passion。
“Oh； Aureliano；？he sighed。 “I already knew that you were old； but now I realize that you’re a lot older than you look。？
Chapter 13
IN THE BEWILDERMENT of her last years； ？rsula had had very little free time to attend to the papal education of Jos？Arcadio； and the time came for him to get ready to leave for the seminary right away。 Meme； his sister； dividing her time between Fernanda’s rigidity and Amaranta’s bitterness； at almost the same moment reached the age set for her to be sent to the nuns？school； where they would make a virtuoso on the clavichord of her。 ？rsula felt tormented by grave doubts concerning the effectiveness of the methods with which she had molded the spirit of the languid apprentice Supreme Pontiff； but she did not put the blame on her staggering old age or the dark clouds that barely permitted her to make out the shape of things； but on something that she herself could not really define and that she conceived confusedly as a progressive breakdown of time。 “The years nowadays don’t pass the way the old ones used to；？she would say； feeling that everyday reality was slipping through her hands。 In the past； she thought； children took a long time to grow up。 All one had to do was remember all the time needed for Jos？Arcadio； the elder； to go away with the gypsies and all that happened before he came back painted like a snake and talking like an astronomer； and the things that happened in the house before Amaranta and Arcadio forgot the language of the Indians and learned Spanish。 One had to see only the days of sun and dew that poor Jos？Arcadio Buendía went through under the chestnut tree and all the time weeded to mourn his death before they brought in a dying Colonel Aureliano Buendía； who after so much war and so much suffering from it was still not fifty years of age。 In other times； after spending the whole day making candy animals； she had more than enough time for the children； to see from the whites of their eyes that they needed a dose of castor oil。 Now； however； when she had nothing to do and would go about with Jos？Arcadio riding on her hip from dawn to dusk； this bad kind of time pelled her to leave things half done。 The truth was that ？rsula resisted growing old even when she had already lost count of her age and she was a bother on all sides as she tried to meddle in everything and as she annoyed strangers with her questions as to whether they had left a plaster Saint Joseph to be kept until the rains were over during the days of the war。 No one knew exactly when she had begun to lose her sight。 Even in her later years； when she could no longer get out of bed； it seemed that she was simply defeated by decrepitude； but no one discovered that she was blind。 She had noticed it before the birth of Jos？Arcadio。 At first she thought it was a matter of a passing debility and she secretly took marrow syrup and put honey on her eyes； but quite soon she began to realize that she was irrevocably sinking into the darkness； to a point where she never had a clear notion of the invention of the electric light； for wh