Сто лет одиночества

           Shewentbacktoeatingearthandthewhitewashonthewallswiththeavidityofpreviousdays,andshesuckedherfingersomuchanxietythatshedevelopedacallusonherthumb.Shevomitedupagreenliquidwithdeadleechesinit.Shespentnightsawakeshakingwithfever,fightingagainstdelirium,waitinguntilthehouseshookwiththereturnofJoséArcadioatdawn.Oneafternoon,wheneveryonewashavingasiesta,shecouldnolongerresistandwenttohisbedroom.Shefoundhiminhisshorts,lyinginthehammockthathehadhungfromthebeamswithaship’shawser.Shewassoimpressedbyhisenormousmotleynakednessthatshefeltanimpulsetoretreat."Excuseme,"shesaid,"Ididn’tknowyouwerehere."Butsheloweredhervoicesoasnottowakeanyoneup."Comehere,"hesaid.Rebecaobeyed.Shestoppedbesidethehammockinanicysweat,feelingknotsforminginherintestines,whileJoséArcadiostrokedherankleswiththetipsofhisfingers,thenhercalves,thenherthighs,murmuring:"Oh,littlesister,littlesister."Shehadtomakeasupernaturaleffortnottodiewhenastartlinglyregulatedcyclonicpowerliftedherupbythewaistanddespoiledherofherintimacywiththreeclashesofitsclawsandquarteredherlikealittlebird.ShemanagedtothankGodforhavingbeenbornbeforeshelostherselfintheinconceivablepleasureofthatunbearablepain,splashinginthesteamingmarshofthehammockwhichabsorbedtheexplosionofbloodlikeablotter.

           "She’syoursister."

           "Idon’tcare,"JoséArcadioreplied.