Сто лет одиночества

           Themenontheexpeditionfeltoverwhelmedbytheirmostancientmemoriesinthatparadiseofdampnessandsilence,goingbacktobeforeoriginalsin,astheirbootssankintopoolsofsteamingoilandtheirmachetesdestroyedbloodyliliesandgoldensalamanders.Foraweek,almostwithoutspeaking,theywentaheadlikesleepwalkersthroughauniverseofgrief,lightedonlybythetenuousreflectionofluminousin-sects,andtheirlungswereoverwhelmedbyasuffocatingsmellofblood.Theycouldnotreturnbecausethestripthattheywereopeningastheywentalongwouldsooncloseupwithanewvegetationthat.almostseemedtogrowbeforetheireyes."It’sallright,"JoseArcadioBuendfawouldsay."Themainthingisnottoloseourbearings."Alwaysfollowinghiscompass,hekeptonguidinghismentowardtheinvisiblenorthsothattheywouldbeabletogetoutofthatenchantedregion.Itwasathicknight,starless,butthedarknesswasbecomingimpregnatedwithafreshandclearair.Exhaustedbythelongcrossing,theyhunguptheirhammocksandsleptdeeplyforthefirsttimeintwoweeks.Whentheywokeup,withthesunalreadyhighinthesky,theywerespeechlesswithfascination.Beforethem,surroundedbyfernsandpalmtrees,whiteandpowderyinthesilentmorninglight,wasanenormousSpanishgalleon.

           Tiltedslightlytothestarboard,ithadhangingfromitsintactmaststhedirtyragsofitssailsinthemidstofitsrigging,whichwasadornedwithorchids.Thehull,coveredwithanarmorofpetrifiedbarnaclesandsoftmoss,wasfirmlyfastenedintoasurfaceofstones.Thewholestructureseemedtooccupyitsownspace,oneofsolitudeandoblivion,protectedfromthevicesoftimeandthehabitsofthebirds.Inside,wheretheexpeditionariesexploredwithcarefulintent,therewasnothingbutathickforestofflowers.