Сто лет одиночества

           Thosewhoknewthesecretofhisparentagethoughtthattheanswermeantthathetoowasawareofit,buthehadreallyneverbeen.PilarTernera,hismother,whohadmadehisbloodboilinthedarkroom,wasasmuchanirresistibleobsessionforhimasshehadbeenfirstforJoséArcadioandthenforAureliano.Inspiteofherhavinglosthercharmsthesplendorofherlaugh,hesoughtheroutandfoundherbythetrailofhersmellofsmoke.Ashorttimebeforethewar,onenoonwhenshewaslaterthanusualincomingforheryoungersonatschool,Arcadiowaswaitingforherintheroomwherehewasaccustomedtotakehissiestaandwherehelatersetupthestocks.Whilethechildplayedinthecourtyard,hewaitedinhishammock,tremblingwithanxiety,knowingthatPillarTernerawouldhavetopassthroughthere.Shearrived.Arcadiograbbedherbythewristandtriedtopullherintothehammock."Ican’t,Ican’t,"PilarTernerasaidinhorror."Youcan’timaginehowmuchIwouldliketomakeyouhappy,butasGodismywitnessIcan’t."Arcadiotookbythewaistwithhistremendoushereditarystrengthandhefelttheworlddisappearwiththecontactofherskin."Don’tplaythesaint,"hesaid."Afterall,everybodyknowsthatyou’reawhore."Pilarovercamethedisgustthathermiserablefateinspiredinher.

           "Thechildrenwillfindout,"shemurmured."Itwillbebetterifyouleavethebaroffthedoortonight."