Сто лет одиночества
Chapter 4
Onrainyafternoons,embroideringwithagroupoffriendsonthebegoniaporch,shewouldlosethethreadoftheconversationandatearofnostalgiawouldsaltherpalatewhenshesawthestripsofdampearthandthepilesofmudthattheearthwormshadpushedupinthegarden.Thosesecrettastes,defeatedinthepastbyorangesandrhubarb,brokeoutintoanirrepressibleurgewhenshebegantoweep.Shewentbacktoeatingearth.Thefirsttimeshediditalmostoutofcuriosity,surethatthebadtastewouldbethebestcureforthetemptation.And,infact,shecouldnotbeartheearthinhermouth.Butshepersevered,overcomebythegrowinganxiety,andlittlebylittleshewasgettingbackherancestralappetite,thetasteprimaryminerals,theunbridledsatisfactionofwhatwastheoriginalfood.Shewouldputhandfulsofearthinherpockets,andatetheminsmallbitswithoutbeingseen,withaconfusedfeelingofpleasureandrage,assheinstructedhergirlfriendsinthemostdifficultneedlepointandspokeaboutothermen,whodidnotdeservethesacrificeofhavingoneeatthewhitewashonthewallsbecauseofthem.Thehandfulsofearthmadetheonlymanwhodeservedthatshowofdegradationlessremoteandmorecertain,asifthegroundthathewalkedonwithhisfinepatentleatbootsinanotherparttheworldweretransmittingtohertheweightandthetemperaturehisbloodinamineralsavorthatleftaharshaftertasteinhermouthandasedimentofpeaceinherheart.Oneafternoon,fornoreason,AmparoMoscoteaskedpermissiontoseethehouse.
