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168
would not lose him in the shadows, she had assigned him a corner of the bedroom, the only one
where he would be safe from the dead people who wandered through the house after sundown. 「If
you do anything bad,」 Úrsula would tell him, 「the saints will let me know.」 The terror-filled nights
of his childhood were reduced to that corner where he would remain motionless until it was time to
go to bed, perspiring with fear on a stool under the watchful and glacial eyes of the tattletale saints.
It was useless torture because even at that time he already had a terror of everything around him and
he was prepared to be frightened at anything he met in life: women on the street, who would ruin
his blood; the women in the house, who bore children with the tail of a pig; fighting cocks, who
brought on the death of men and remorse for the rest of one’s life; firearms, which with the mere
touch would bring down twenty years of war; uncertain ventures, which led only to disillusionment
and madness—everything, in short, everything that God had created in His infinite goodness and
that the devil had perverted. When he awakened, pressed in the vise of his nightmares, the light in
the window and the caresses of Amaranta in the bath and the pleasure of being powdered between
the legs with a silk puff would release him from the terror. Even Úrsula was different under the
radiant light in the garden because there she did not talk about fearful things but would brush his
teeth with charcoal powder so that he would have the radiant smile of a Pope, and she would cut
and polish his nails so that the pilgrims who came to Rome from all over the world would be
startled at the beauty of the Pope’s hands as he blessed them, and she would comb his hair like that
of a Pope, and she would sprinkle his body and his clothing with toilet water so that his body and
his clothes would have the fragrance of a Pope. In the courtyard of Castel Gandolfo he had seen the
Pope on a balcony making the same speech in seven languages for a crowd of pilgrims and the only
thing, indeed, that had drawn his attention was the whiteness of his hands, which seemed to have
been soaked in lye, the dazzling shine of his summer clothing, and the hidden breath of cologne.
Almost a year after his return home, having sold the silver candlesticks and the heraldic
chamberpot—which at the moment of truth turned out to have only a little gold plating on the
crest—in order to eat, the only distraction of José Arcadio was to pick up children in town so that
they could play in the house. He would appear with them at siesta time and have them skip rope in
the garden, sing on the porch, and do acrobatics on the furniture in the living room while he would
go among the groups giving lessons in good manners. At that time he had finished with the tight
pants and the silk shirts and was wearing an ordinary suit of clothing that he had bought in the Arab
stores, but he still maintained his languid dignity and his papal air. The children took over the house
just as Meme’s schoolmates had done in the past. Until well into the night they could be heard
chattering and singing and tap-dancing, so that the house resembled a boarding school where there
was no discipline. Aureliano did not worry about the invasion as long as they did not bother him in
Melquíades』 room. One morning two children pushed open the door and were startled at the sight
of a filthy and hairy man who was still deciphering the parchments on the worktable. They did not