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以下歐美電影榜英文介紹
and wearing his crude cotton long drawers, which he still wore for comfort, even though because of
their musty, old-fashioned style he called them his 「Goth drawers.」 He put on his tight pants but
did not button them up, nor did he put the gold button into his shirt collar as he always did, because
he planned to take a bath. Then he put the blanket over his head like a cowl. brushed his dripping
mustache with his fingers, and went to urinate in the courtyard. There was still so much time left for
the sun to come out that José Arcadio Buendía was still dozing under the shelter of palm fronds that
had been rotted by the rain. He did not see him, as he had never seen him, nor did he hear the
incomprehensible phrase that the ghost of his father addressed to him as he awakened, startled by
the stream of hot urine that splattered his shoes. He put the bath off for later, not because of the
cold and the dampness, but because of the oppressive October mist. On his way back to the
workshop he noticed the odor of the wick that Santa Sofía de la Piedad was using to light the stoves,
and he waited in the kitchen for the coffee to boil so that he could take along his mug without sugar.
Santa Sofía de la Piedad asked him, as on every morning, what day of the week it was, and he
answered that it was Tuesday, October eleventh. Watching the glow of the fire as it gilded the
persistent woman who neither then nor in any instant of her life seemed to exist completely, he
suddenly remembered that on one October eleventh in the middle of the war he had awakened with
the brutal certainty that the woman with whom he had slept was dead. She really was and he could
not forget the date because she had asked him an hour before what day it was. In spite of the
memory he did not have an awareness this time either of to what degree his omens had abandoned
him and while the coffee was boiling he kept on thinking out of pure curiosity but without the
slightest risk of nostalgia about the woman whose name he had never known and whose face he had
not seen because she had stumbled to his hammock in the dark. Nevertheless, in the emptiness of so
many women who came into his life in the same way, he did not remember that she was the one
who in the delirium of that first meeting was on the point of foundering in her own tears and
scarcely an hour before her death had sworn to love him until she died. He did not think about her
130
GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUES ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE
again or about any of the others after he went into the workshop with the steaming cup, and he
lighted the lamp in order to count the little gold fishes, which he kept in a tin pail. There were
seventeen of them. Since he had decided not to sell any, he kept on making two fishes a day and
when he finished twenty-five he would melt them down and start all over again. He worked all
morning, absorbed, without thinking about anything, without realizing that at ten o』clock the rain
had grown stronger and someone ran past the workshop shouting to close the doors before the
house was flooded, and without thinking even about himself until Úrsula came in with his lunch and
turned out the light.
「What a rain!」 Úrsula said.
「October,」 he said.
When he said it he did not raise his eyes from the first little fish of the day because he was putting
in the rubies for the eyes. Only when he finished it and put it with the others in the pail did he begin
to drink the soup. Then, very slowly, he ate the piece of meat roasted with onions, the white rice,
and the slices of fried bananas all on the same plate together. His appetite did not change under
either the best or the harshest of circumstances. After lunch he felt the drowsiness of inactivity.
Because of a kind of scientific superstition he never worked, or read, or bathed, or made love until
two hours of digestion had gone by, and it was such a deep-rooted belief that several times he held
up military operations so as not to submit the troops to the risks of indigestion. So he lay down in
the hammock, removing the wax from his ears with a penknife, and in a few minutes he was asleep.
He dreamed that he was going into an empty house with white walls and that he was upset by the
burden of being the first human being to enter it. In the dream he remembered that he had dreamed
the same thing the night before and on many nights over the past years and he knew that the image
would be erased from his memory when he awakened because that recurrent dream had the quality
of not being remembered except within the dream itself. A moment later, indeed, when the barber
knocked at the workshop door, Colonel Aureliano Buendía awoke with the impression that he had
fallen asleep involuntarily for a few seconds and that he had not had time to dream anything.
「Not today.」 he told the barber. 「We』ll make it on Friday.」
He had a three-day beard speckled with white hairs, but he did not think it necessary to shave
because on Friday he was going to have his hair cut and it could all be done at the same time. The
sticky sweat of the unwanted siesta aroused the scars of the sores in his armpits. The sky had cleared
but the sun had not come out. Colonel Aureliano Buendía released a sonorous belch which brought
back the acidity of the soup to his palate and which was like a command from his organism to throw
his blanket over his shoulders and go to the toilet. He stayed there longer than was necessary,
crouched over the dense fermentation that was coming out of the wooden box until habit told him
that it was time to start work again. During the time he lingered he remembered again that it was
Tuesday, and that José Arcadio Segundo had not come to the workshop because it was payday on
the banana company farms. That recollection, as all of those of the past few years, led him to think
about the war without his realizing it. He remembered that Colonel Gerineldo Márquez had once
promised to get him a horse with a white star on its face and that he had never spoken about it
again. Then he went on toward scattered episodes but he brought them back without any judgment
because since he could not think about anything else, he had learned to think coldly so that
inescapable memories would not touch any feeling. On his way back to the workshop, seeing that
the air was beginning to dry out, he decided that it was a good time to take a bath, but Amaranta had
got there ahead of him. So he started on the second little fish of the day. He was putting a hook on
the tail when the sun came out with such strength that the light creaked like a fishing boat. The air,
which had been washed by the three-day drizzle, was filled with flying ants. Then he came to the
realization that he felt like urinating and he had been putting it off until he had finished fixing the
little fish. He went out into the courtyard at ten minutes after four, when he heard the distant brass
131
GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUES ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE
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