百年孤独(英文版)-第73部分

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nd　her　brother　to　exile　themselves　forever　from　an　age…old　kingdom　where　they　had　been　prince　and　princess。　It　was　the　insomnia　plague。
　　　Cataure；　the　Indian；　was　gone　from　the　house　by　morning。　His　sister　stayed　because　her　fatalistic　heart　told　her　that　the　lethal　sickness　would　follow　her；　no　matter　what；　to　the　farthest　corner　of　the　earth。　No　one　understood　Visitación’s　alarm。　“If　we　don’t　ever　sleep　again；　so　much　the　better；？Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　said　in　good　humor。　“That　way　we　can　get　more　out　of　life。？But　the　Indian　woman　explained　that　the　most　fearsome　part　of　the　sickness　of　insomnia　was　not　the　impossibility　of　sleeping；　for　the　body　did　not　feel　any　fatigue　at　all；　but　its　inexorable　evolution　toward　a　more　critical　manifestation：　a　loss　of　memory。　She　meant　that　when　the　sick　person　became　used　to　his　state　of　vigil；　the　recollection　of　his　childhood　began　to　be　erased　from　his　memory；　then　the　name　and　notion　of　things；　and　finally　the　identity　of　people　and　even　the　awareness　of　his　own　being；　until　he　sank　into　a　kind　of　idiocy　that　had　no　past。　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía；　dying　with　laughter；　thought　that　it　was　just　a　question　of　one　of　the　many　illnesses　invented　by　the　Indians？superstitions。　But　？rsula；　just　to　be　safe；　took　the　precaution　of　isolating　Rebeca　from　the　other　children。
　　　After　several　weeks；　when　Visitación’s　terror　seemed　to　have　died　down；　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　found　himself　rolling　over　in　bed；　unable　to　fall　asleep。　？rsula；　who　had　also　awakened；　asked　him　what　was　wrong；　and　he　answered：　“I’m　thinking　about　Prudencio　Aguilar　again。？They　did　not　sleep　a　minute；　but　the　following　day　they　felt　so　rested　that　they　forgot　about　the　bad　night。　Aureliano　mented　with　surprise　at　lunchtime　that　he　felt　very　well　in　spite　of　the　fact　that　he　had　spent　the　whole　night　in　the　laboratory　gilding　a　brooch　that　he　planned　to　give　to　？rsula　for　her　birthday。　They　did　not　bee　alarmed　until　the　third　day；　when　no　one　felt　sleepy　at　bedtime　and　they　realized　that　they　had　gone　more　than　fifty　hours　without　sleeping。
　　　“The　children　are　awake　too；？the　Indian　said　with　her　fatalistic　conviction。　“Once　it　gets　into　a　house　no　one　can　escape　the　plague。？
　　　They　had　indeed　contracted　the　illness　of　insomnia。　？rsula；　who　had　learned　from　her　mother　the　medicinal　value　of　plants；　prepared　and　made　them　all　drink　a　brew　of　monkshood；　but　they　could　not　get　to　sleep　and　spent　the　whole　day　dreaming　on　their　feet。　In　that　state　of　hallucinated　lucidity；　not　only　did　they　see　the　images　of　their　own　dreams；　but　some　saw　the　images　dreamed　by　others。　It　was　as　if　the　house　were　full　of　visitors。　Sitting　in　her　rocker　in　a　corner　of　the　kitchen；　Rebeca　dreamed　that　a　man　who　looked　very　much　like　her；　dressed　in　white　linen　and　with　his　shirt　collar　closed　by　a　gold　button；　was　bringing　her　a　bouquet　of　roses。　He　was　acpanied　by　a　woman　with　delicate　hands　who　took　out　one　rose　and　put　it　in　the　child’s　hair。　？rsula　understood　that　the　man　and　woman　were　Rebeca’s　parents；　but　even　though　she　made　a　great　effort　to　recognize　them；　she　confirmed　her　certainty　that　she　had　never　seen　them。　In　the　meantime；　through　an　oversight　that　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　never　forgave　himself　for；　the　candy　animals　made　in　the　house　were　still　being　sold　in　the　town。　Children　and　adults　sucked　with　delight　on　the　delicious　little　green　roosters　of　insomnia；　the　exquisite　pink　fish　of　insomnia；　and　the　tender　yellow　ponies　of　insomnia；　so　that　dawn　on　Monday　found　the　whole　town　awake。　No　one　was　alarmed　at　first。　On　the　contrary；　they　were　happy　at　not　sleeping　because　there　was　so　much　to　do　in　Macondo　in　those　days　that　there　was　barely　enough　time。　They　worked　so　hard　that　soon　they　had　nothing　else　to　do　and　they　could　be　found　at　three　o’clock　in　the　morning　with　their　arms　crossed；　counting　the　notes　in　the　waltz　of　the　clock。　Those　who　wanted　to　sleep；　not　from　fatigue　but　because　of　the　nostalgia　for　dreams；　tried　all　kinds　of　methods　of　exhausting　themselves。　They　would　gather　together　to　converse　endlessly；　to　tell　over　and　over　for　hours　on　end　the　same　jokes；　to　plicate　to　the　limits　of　exasperation　the　story　about　the　capon；　which　was　an　endless　game　in　which　the　narrator　asked　if　they　wanted　him　to　tell　them　the　story　about　the　capon；　and　when　they　answered　yes；　the　narrator　would　say　that　he　had　not　asked　them　to　say　yes；　but　whether　they　wanted　him　to　tell　them　the　story　about　the　capon；　and　when　they　answered　no；　the　narrator　told　them　that　he　had　not　asked　them　to　say　no；　but　whether　they　wanted　him　to　tell　them　the　story　about　the　capon；　and　when　they　remained　silent　the　narrator　told　them　that　he　had　not　asked　them　to　remain　silent　but　whether　they　wanted　him　to　tell　them　the　story　about　the　capon；　and　no　one　could　leave　because　the　narrator　would　say　that　he　had　not　asked　them　to　leave　but　whether　they　wanted　him　to　tell　them　the　story　about　the　capon；　and　so　on　and　on　in　a　vicious　circle　that　lasted　entire　nights。
　　　When　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　realized　that　the　plague　had　invaded　the　town；　he　gathered　together　the　heads　of　families　to　explain　to　them　what　he　knew　about　the　sickness　of　insomnia；　and　they　agreed　on　methods　to　prevent　the　scourge　from　spreading　to　other　towns　in　the　swamp。　That　was　why　they　took　the　bells　off　the　goats；　bells　that　the　Arabs　had　sped　them　for　macaws；　and　put　them　at　the　entrance　to　town　at　the　disposal　of　those　who　would　not　listen　to　the　advice　and　entreaties　of　the　sentinels　and　insisted　on　visiting　the　town。　All　strangers　who　passed　through　the　streets　of　Macondo　at　that　time　had　to　ring　their　bells　so　that　the　sick　people　would　know　that　they　were　healthy。　They　were　not　allowed　to　eat　or　drink　anything　during　their　stay；　for　there　was　no　doubt　but　that　the　illness　was　transmitted　by　mouth；　and　all　food　and　drink　had　been　contaminated　by　insomnia。　In　that　way　they　kept　the　plague　restricted　to　the　perimeter　of　the　town。　So　effective　was　the　quarantine　that　the　day　came　when　the　emergency　situation　was　accepted　as　a　natural　thing　and　life　was　organized　in　such　a　way　that　work　picked　up　its　rhythm　again　and　no　one　worried　any　more　about　the　useless　habit　of　sleeping。
　　　It　was　Aureliano　who　conceived　the　formula　that　was　to　protect　them　against　loss　of　memory　for　several　months。　He　discovered　it　by　chance。　An　expert　insomniac；　having　been　one　of　the　first；　he　had　learned　the　art　of　silverwork　to　perfection。　One　day　he　was　looking　for　the　small　anvil　that　he　used　for　laminating　metals　and　he　could　not　remember　its　name。　His　father　told　him：　“Stake。？Aureliano　wrote　the　name　on　a　piece　of　paper　that　he　pasted　to　the　base　of　the　small　anvil：　stake。　In　that　way　he　was　sure　of　not　forgetting　it　in　the　future。　It　did　not　occur　to　him　that　this　was　the　first　manifestation　of　a　loss　of　memory；　because　the　object　had　a　difficult　name　to　remember。　But　a　few　days　later　be；　discovered　that　he　had　trouble　remembering　almost　every　object　in　the　laboratory。　Then　he　marked　them　with　their　respective　names　so　that　all　he　had　to　do　was　read　the　inscription　in　order　to　identify　them。　When　his　father　told　him　about　his　alarm　at　having　forgotten　even　the　most　impressive　happenings　of　his　childhood；　Aureliano　explained　his　method　to　him；　and　Jos？Arcadio　Buendía　put　it　into　practice　all　through　the　house　and　later　on　imposed　it　on　the　whole　village。　With　an　inked　brush　he　marked　everything　with　its　name：　table；　chair；　clock；　door；　wall；　bed；　pan。　He　went　to　the　corral　and　marked　the　animals　and　plants：　cow；　goat；　pig；　hen；　cassava；　caladium；　banana。　Little　by　little；　studying　the　infinite　possibilities　of　a　loss　of　memory；　he　realized　that　the　day　might　e　when　things　would　be　recognized　by　their　inscriptions　but　that　no　one　would　remember　their　use。　Then　he　was　more　explicit。　The　sign　that　he　hung　on　the　neck　of　the　cow　was　an　exemplary　proof　of　the　way　in　which　the　inhabitants　of　Macondo　were　prepared　to　fight　against　loss　of　memory：　This　is　the　cow。　She　must　be　milked　every　morning　so　that　she　will　produce　milk；　and　the　milk　must　be　boiled　in　order　to　be　mixed　with　coffee　to　make　coffee　and　milk。　Thus　they　went　on　living　in　a　reality　that　was　slipping　away；　momentarily　captured　by　words；　but　which