世纪文学经典:《百年孤独》第10章Part 2

When he finished the book, in which many of the stories had no endings because there were pages missing, Aureli-ano Segun-do set about deciphering the manuscripts. It was impossible. The letters looked like clothes hung out to dry on a line and they looked more like musical notation than writing. One hot noontime, while he was poring over the, manuscripts, he sensed that he was not alone in the room. Against the light from the window, sitting with his hands on his knees, was Melquíades. He was under forty years of age. He was wearing the same old-fashioned vest and the hat that looked like a raven's wings, and across his pale temples there flowed the grease from his hair that had been melted by the heat, just as Aureli-ano and José Arcadio had seen him when they were children. Aureli-ano Segun-do recognized him at once, because that hereditary memory had been transmitted from generation to generation and had come to him through the memory of his grandfather.
"Hello," Aureli-ano Segun-do said.
"Hello, young man," said Melquíades.
From then on, for several years, they saw each other almost every afternoon. Melquíades talked to him about the world, tried to infuse him with his old wisdom, but he refused to translate the manuscripts. "No one must know their meaning until he has reached one hundred years of age," he explained. Aureli-ano kept those meetings secret forever. On one occasion he felt that his private world had fallen apart because úrsula came in when Melquíades was in the room. But she did not see him.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked him.
"Nobody," Aureli-ano Segun-do said.
"That's what your great-grandfather did," úrsula, said. "He used to talk to himself too."
José Arcadio Segun-do, in the meantime, had satisfied his wish to see a shooting. For the rest of his life he would remember the livid flash of the six simultaneous shots-and the echo of the discharge as it broke against the hills and the sad smile and perplexed eyes of the man being shot, who stood erect while his shirt became soaked with blood, and who was still smiling even when they untied him from the post and put him in a box filled with quicklime. "He's alive," he thought. "They're going to bury him alive." It made such an impression on him that from then on he detested military practices and war, not because of the executions but because of the horrifying custom of burying the victims alive. No one knew then exactly when he began to ring the bells in the church tower and assist Father Antonio Isabel, the successor to "The Pup," at mass, and take can of the fighting cocks in the courtyard of the parish house. When Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez found out he scolded him strongly for learning occupations repudiated by the Liberals. "The fact is," he answered, "I think I've turned out to be a Conservative." He believed it as if it had been determined by fate. Colonel Geri-neldo Márquez, scandalized, told úrsula about it.
"It's better that way," she approved. "Let's hope that he becomes a priest so that God will finally come into this house."

书中的许多故事都没有结尾，因为书页残缺不全。奥雷连诺第二看完了书，决心识破梅尔加德斯的手稿，但这是不可能的。一页页手稿犹如挂在绳于上晾干的衣服，上面的字儿更象乐谱，而不象普通的文字。一个炎热的响午，奥雷连诺第二正在努力研究手稿的时候，觉得房间里不止他一个人。梅尔加德斯双手放在膝上，坐在明晃晃的窗子跟前。他看上去不到四十岁，仍然穿着那件旧式背心，戴着那顶帽馅宛似乌鸦翅膀的帽子，苍白的鬓角流着汗水，好象暑热熔化的脂肪，——这吉卜赛人正象奥雷连诺上校和霍·阿卡蒂奥儿童时代看见的那个样子。奥雷连诺第二立刻认出了老头儿，因为老头儿的形象是布恩蒂亚家一代一代传下来的，从祖辈一直传给了他。
“您好，”奥雷连诺第二说。
“您好，年轻人，”梅尔加德斯说。
从那时起，在几年中，他们几乎每天下午见面。梅尔加德斯告诉他天下大事，打算把自己过时的才智传给他，可是不愿向他解释自己的手稿。“在手稿满一百年以前，谁也不该知道这儿写些什么，”他说。奥雷连诺第二永远保守这些会见的秘密。有一次，乌苏娜走进房间，凑巧梅尔加德斯也在，惊骇的奥雷连诺第二就以为他那孤独的世界马上就要毁灭了。然而乌苏娜没有看见吉卜赛人。
“你在跟谁说话呀？”她问。
“没跟谁，”奥雷连诺第二回答。
“你的曾祖父就是这样，”乌苏娜说。“他也老是自言自语。”
这时，霍·阿卡蒂奥第二实现了参观行刑的愿望。他至死记得同时射出的六发子弹的淡蓝色闪光，记得枪声在山野里的回响，记得犯人惨淡的微笑和茫然的目光，虽然鲜血已经浸透了他的衬衫，但他仍然立在那儿；虽然人家已经把他解下柱子、放进一口装满石灰的大箱子，但他还在继续微笑。“他没死，”霍·阿卡蒂奥第二想道，“他们在活埋他。”孩子得到了那样的印象，从那时起他就厌恶军事操练和战争了——不是因为行刑，而是由于刽子手经常活埋犯人。后来，谁也没有发觉，霍·阿卡蒂奥第二开始在钟楼上敲钟，帮助“唠叨鬼”的继任者——安东尼奥。 伊萨贝尔神父举行弥撒，在教堂院子里照料斗鸡。格林川尔多·马克斯。上校发现这种情形以后，把霍·阿卡蒂奥第二狠狠地骂了一顿，因为他干的是自由党人厌恶的事情。“其实，”霍 .阿卡蒂奥第二说，“我觉得我会成为保守党人。”他相信这是命中注定的。恼怒的格林列尔多·马克斯上校把这桩事情告诉了乌苏娜。
“那更好，”她赞成曾孙子的行为。“但愿他成为牧师，上帝终归就会保佑咱们家了。”