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e memories materialized through the strength of implacable evocation and walked like human beings through the cloistered rooms； Leaning back in her wicker rocking chair； looking at Colonel Aureliano Buendía as if he were the one who looked like a ghost out of the past； Rebeca was not even upset by the news that the lands usurped by Jos？Arcadio would be returned to their rightful owners。
“Whatever you decide will be done； Aureliano；？she sighed。 “I always thought and now I have the proof that you’re a renegade。？
The revision of the deeds took place at the same time as the summary courtsmartial presided over by Colonel Gerineldo Márquez； which ended with the execution of all officers of the regular army who had been taken prisoner by the revolutionaries。 The last courtmartial was that of Jos？Raquel Moncada。 ？rsula intervened。 ‘”His government was the best we’ve ever had in Macondo；？she told Colonel Aureliano Buendía。 “I don’t have to tell you anything about his good heart； about his affection for us； because you know better than anyone。？Colonel Aureliano Buendía gave her a disapproving look。
“I can’t take over the job of administering justice；？he replied。 “If you have something to say； tell it to the courtmartial。？
？rsula not only did that she also brought all of the mothers of the revolutionary officers who lived in Macondo to testify。 One by one the old women who had been founders of the town； several of whom had taken part in the daring crossing of the mountains； praised the virtues of General Moncada。 ？rsula was the last in line。 Her gloomy dignity； the weight of her name； the convincing vehemence of her declaration made the scale of justice hesitate for a moment。 “You have taken this horrible game very seriously and you have done well because you are doing your duty；？she told the members of the court。 “But don’t fet that as long as God gives us life we will still be mothers and no matter how revolutionary you may be； we have the right to pull down your pants and give you a whipping at the first sign of disrespect。？The court retired to deliberate as those words still echoed in the school that had been turned into a barracks。 At midnight General Jos？Raquel Moncada was sentenced to death。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía； in spite of the violent recriminations of ？rsula； refused to mute the sentence。 A short while before dawn he visited the condemned man in the room used as a cell。
“Remember； old friend；？he told him。 “I’m not shooting you。 It’s the revolution that’s shooting you。？
General Moncada did not even get up from the cot when he saw him e in。
“Go to hell； friend；？he answered。
Until that moment； ever since his return。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía had not given himself the opportunity to see him with his heart。 He was startled to see how much he had aged； how his hands shook； and the rather punctilious conformity with which he awaited death； and then he felt a great disgust with himself； which he mingled with the beginnings of pity。
“You know better than I；？he said； “that all courtsmartial are farces and that you’re really paying for the crimes of other people； because this time we’re going to win the war at any price。 Wouldn’t you have done the same in my place？？
General Moncada； got up to clean his thick hornrimmed glasses on his shirttail。 “Probably；？he said。 “But what worries me is not your shooting me； because after all； for people like us it’s a natural death。？He laid his glasses on the bed and took off his watch and chain。 “What worries me；？he went on； “is that out of so much hatred for the military； out of fighting them so much and thinking about them so much； you’ve ended up as bad as they are。 And no ideal in life is worth that much baseness。？He took off his wedding ring and the medal of the Virgin of Help and put them alongside his glasses and watch。
“At this rate；？he concluded； “you’ll not only be the most despotic and bloody dictator in our history； but you’ll shoot my dear friend ？rsula in an attempt to pacify your conscience。？
Colonel Aureliano Buendía stood there impassively。 General Moncada then gave him the glasses； medal； watch； and ring and he changed his tone。
“But I didn’t send for you to scold you；？he said。 “I wanted to ask you the favor of sending these things to my wife。？
Colonel Aureliano Buendía put them in his pockets。
“Is she still in Manaure？？
“She’s still in Manaure；？General Moncada confirmed； “in the same house behind the church where you sent the letter。？
“I’ll be glad to； Jos？Raquel；？Colonel Aureliano Buendía said。
When he went out into the blue air of the mist his face grew damp as on some other dawn in the past and only then did he realize that he had ordered the sentence to be carried out in the courtyard and not at the cemetery wall。 The firing squad； drawn up opposite the door； paid him the honors of a head of state。
“They can bring him out now；？he ordered。
Chapter 9
COLONEL GERINELDO M？RQUEZ was the first to perceive the emptiness of the war。 In his position as civil and military leader of Macondo he would have telegraphic conversations twice a week with Colonel Aureliano Buendía。 At first those exchanges would determine the course of a fleshandblood war； the perfectly defined outlines of which told them at any moment the exact spot where it was and the prediction of its future direction。 Although he never let himself be pulled into the area of confidences； not even by his closest friends； Colonel Aureliano Buendía still had at that time the familiar tone that made it possible to identify him at the other end of the wire。 Many times he would prolong the talk beyond the expected limit and let them drift into ments of a domestic nature。 Little by little； however； and as the war became more intense and widespread； his image was fading away into a universe of unreality。 The characteristics of his speech were more and more uncertain； and they cam together and bined to form words that were gradually losing all meaning。 Colonel Gerineldo Márquez limited himself then to just listening； burdened by the impression that he was in telegraphic contact with a stranger from another world。
“I understand； Aureliano；？he would conclude on the key。 “Long live the Liberal party！？
He finally lost all contact with the war。 What in other times had been a real activity； an irresistible passion of his youth； became a remote point of reference for him： an emptiness。 His only refuge was Amaranta’s sewing room。 He would visit her every afternoon。 He liked to watch her hands as she curled frothy petticoat cloth in the machine that was kept in motion by Remedios the Beauty。 They spent many hours without speaking； content with their reciprocal pany； but while Amaranta was inwardly pleased in keeping the fire of his devotion alive； he was unaware of the secret designs of that indecipherable heart。 When the news of his return reached her； Amaranta had been smothered by anxiety。 But when she saw him enter the house in the middle of Colonel Aureliano Buendía’s noisy escort and she saw how he had been mistreated by the rigors of exile； made old by age and oblivion； dirty with sweat and dust； smelling like a herd； ugly； with his left arm in a sling； she felt faint with disillusionment。 “My God；？she thought。 “This wasn’t the person I was waiting for。？On the following day； however； he came back to the house shaved and clean； with his mustache perfumed with lavender water and without the bloody sling。 He brought her a prayerbook bound in motherofpearl。
“How strange men are；？she said； because she could not think of anything else to say。 “They spend their lives fighting against priests and then give prayerbooks as gifts。？
From that time on； even during the most critical days of the war； he visited her every afternoon。 Many times； when Remedios the Beauty was not present； it was he who turned the wheel on the sewing machine。 Amaranta felt upset by the perseverance； the loyalty； the submissiveness of that man who was invested with so much authority and who nevertheless took off his sidearm in the living room so that he could go into the sewing room without weapons； But for four years