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h in the sky； they were speechless with fascination。 Before them； surrounded by ferns and palm trees； white and powdery in the silent morning light； was an enormous Spanish galleon。 Tilted slightly to the starboard； it had hanging from its intact masts the dirty rags of its sails in the midst of its rigging； which was adorned with orchids。 The hull； covered with an armor of petrified barnacles and soft moss； was firmly fastened into a surface of stones。 The whole structure seemed to occupy its own space； one of solitude and oblivion； protected from the vices of time and the habits of the birds。 Inside； where the expeditionaries explored with careful intent； there was nothing but a thick forest of flowers。
The discovery of the galleon； an indication of the proximity of the sea； broke Jos？Arcadio Buendía’s drive。 He considered it a trick of his whimsical fate to have searched for the sea without finding it； at the cost of countless sacrifices and suffering； and to have found it all of a sudden without looking for it； as if it lay across his path like an insurmountable object。 Many years later Colonel Aureliano Buendía crossed the region again； when it was already a regular mail route； and the only part of the ship he found was its burnedout frame in the midst of a field of poppies。 Only then； convinced that the story had not been some product of his father’s imagination； did he wonder how the galleon had been able to get inland to that spot。 But Jos？Arcadio Buendía did not concern himself with that when he found the sea after another four days？journey from the galleon。 His dreams ended as he faced that ashen； foamy； dirty sea； which had not merited the risks and sacrifices of the adventure。
“God damn it！？he shouted。 “Macondo is surrounded by water on all sides。？
The idea of a peninsular Macondo prevailed for a long time； inspired by the arbitrary map that Jos？Arcadio Buendía sketched on his return from the expedition。 He drew it in rage； evilly； exaggerating the difficulties of munication； as if to punish himself for the absolute lack of sense with which he had chosen the place。 “We’ll never get anywhere；？he lamented to ？rsula。 “We’re going to rot our lives away here without receiving the benefits of science。？That certainty； mulled over for several months in the small room he used as his laboratory； brought him to the conception of the plan to move Maeondo to a better place。 But that time ？rsula had anticipated his feverish designs。 With the secret and implacable labor of a small ant she predisposed the women of the village against the flightiness of their husbands； who were already preparing for the move。 Jos？Arcadio Buendía did not know at what moment or because of what adverse forces his plan had bee enveloped in a web of pretexts； disappointments； and evasions until it turned into nothing but an illusion。 ？rsula watched him with innocent attention and even felt some pity for him on the morning when she found him in the back room muttering about his plans for moving as he placed his laboratory pieces in their original boxes。 She let him finish。 She let him nail up the boxes and put his initials on them with an inked brush； without reproaching him； but knowing now that he knew （because she had heard him say so in his soft monologues） that the men of the village would not back him up in his undertaking。 Only when he began to take down the door of the room did ？rsula dare ask him what he was doing； and he answered with a certain bitterness。 “Since no one wants to leave； we’ll leave all by ourselves。？？rsula did not bee upset。
“We will not leave；？she said。 “We will stay here； because we have had a son here。？
“We have still not had a death；？he said。 “A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground。？
？rsula replied with a soft firmness：
“If I have to die for the rest of you to stay here； I will die。？
Jos？Arcadio Buendía had not thought that his wife’s will was so firm。 He tried to seduce her with the charm of his fantasy； with the promise of a prodigious world where all one had to do was sprinkle some magic liquid on the ground and the plants would bear fruit whenever a man wished； and where all manner of instruments against pain were sold at bargain prices。 But ？rsula was insensible to his clairvoyance。
“Instead of going around thinking about your crazy inventions； you should be worrying about your sons；？she replied。 “Look at the state they’re in； running wild just like donkeys。？
Jos？Arcadio Buendía took his wife’s words literally。 He looked out the window and saw the barefoot children in the sunny garden and he had the impression that only at that instant had they begun to exist； conceived by ？rsula’s spell； Something occurred inside of him then； something mysterious and definitive that uprooted him from his own time and carried him adrift through an unexplored region of his memory。 While ？rsula continued sweeping the house； which was safe now from being abandoned for the rest of her life； he stood there with an absorbed look； contemplating the children until his eyes became moist and he dried them with the back of his hand； exhaling a deep sigh of resignation。
“All right；？he said。 “Tell them to e help me take the things out of the boxes。？
Jos？Arcadio； the older of the children； was fourteen。 He had a square head； thick hair； and his father’s character。 Although he had the same impulse for growth and physical strength； it was early evident that he lacked imagination。 He had been conceived and born during the difficult crossing of the mountains； before the founding of Macondo； and his parents gave thanks to heaven when they saw he had no animal features。 Aureliano； the first human being to be born in Macondo； would be six years old in March。 He was silent and withdrawn。 He had wept in his mother’s womb and had been born with his eyes open。 As they were cutting the umbilical cord； he moved his head from side to side； taking in the things in the room and examining the faces of the people with a fearless curiosity。 Then； indifferent to those who came close to look at him； he kept his attention concentrated on the palm roof； which looked as if it were about to collapse under the tremendous pressure of the rain。 ？rsula did not remember the intensity of that look again until one day when little Aureliano； at the age of three； went into the kitchen at the moment she was taking a pot of boiling soup from the stove and putting it on the table。 The child； Perplexed； said from the doorway； “It’s going to spill。？The pot was firmly placed in the center of the table； but just as soon as the child made his announcement； it began an unmistakable movement toward the edge； as if impelled by some inner dynamism； and it fell and broke on the floor。 ？rsula； alarmed； told her husband about the episode； but he interpreted it as a natural phenomenon。 That was the way he always was alien to the existence of his sons； partly because he considered childhood as a period of mental insufficiency； and partly because he was always too absorbed in his fantastic speculations。
But since the afternoon when he called the children in to help him unpack the things in the laboratory； he gave them his best hours。 In the small separate room； where the walls were gradually being covered by strange maps and fabulous drawings； he taught them to read and write and do sums； and he spoke to them about the wonders of the world； not only where his learning had extended； but forcing the limits of his imagination to extremes。 It was in that way that the boys ended up learning that in the southern extremes of Africa there were men so intelligent and peaceful that their only pastime was to sit and think； and that it was possible to cross the Aegean Sea on foot by jumping from island to island all the way to the port of Salonika。 Those hallucinating sessions remained printed on the memories of the boys in such a way that many years later； a second before the regular army officer gave the firing squad the mand to fire； Colonel Aureliano Buendía saw once more that warm March afternoon on which his father had interrupted the lesson in physics and stood fascinated； with his hand