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nt his adolescence making little gold fishes with that of the mythical warrior who had placed a distance of ten feet between himself and the rest of humanity。 But when the approach of the armistice became known and they thought that he would return changed back into a human being； delivered at last for the hearts of his own people； the family feelings； dormant for such a long time； were reborn stronger than ever。
“We’ll finally have a man in the house again；？？rsula said。
Amaranta was the first to suspect that they had lost him forever。 One week before the armistice； when he entered the house without an escort； preceded by two barefoot orderlies who deposited on the porch the saddle from the mule and the trunk of poetry； all that was left of his former imperial baggage； she saw him pass by the sewing room and she called to him。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía had trouble recognizing her。
“It’s Amaranta；？she said goodhumoredly； happy at his return； and she showed him the hand with the black bandage。 “Look。？
Colonel Aureliano Buendía smiled at her the same way as when he had first seen her with the bandage on that remote morning when he had e back to Macondo condemned to death。
“How awful；？he said； “the way time passes！？
The regular army had to protect the house。 He arrived amid insults； spat upon； accused of having accelerated the war in order to sell it for a better price。 He was trembling with fever and cold and his armpits were studded with sores again。 Six months before； when she had heard talk about the armistice； ？rsula had opened up and swept out the bridal chamber and had burned myrrh in the corners； thinking that he would e back ready to grow old slowly among Remedios？musty dolls。 But actually； during the last two years he had paid his final dues to life； including growing old。 When he passed by the silver shop； which ？rsula had prepared with special diligence； he did not even notice that the keys were in the lock。 He did not notice the minute； tearing destruction that time had wreaked on the house and that； after such a prolonged absence； would have looked like a disaster to any man who had kept his memories alive。 He was not pained by the peeling of the whitewash on the walls or the dirty； cottony cobwebs in the corners or the dust on the begonias or the veins left on the beams by the termites or the moss on the hinges or any of the insidious traps that nostalgia offered him。 He sat down on the porch； wrapped in his blanket and with his boots still on； as if only waiting for it to clear； and he spent the whole afternoon watching it rain on the begonias。 ？rsula understood then that they would not have him home for long。 “If it’s not the war；？she thought； “it can only be death。？It was a supposition that was so neat； so convincing that she identified it as a premonition。
That night； at dinner； the supposed Aureliano Segundo broke his bread with his right hand and drank his soup with his left。 His twin brother； the supposed Jos？Arcadio Segundo； broke his bread with his left hand and drank his soup with his right。 So precise was their coordination that they did not look like two brothers sitting opposite each other but like a trick with mirrors。 The spectacle that the twins had invented when they became aware that they were equal was repeated in honor of the new arrival。 But Colonel Aureliano Buendía did not notice it。 He seemed so alien to everything that he did not even notice Remedios the Beauty as she passed by naked on her way to her bedroom。 ？rsula was the only one who dared disturb his； abstraction。
“If you have to go away again；？she said halfway through dinner； “at least try to remember how we were tonight。？
Then Colonel Aureliano Buendía realized； without surprise； that ？rsula was the only human being who had succeeded in penetrating his misery； and for the first time in many years he looked her in the face。 Her skin was leathery； her teeth decayed； her hair faded and colorless； and her look frightened。 He pared her with the oldest memory that he had of her； the afternoon when he had the premonition that a pot of boiling soup was going to fall off the table； and he found her broken to pieces。 In an instant he discovered the scratches； the welts； the sores； the ulcers； and the scan that had been left on her by more than half a century of daily life； and he saw that those damages did not even arouse a feeling of pity in him。 Then he made one last effort to search in his heart for the place where his affection had rotted away and he could not find it。 On another occasion； he felt at least a confused sense of shame when he found the smell of ？rsula on his own skin； and more than once he felt her thoughts interfering with his。 But all of that had been wiped out by the war。 Even Remedios； his wife； at that moment was a hazy image of someone who might have been his daughter。 The countless women he had known on the desert of love and who had spread his seed all along the coast had left no trace in his feelings。 Most of them had e into his room in the dark and had left before dawn； and on the following day they were nothing but a touch of fatigue in his bodily memory。 The only affection that prevailed against time and the war was that which he had felt for his brother Jos？Arcadio when they both were children； and it was not based on love but on plicity。
“I’m sorry；？he excused himself from ？rsula’s request。 “It’s just that the war has done away with everything。？
During the following days he busied himself destroying all trace of his passage through the world。 He stripped the silver shop until all that were left were impersonal objects； he gave his clothes away to the orderlies； and he buried his weapons in the courtyard with the same feeling of penance with which his father had buried the spear that had killed Prudencio Aguilar。 He kept only one pistol with one bullet in it。 ？rsula did not intervene。 The only time she dissuaded him was when he was about to destroy the daguerreotype of Remedios that was kept in the parlor lighted by an eternal lamp。 “That picture stopped belonging to you a long time ago；？she told him。 “It’s a family relic。？On the eve of the armistice； when no single object that would let him be remembered was left in the house； he took the trunk of poetry to the bakery when Santa Sofía de la Piedad was making ready to light the oven。
“Light it with this；？he told her； handing her the first roll of yellowish papers。 “It will； burn better because they’re very old things。？
Santa Sofía de la Piedad； the silent one； the condescending one； the one who never contradicted anyone； not even her own children； had the impression that it was a forbidden act。
“They’re important papers；？she said。
“Nothing of the sort；？the colonel said。 “They’re things that a person writes to himself。？
“In that case；？she said； “you burn them； colonel。？
He not only did that； but he broke up the trunk with a hatchet and threw the pieces into the fire。 Hours before； Pilar Ternera had e to visit him。 After so many years of not seeing her； Colonel Aureliano Buendía was startled at how old and fat she had bee and how much she had lost of the splendor of her laugh； but he was also startled at the depths she had reached in her reading of the cards。 “Watch out for your mouth；？she told him； and he wondered whether the other time she had told him that during the height of his glory it had not been a surprisingly anticipated vision of his fate。 A short time later； when his personal physician finished removing his sores； he asked him； without showing any particular interest； where the exact location of his heart was。 The doctor listened with his stethoscope and then painted a circle on his cheat with a piece of cotton dipped in iodine。
The Tuesday of the armistice dawned warm and rainy。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía appeared in the kitchen before five o’clock and had his usual black coffee without sugar。 “You came into the world on a day like this；？？rsula told him。 “Everybody was amazed at your open eyes。？He did not pay any attention because he was listening to the forming of the troops； the sound of the ets； and the voices of mand that were shattering the daw