d had a pensive air and the sadness of a Saracen and a mournful glow on his face that was the color of autumn。 He was the one who most resembled his mother； Santa Sofía de la Piedad。 ？rsula reproached herself for the habit of forgetting about him when she spoke about the family； but when she sensed him in the house again and noticed that the colonel let him into the workshop during working hours； she reexamined her old memories and confirmed the belief that at some moment in childhood he had changed places with his twin brother； because it was he and not the other one who should have been called Aureliano。 No one knew the details of his life。 At one time it was discovered that he had no fixed abode； that he raised fighting cocks at Pilar Ternera’s house and that sometimes he would stay there to sleep but that he almost always spent the night in the rooms of the French matrons。 He drifted about； with no ties of affection； with no ambitions； like a wandering star in ？rsula’s planetary system。
In reality； Jos？Arcadio Segundo was not a member of the family； nor would he ever be of any other since that distant dawn when Colonel Gerineldo Márquez took him to the barracks； not so that he could see an execution； but so that for the rest of his life he would never forget the sad and somewhat mocking smile of the man being shot。 That was not only his oldest memory； but the only one he had of his childhood。 The other one； that of an old man with an old…fashioned vest and a hat with a brim like a crow’s wings who told him marvelous things framed in a dazzling window； he was unable to place in any period。 It was an uncertain memory； entirely devoid of lessons or nostalgia； the opposite of the memory of the executed man； which had really set the direction of his life and would return to his memory clearer and dearer as he grew older； as if the passage of time were bringing him closer to it。 ？rsula tried to use Jos？Arcadio Segundo to get Colonel Aureliano Buendía。 to give up his imprisonment。 “Get him to go to the movies；？she said to him。 “Even if he doesn’t like the picture； as least he’ll breathe a little fresh air。？But it did not take her long to realize that he was as insensible to her begging as the colonel would have been； and that they were armored by the same impermeability of affection。 Although she never knew； nor did anyone know； what they spoke about in their prolonged sessions shut up in the workshop； she understood that they were probably the only members of the family who seemed drawn together by some affinity。
The truth is that not even Jos？Arcadio Segundo would have been able to draw the colonel out of his confinement。 The invasion of schoolgirls had lowered the limits of his patience。 With the pretext that his wedding bedroom was at the mercy of the moths in spite of the destruction of Remedios？appetizing dolls； he hung a hammock in the workshop and then he would leave it only to go into the courtyard to take care of his necessities。 ？rsula was unable to string together even a trivial conversation with him。 She knew that he did not look at the dishes of food but would put them at one end of his workbench while he finished a little fish and it did not matter to him if the soup curdled or if the meat got cold。 He grew harder and harder ever since Colonel Gerineldo Márquez refused to back him up in a senile war。 He locked himself up inside himself and the family finally thought of him is if he were dead。 No other human reaction was seen in him until one October eleventh； when he went to the。 street door to watch a circus parade。 For Colonel Aureliano Buendía it had been a day just like all those of his last years。 At five o’clock in the morning the noise of the toads and crickets outside the wall woke him up。 The drizzle had persisted since Saturday and there was no necessity for him to hear their tiny whispering among the leaves of the garden because he would have felt the cold in his bones in any case。 He was； as always； wrapped in his woolen blanket and wearing his crude cotton long drawers； which he still wore for fort； even though because of their musty； old…fashioned style he called them his “Goth drawers。？He put on his tight pants but did not button them up； nor did he put the gold button into his shirt collar as he always did； because he planned to take a bath。 Then he put the blanket over his head like a cowl。 brushed his dripping mustache with his fingers； and went to urinate in the courtyard。 There was still so much time left for the sun to e out that Jos？Arcadio Buendía was still dozing under the shelter of palm fronds that had been rotted by the rain。 He did not see him； as he had never seen him； nor did he hear the inprehensible phrase that the ghost of his father addressed to him as he awakened； startled by the stream of hot urine that splattered his shoes。 He put the bath off for later； not because of the cold and the dampness； but because of the oppressive October mist。 On his way back to the workshop he noticed the odor of the wick that Santa Sofía de la Piedad was using to light the stoves； and he waited in the kitchen for the coffee to boil so that he could take along his mug without sugar。 Santa Sofía de la Piedad asked him； as on every morning； what day of the week it was； and he answered that it was Tuesday； October eleventh。 Watching the glow of the fire as it gilded the persistent woman who neither then nor in any instant of her life seemed to exist pletely； he suddenly remembered that on one October eleventh in the middle of the war he had awakened with the brutal certainty that the woman with whom he had slept was dead。 She really was and he could not forget the date because she had asked him an hour before what day it was。 In spite of the memory he did not have an awareness this time either of to what degree his omens had abandoned him and while the coffee was boiling he kept on thinking out of pure curiosity but without the slightest risk of nostalgia about the woman whose name he had never known and whose face he had not seen because she had stumbled to his hammock in the dark。 Nevertheless； in the emptiness of so many women who came into his life in the same way； he did not remember that she was the one who in the delirium of that first meeting was on the point of foundering in her own tears and scarcely an hour before her death had sworn to love him until she died。 He did not think about her again or about any of the others after he went into the workshop with the steaming cup； and he lighted the lamp in order to count the little gold fishes； which he kept in a tin pail。 There were seventeen of them。 Since he had decided not to sell any； he kept on making two fishes a day and when he finished twenty…five he would melt them down and start all over again。 He worked all morning； absorbed； without thinking about anything； without realizing that at ten o’clock the rain had grown stronger and someone ran past the workshop shouting to close the doors before the house was flooded； and without thinking even about himself until ？rsula came in with his lunch and turned out the light。
“What a rain！？？rsula said。
“October；？he said。
When he said it he did not raise his eyes from the first little fish of the day because he was putting in the rubies for the eyes。 Only when he finished it and put it with the others in the pail did he begin to drink the soup。 Then； very slowly； he ate the piece of meat roasted with onions； the white rice； and the slices of fried bananas all on the same plate together。 His appetite did not change under either the best or the harshest of circumstances。 After lunch he felt the drowsiness of inactivity。 Because of a kind of scientific superstition he never worked； or read； or bathed； or made love until two hours of digestion had gone by； and it was such a deep…rooted belief that several times he held up military operations so as not to submit the troops to the risks of indigestion。 So he lay down in the hammock； removing the wax from his ears with a penknife； and in a few minutes he was asleep。 He dreamed that he was going into an empty house with white walls and that he was upset by the burden of being the first human being to enter it。 In the dream he remembered that he had dreamed the same thing the night before and on many nights over the past years and he knew that the image would be erased from his memory when he awakened because that recurrent dream had the quality of not being remembered except within the dream itself。 A moment later； indeed； when the barber knocked at the workshop door； Colonel Aureliano Buendía awoke with the impression that he had fallen asleep involuntarily for a few seconds and that he had not had time to dream anything。
“Not today。？he told the barber。 “We’ll make it on Friday。？
He had a three…day beard speckled with white hairs； but he did not think it necessary to shave because on Friday he was going to have his hair cut and it could all be done at the same time。 The sticky sweat of the unwanted siesta aroused the scars of the sores in his armpits。 The sky had cleared but the sun had not e out。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía released a sonorous belch which brought back the acidity of the soup to his palate and which was like a mand from his organism to throw his blanket over his shoulders and go to the toilet。 He stayed there longer than was necessary； crouched over the dense fermentation that was ing out of the wooden box until habit told him that it was time to start work again。 During the time he lingered he remembered again that it was Tuesday； and that Jos？Arcadio Segundo had not e to the workshop because it was payday on the banana pany farms。 That recollection； as all of those of the past few years； led him to think about the war without his realizing it。 He remembered that Colonel Gerineldo Márquez had once promised to get him a horse with a white star on its face and that he had never spoken about it again。 Then he went on toward scattered episodes but he brought them back without any judgment because since he could not think about anything else； he had learned to think coldly so that inescapable memories would not touch any feeling。 On his way back to the workshop； seeing that the air was beginning to dry out；