the squad scattered； fearful that ？rsula would go after them too。 But she did not even look at them。 She left Arcadio with his uniform torn； roaring with pain and rage； and she untied Don Apolinar Moscote and took him home。 Before leaving the headquarters she released the prisoners from the stocks。
From that time on she was the one who ruled in the town。 She reestablished Sunday masses； suspended the use of red armbands； and abrogated the harebrained decrees。 But in spite of her strength； she still wept over her unfortunate fate。 She felt so much alone that she sought the useless pany of her husband； who had been forgotten under the chestnut tree。 “Look what we’ve e to；？she would tell him as the June rains threatened to knock the shelter down。 “Look at the empty house； our children scattered all over the world； and the two of us alone again； the same as in the beginning。？Jos？Arcadio Buendía； sunk in an abyss of unawareness； was deaf to her lamentations。 At the beginning of his madness he would announce his daily needs with urgent Latin phrases。 In fleeting clear spells of lucidity； when Amaranta would bring him his meals he would tell her what bothered him most and would accept her sucking glasses and mustard plasters in a docile way。 But at the time when ？rsula went to lament by his side he had lost all contact with reality。 She would bathe him bit by bit as he sat on his stool while she gave him news of the family。 “Aureliano went to war more than four months ago and we haven’t heard anything about him；？she would say； scrubbing his back with a soaped brush。 “Jos？Arcadio came back a big man； taller than you； and all covered with needle…work； but he only brought shame to our house。？She thought she noticed； however； that her husband would grow sad with the bad news。 Then she decided to lie to him。 ‘Rou won’t believe what I’m going to tell you；？she said as she threw ashes over his excrement in order to pick it up with the shovel。 “God willed that Jos？Arcadio and Rebeca should get married； and now they’re very happy。？She got to be so sincere in the deception that she ended up by consoling herself with her own lies。 “Arcadio is a serious man now；？she said； “and very brave； and a fine…looking young man with his uniform and saber。？It was like speaking to a dead man； for Jos？Arcadio Buendía was already beyond the reach of any worry。 But she insisted。 He seemed so peaceful； so indifferent to everything that she decided to release him。 He did not even move from his stool。 He stayed there； exposed to the sun and the rain； as if the thongs were unnecessary； for a dominion superior to any visible bond kept him tied to the trunk of the chestnut tree。 Toward August； when winter began to last forever； ？rsula was finally able to give him a piece of news that sounded like the truth。
“Would you believe it that good luck is still pouring down on us？？she told him。 “Amaranta and the pianola Italian are going to get married。？
Amaranta and Pietro Crespi had； in fact； deepened their friendship； protected by ？rsula； who this time did not think it necessary to watch over the visits。 It was a twilight engagement。 The Italian would arrive at dusk； with a gardenia in his buttonhole； and he would translate Petrarch’s sonnets for Amaranta。 They would sit on the porch； suffocated by the oregano and the roses； he reading and she sewing lace cuffs； indifferent to the shocks and bad news of the war； until the mosquitoes made them take refuge in the parlor。 Amaranta’s sensibility； her discreet but enveloping tenderness had been wearing an invisible web about her fianc？ which he had to push aside materially with his pale and ringless fingers in order to leave the house at eight o’clock。 They had put together a delightful album with the postcards that Pietro Crespi received from Italy。 They were pictures of lovers in lonely parks； with vignettes of hearts pierced with arrows and golden ribbons held by doves。 “I’ve been to this park in Florence；？Pietro Crespi would say； going through the cards。 “A person can put out his hand and the birds will e to feed。？Sometimes； over a watercolor of Venice； nostalgia would transform the smell of mud and putrefying shellfish of the canals into the warm aroma of flowers。 Amaranta would sigh； laugh； and dream of a second homeland of handsome men and beautiful women who spoke a childlike language with ancient cities of whose past grandeur only the cats among the rubble remained。 After crossing the ocean in search of it； after having confused passion with the vehement stroking of Rebeca； Pietro Crespi had found love。 Happiness was acpanied by prosperity。 His warehouse at that time occupied almost a whole block and it was a hothouse of fantasy； with reproductions of the bell tower of Florence that told time with a concert of carillons； and music boxes from Sorrento and pacts from China that sang five…note melodies when they were opened； and all the musical instruments imaginable and all the mechanical toys that could be conceived。 Bruno Crespi； his younger brother； was in charge of the store because Pietro Crespi barely had enough time to take care of the music school。 Thanks to him the Street of the Turks； with its dazzling display of knickknacks； became a melodic oasis where one could forget Arcadio’s arbitrary acts and the distant nightmare of the war。 When ？rsula ordered the revival of Sunday mass； Pietro Crespi donated a German harmonium to the church； organized a children’s chorus； and prepared a Gregorian repertory that added a note of splendor to Father Nicanor’s quiet rite。 No one doubted that he would make Amaranta a fortunate mate。 Not pushing their feelings； letting themselves be borne along by the natural flow of their hearth they reached a point where all that was left to do was set a wedding date。 They did not encounter any obstacles。 ？rsula accused herself inwardly of having twisted Rebecca’s destiny with repeated postponements and she was not about to add more remorse。 The rigor of the mourning for Remedios had been relegated to the background by the mortifications of the war； Aureliano’s absence； Arcadio’s brutality； and the expulsion of Jos？Arcadio and Rebeca。 With the imminence of the wedding； Pietro Crespi had hinted that Aureliano Jos？ in whom he had stirred up a love that was almost filial； would be considered their oldest child。 Everything made Amaranta think that she was heading toward a smooth happiness。 But unlike Rebeca； she did not reveal the slightest anxiety。 With the same patience with which she dyed tablecloths； sewed lace masterpieces； and embroidered needlepoint peacocks； she waited for Pietro Crespi to be unable to bear the urges of his heart and more。 Her day came with the ill…fated October rains。 Pietro Crespi took the sewing basket from her lap and he told her； “We’ll get married next month。？Amaranta did not tremble at the contact with his icy hands。 She withdrew hers like a timid little animal and went back to her work。
“Don’t be simple； Crespi。？She smiled。 “I wouldn’t marry you even if I were dead。？
Pietro Crespi lost control of himself。 He wept shamelessly； almost breaking his fingers with desperation； but he could not break her down。 “Don’t waste your time；？was all that Amaranta said。 “If you really love me so much； don’t set foot in this house again。？？rsula thought she would go mad with shame。 Pietro Crespi exhausted all manner of pleas。 He went through incredible extremes of humiliation。 He wept one whole afternoon in ？rsula’s lap and she would have sold her soul in order to fort him。 On rainy nights he could be seen prowling about the house with an umbrella； waiting for a light in Amaranta’s bedroom。 He was never better dressed than at that time。 His august head of a tormented emperor had acquired a strange air of grandeur。 He begged Amaranta’s friends； the ones who sewed with her on the porch； to try to persuade her。 He neglected his business。 He would spend the day in the rear of the store writing wild notes； which he would send to Amaranta with flower petals and dried butterflies； and which she would return unopened。 He would shut himself up for hours on end to play the zither。 One night he sang。 Macondo woke up in a kind of angelic