Juvenal Urbino for his final words in the event he perished during the adventure, and he did noteven take the time to think about the answer that would earn him so much abuse.
"In my opinion," he said, "the nineteenth century is passing for everyone except us."Lost in the guileless crowd that sang the national anthem8 as the balloon gained altitude,Florentino Ariza felt himself in agreement with the person whose comments he heard over the din,to the effect that this was not a suitable exploit for a woman, least of all one as old as FerminaDaza. But it was not so dangerous after all. Or at least not so much dangerous as depressing. Theballoon reached its destination without incident after a peaceful trip through an incredible bluesky. They flew well and very low, with a calm, favourable9 wind, first along the spurs of the snow-covered mountains and then over the vastness of the Great Swamp.
From the sky they could see, just as God saw them, the ruins of the very old and heroic cityof Cartagena de Indias, the most beautiful in the world, abandoned by its inhabitants because ofthe cholera10 panic after three centuries of resistance to the sieges of the English and the atrocities11 ofthe buccaneers. They saw the walls still intact, the brambles in the streets, the fortificationsdevoured by heartsease, the marble palaces and the golden altars and the Viceroys rotting withplague inside their armour14.
They flew over the lake dwellings15 of the Trojas in Cataca, painted in lunatic colours, withpens holding iguanas16 raised for food and balsam apples and crepe myrtle hanging in the lacustrinegardens. Excited by everyone's shouting, hundreds of naked children plunged17 into the water,jumping out of windows, jumping from the roofs of the houses and from the canoes that theyhandled with astonishing skill, and diving like shad to recover the bundles of clothing, the bottlesof cough syrup18, the beneficent food that the beautiful lady with the feathered hat threw to themfrom the basket of the balloon.
They flew over the dark ocean of the banana plantations20, whose silence reached them like alethal vapour, and Fermina Daza remembered herself at the age of three, perhaps four, walkingthrough the shadowy forest holding the hand of her mother, who was almost a girl herself,surrounded by other women dressed in muslin, just like her mother, with white parasols and hatsmade of gauze. The pilot, who was observing the world through a spyglass, said: "They seemdead." He passed the spyglass to Dr. Juvenal Urbino, who saw the oxcarts in the cultivated fields,the boundary lines of the railroad tracks, the blighted21 irrigation ditches, and wherever he looked hesaw human bodies. Someone said that the cholera was ravaging22 the villages of the Great Swamp.
Dr. Urbino, as he spoke24, continued to look through the spyglass.
"Well, it must be a very special form of cholera," he said, "because every single corpse25 hasreceived the coup26 de grace through the back of the neck."A short while later they flew over a foaming27 sea, and they landed without incident on abroad, hot beach whose surface, cracked with niter burned like fire. The officials were there withno more protection against the sun than ordinary umbrellas, the elementary schools were therewaving little flags in time to the music, and the beauty queens with scorched28 flowers and crownsmade of gold cardboard, and the brass29 band of the prosperous town of Gayra, which in those dayswas the best along the Caribbean coast. All that Fermina Daza wanted was to see her birthplaceagain, to confront it with her earliest memories, but no one was allowed to go there because of thedangers of the plague. Dr. Juvenal Urbino delivered the historic letter, which was then mislaidamong other papers and never seen again, and the entire delegation30 almost suffocated31 in thetedium of the speeches. The pilot could not make the balloon ascend32 again, and at last they wereled on muleback to the dock at Pueblo34 Viejo, where the swamp met the sea. Fermina Daza wassure she had passed through there with her mother when she was very young, in a cart drawn35 by ateam of oxen. When she was older, she had repeated the story several times to her father, who diedinsisting that she could not possibly recall that.
"I remember the trip very well, and what you say is accurate," he told her, "but it happened atleast five years before you were born."Three days later the members of the balloon expedition, devastated36 by a bad night of storms,returned to their port of origin, where they received a heroes' welcome. Lost in the crowd, ofcourse, was Florentino Ariza, who recognised the traces of terror on Fermina Daza's face.
Nevertheless he saw her again that same afternoon in a cycling exhibition that was also sponsoredby her husband, and she showed no sign of fatigue37. She rode an uncommon38 velocipede thatresembled something from a circus, with a very high front wheel, over which she was seated, anda very small back wheel that gave almost no support. She wore a pair of loose trousers trimmed inred, which scandalised the older ladies and disconcerted the gentlemen, but no one was indifferentto her skill.
That, along with so many other ephemeral images in the course of so many years, wouldsuddenly appear to Florentino Ariza at the whim39 of fate, and disappear again in the same way,leaving behind a throb40 of longing41 in his heart. Taken together, they marked the passage of his life,for he experienced the cruelty of time not so much in his own flesh as in the imperceptiblechanges he discerned in Fermina Daza each time he saw her.
One night he went to Don Sancho's Inn, an elegant colonial restaurant, and sat in the mostremote corner, as was his custom when he ate his frugal42 meals alone. All at once, in the largemirror on the back wall, he caught a glimpse of Fermina Daza sitting at a table with her husbandand two other couples, at an angle that allowed him to see her reflected in all her splendour. Shewas unguarded, she engaged in conversation with grace and laughter that exploded like fireworks,and her beauty was more radiant under the enormous teardrop chandeliers: once again, Alice hadgone through the looking glass.
Holding his breath, Florentino Ariza observed her at his pleasure: he saw her eat, he saw herhardly touch her wine, he saw her joke with the fourth in the line of Don Sanchos; from hissolitary table he shared a moment of her life, and for more than an hour he lingered, unseen, in theforbidden precincts of her intimacy45. Then he drank four more cups of coffee to pass the time untilhe saw her leave with the rest of the group. They passed so close to him that he could distinguishher scent5 among the clouds of other perfumes worn by her companions.
From that night on, and for almost a year afterward46, he laid unrelenting siege to the owner ofthe inn, offering him whatever he wanted, money or favours or whatever he desired most in life, ifhe would sell him the mirror. It was not easy, because old Don Sancho believed the legend that thebeautiful frame, carved by Viennese cabinetmakers, was the twin of another, which had belongedto Marie Antoinette and had disappeared without a trace: a pair of unique jewels. When at last hesurrendered, Florentino Ariza hung the mirror in his house, not for the exquisite48 frame but becauseof the place inside that for two hours had been occupied by her beloved reflection.
When he saw Fermina Daza she was almost always on her husband's arm, the two of them inperfect harmony, moving through their own space with the astonishing fluidity of Siamese cats,which was broken only when they stopped to greet him. Dr. Juvenal Urbino, in fact, shook hishand with warm cordiality, and on occasion even permitted himself a pat on the shoulder. She, onthe other hand, kept him relegated49 to an impersonal50 regime of formalities and never made theslightest gesture that might allow him to suspect that she remembered him from her unmarrieddays. They lived in two different worlds, but while he made every effort to reduce the distancebetween them, every step she took was in the opposite direction. It was a long time before hedared to think that her indifference51 was no more than a shield for her timidity. This occurred tohim suddenly, at the christening of the first freshwater vessel52 built in the local shipyards, whichwas also the first official occasion at which Florentino Ariza, as First Vice13 President of the R. C.
C., represented Uncle Leo XII. This coincidence imbued53 the ceremony with special solemnity, andeveryone of any significance in the life of the city was present.
Florentino Ariza was looking after his guests in the main salon54 of the ship, still redolent offresh paint and tar12, when there was a burst of applause on the docks, and the band struck up atriumphal march. He had to repress the trembling that was almost as old as he was when he sawthe beautiful woman of his dreams on her husband's arm, splendid in her maturity55, striding like aqueen from another time past the honour guard in parade uniform, under the shower of paperstreamers and flower petals56 tossed at them from the windows. Both responded to the ovation57 witha wave of the hand, but she was so dazzling, dressed in imperial gold from her high-heeledslippers and the foxtails at her throat to her bell-shaped hat, that she seemed to be alone in themidst of the crowd.
Florentino Ariza waited for them on the bridge with the provincial58 officials, surrounded bythe crash of the music and the fireworks and the three heavy screams from the ship, whichenveloped the dock in steam. Juvenal Urbino greeted the members of the reception line with thatnaturalness so typical of him, which made everyone think the Doctor bore him a special fondness:
first the ship's captain in his dress uniform, then the Archbishop, then the Governor with his andthe Mayor with his, and then the military commander, who was a newcomer from the Andes.
Beyond the officials stood Florentino Ariza, dressed in dark clothing and almost invisible amongso many eminent60 people. After greeting the military commander, Fermina seemed to hesitatebefore Florentino Ariza's outstretched hand. The military man, prepared to introduce them, askedher if they did not know each other. She did not say yes and she did not say no, but she held outher hand to Florentino Ariza with a salon smile. The same thing had occurred twice in the past,and would occur again, and Florentino Ariza always accepted these occasions with a strength ofcharacter worthy61 of Fermina Daza. But that afternoon he asked himself, with his infinite capacityfor illusion, if such pitiless indifference might not be a subterfuge62 for hiding the torments63 of love.
The mere65 idea excited his youthful desires. Once again he haunted Fermina Daza's villa23,filled with the same longings66 he had felt when he was on duty in the little Park of the Evangels,but his calculated intention was not that she see him, but rather that he see her and know that shewas still in the world. Now, however, it was difficult for him to escape notice. The District of LaManga was on a semi-deserted island, separated from the historic city by a canal of green waterand covered by thickets67 of icaco plum, which had sheltered Sunday lovers in colonial times. Inrecent years, the old stone bridge built by the Spaniards had been torn down, and in its stead wasone made of brick and lined with streetlamps for the new mule33-drawn trolleys68. At first theresidents of La Manga had to endure a torture that had not been anticipated during construction,which was sleeping so close to the city's first electrical plant whose vibration69 was a constantearthquake. Not even Dr. Juvenal Urbino, with all his prestige, could persuade them to move itwhere it would not disturb anyone, until his proven complicity with Divine Providence70 intercededon his behalf. One night the boiler71 in the plant blew up in a fearful explosion, flew over the newhouses, sailed across half the city, and destroyed the largest gallery in the former convent of St.
Julian the Hospitaler. The old ruined building had been abandoned at the beginning of the year, butthe boiler caused the deaths of four prisoners who had escaped from the local jail earlier that nightand were hiding in the chapel72.
The peaceful suburb with its beautiful tradition of love was, however, not the most propitiousfor unrequited love when it became a luxury neighbourhood. The streets were dusty in summer,swamp-like in winter, and desolate73 all year round, and the scattered74 houses were hidden behindleafy gardens and had mosaic75 tile terraces instead of old-fashioned projecting balconies, as if theyhad been built for the purpose of discouraging furtive76 lovers. It was just as well that at this time itbecame fashionable to drive out in the afternoon in hired old Victorias that had been converted toone-horse carriages, and that the excursion ended on a hill where one could appreciate theheartbreaking twilights of October better than from the lighthouse, and observe the watchfulsharks lurking77 at the seminarians' beach, and see the Thursday ocean liner, huge and white, thatcould almost be touched with one's hands as it passed through the harbour channel. FlorentinoAriza would hire a Victoria after a hard day at the office, but instead of folding down the top, aswas customary during the hot months, he would stay hidden in the depths of the seat, invisible inthe darkness, always alone, and requesting unexpected routes so as not to arouse the evil thoughtsof the driver. In reality, the only thing that interested him on the drive was the pink marbleParthenon half hidden among leafy banana and mango trees, a luckless replica78 of the idyllicmansions on Louisiana cotton plantations. Fermina Daza's children returned home a little beforefive. Florentino Ariza would see them arrive in the family carriage, and then he would see Dr.
Juvenal Urbino leave for his routine house calls, but in almost a year of vigilance he never evencaught the glimpse he so desired.
One afternoon when he insisted on his solitary44 drive despite the first devastating79 rains ofJune, the horse slipped and fell in the mud. Florentino Ariza realised with horror that they werejust in front of Fermina Daza's villa, and he pleaded with the driver, not thinking that hisconsternation might betray him.
"Not here, please," he shouted. "Anywhere but here."Bewildered by his urgency, the driver tried to raise the horse without unharnessing him, andthe axle of the carriage broke. Florentino Ariza managed to climb out of the coach in the drivingrain and endure his embarrassment80 until passersby81 in other carriages offered to take him home.
While he was waiting, a servant of the Urbino family "ad seen him, his clothes soaked through,standing in mud up to his Knees, and she brought him an umbrella so that he could take refuge onthe terrace. In the wildest of his deliriums Florentino Ariza had never dreamed of such goodfortune, but on that afternoon he would have died rather than allow Fermina Daza to see him inthat condition.
When they lived in the old city, Juvenal Urbino and his family would walk on Sundays fromtheir house to the Cathedral for eight o'clock Mass, which for them was more a secular82 ceremonythan a religious one. Then, when they moved, they continued to drive there for several years, andat times they visited with friends under the palm trees in the park. But when the temple of thetheological seminary was built in La Manga, with a private beach and its own cemetery83, they nolonger went to the Cathedral except on very solemn occasions. Ignorant of these changes,Florentino Ariza waited Sunday after Sunday on the terrace of the Parish Caf? watching the peoplecoming out of all three Masses. Then he realised his mistake and went to the new church, whichwas fashionable until just a few years ago, and there, at eight o'clock sharp on four Sundays inAugust, he saw Dr. Juvenal Urbino with his children, but Fermina Daza was not with them. Onone of those Sundays he visited the new cemetery adjacent to the church, where the residents ofLa Manga were building their sumptuous84 pantheons, and his heart skipped a beat when hediscovered the most sumptuous of all in the shade of the great ceiba trees. It was already complete,with Gothic stained-glass windows and marble angels and gravestones with gold lettering for theentire family. Among them, of course, was that of Do帽 a Fermina Daza de Urbino de la Calle,and next to it her husband's, with a common epitaph: Together still in the peace of the Lord.
For the rest of the year, Fermina Daza did not attend any civic85 or social ceremonies, not eventhe Christmas celebrations, in which she and her husband had always been illustrious protagonists86.
But her absence was most notable on the opening night of the opera season. During intermission,Florentino Ariza happened on a group that, beyond any doubt, was discussing her withoutmentioning her name. They said that one midnight the previous June someone had seen herboarding the Cunard ocean liner en route to Panama, and that she wore a dark veil to hide theravages of the shameful87 disease that was consuming her. Someone asked what terrible illnesswould dare to attack a woman with so much power, and the answer he received was saturated88 withblack bile: "A lady so distinguished could suffer only from consumption."Florentino Ariza knew that the wealthy of his country did not contract short-term diseases.
Either they died without warning, almost always on the eve of a major holiday that could not becelebrated because of the period of mourning, or they faded away in long, abominable89 illnesseswhose most intimate details eventually became public knowledge. Seclusion90 in Panama wasalmost an obligatory91 penance92 in the life of the rich.
They submitted to God's will in the Adventist Hospital, an immense white warehouse93 lost inthe prehistoric94 downpours of Dari閚, where the sick lost track of the little life that was left tothem, and in whose solitary rooms with their burlap windows no one could tell with certainty ifthe smell of carbolic acid was the odour of health or of death. Those who recovered came backbearing splendid gifts that they would distribute with a free hand and a kind of agonised longing tobe pardoned for their indiscretion in still being alive. Some returned with their abdomenscrisscrossed by barbarous stitches that seemed to have been sewn with cobbler's hemp95; they wouldraise their shirts to display them when people came to visit, they compared them with those ofothers who had suffocated from excesses of joy, and for the rest of their days they would describeand describe again the angelic visions they had seen under the influence of chloroform. On theother hand, no one ever learned about the visions of those who did not return, including thesaddest of them all: those who had died as exiles in the tuberculosis96 pavilion, more from thesadness of the rain than because of the complications of their disease.
If he had been forced to choose, Florentino Ariza did not know which fate he would havewanted for Fermina Daza. More than anything else he wanted the truth, but no matter howunbearable, and regardless of how he searched, he could not find it. It was inconceivable to himthat no one could even give him a hint that would confirm the story he had heard. In the world ofriverboats, which was his world, no mystery could be maintained, no secret could be kept. And yetno one had heard anything about the woman in the black veil. No one knew anything in a citywhere everything was known, and where many things were known even before they happened,above all if they concerned the rich. But no one had any explanation for the disappearance98 ofFermina Daza. Florentino Ariza continued to patrol La Manga, continued to hear Mass withoutdevotion in the basilica of the seminary, continued to attend civic ceremonies that never wouldhave interested him in another state of mind, but the passage of time only increased the credibilityof the story he had heard. Everything seemed normal in the Urbino household, except for themother's absence.
As he carried on his investigation99, he learned about other events he had not known of or intowhich he had made no enquiries, including the death of Lorenzo Daza in the Cantabrian villagewhere he had been born. He remembered seeing him for many years in the rowdy chess wars atthe Parish Caf? hoarse100 with so much talking, and growing fatter and rougher as he sank into thequicksand of an unfortunate old age. They had never exchanged another word since theirdisagreeable breakfast of anise in the previous century, and Florentino Ariza was certain that evenafter he had obtained for his daughter the successful marriage that had become his only reason forliving, Lorenzo Daza remembered him with as much rancour as he felt toward Lorenzo Daza. Buthe was so determined101 to find out the unequivocal facts regarding Fermina Daza's health that hereturned to the Parish Caf?to learn them from her father, just at the time of the historic tournamentin which Jeremiah de Saint-Amour alone confronted forty-two opponents. This was how hediscovered that Lorenzo Daza had died, and he rejoiced with all his heart, although the price of hisjoy might be having to live without the truth. At last he accepted as true the story of the hospitalfor the terminally ill, and his only consolation102 was the old saying: Sick women live forever. On thedays when he felt disheartened, he resigned himself to the notion that the news of Fermina Daza'sdeath, if it should occur, would find him without his having to look for it.
It never did, for Fermina Daza was alive and well on the ranch103, half a league from the villageof Flores de Mar韆, where her Cousin Hildebranda S醤 chez was living, forgotten by the world.
She had left with no scandal, by mutual104 agreement with her husband, both of them as entangled105 asadolescents in the only serious crisis they had suffered during so many years of stable matrimony.
It had taken them by surprise in the repose106 of their maturity, when they felt themselves safe frommisfortune's sneak107 attacks, their children grown and well-behaved, and the future ready for themto learn how to be old without bitterness. It had been something so unexpected for them both thatthey wanted to resolve it not with shouts, tears, and intermediaries, as was the custom in theCaribbean, but with the wisdom of the nations of Europe, and there was so much vacillation108 as towhether their loyalties109 lay here or over there that they ended up mired110 in a puerile111 situation thatdid not belong anywhere. At last she decided112 to leave, not even knowing why or to what purpose,out of sheer fury, and he, inhibited113 by his sense of guilt114, had not been able to dissuade115 her.
Fermina Daza, in fact, had sailed at midnight in the greatest secrecy116 and with her facecovered by a black mantilla, not on a Cunard liner bound for Panama, however, but on the regularboat to San Juan de la Ci閚 aga, the city where she had been born and had lived until heradolescence, and for which she felt a growing homesickness that became more and more difficultto bear as the years went by. In defiance117 of her husband's will, and of the customs of the day, heronly companion was a fifteen-year-old goddaughter who had been raised as a family servant, butthe ship captains and the officials at each port had been notified of her journey. When she madeher rash decision, she told her children that she was going to have a change of scene for threemonths or so with Aunt Hildebranda, but her determination was not to return. Dr. Juvenal Urbinoknew the strength of her character very well, and he was so troubled that he accepted her decisionwith humility118 as God's punishment for the gravity of his sins. But the lights on the boat had not yetbeen lost to view when they both repented120 of their weakness.
Although they maintained a formal correspondence concerning their children and otherhousehold matters, almost two years went by before either one could find a way back that was notmined with pride. During the second year, the children went to spend their school vacation inFlores de Mar韆, and Fermina Daza did the impossible and appeared content with her new life.
That at least was the conclusion drawn by Juvenal Urbino from his son's letters. Moreover, at thattime the Bishop59 of Riohacha went there on a pastoral visit, riding under the pallium on hiscelebrated white mule with the trappings embroidered121 in gold. Behind him came pilgrims fromremote regions, musicians playing accordions122, peddlers selling food and amulets123; and for threedays the ranch was overflowing124 with the crippled and the hopeless, who in reality did not come forthe learned sermons and the plenary indulgences but for the favours of the mule who, it was said,performed miracles behind his master's back. The Bishop had frequented the home of the Urbinode la Calle family ever since his days as an ordinary priest, and one afternoon he escaped from thepublic festivities to have lunch at Hildebranda's ranch. After the meal, during which they spokeonly of earthly matters, he took Fermina Daza aside and asked to hear her confession125. She refusedin an amiable126 but firm manner, with the explicit127 argument that she had nothing to repent119 of.
Although it was not her purpose, at least not her conscious purpose, she was certain that heranswer would reach the appropriate ears.
Dr. Juvenal Urbino used to say, not without a certain cynicism, that it was not he who was toblame for those two bitter years of his life but his wife's bad habit of smelling the clothes herfamily took off, and the clothes that she herself took off, so that she could tell by the odour if theyneeded to be laundered129 even though they might appear to be clean. She had done this ever sinceshe was a girl, and she never thought it worthy of comment until her husband realised what shewas doing on their wedding night. He also knew that she locked herself in the bathroom at leastthree times a day to smoke, but this did not attract his attention because the women of his classwere in the habit of locking themselves away in groups to talk about men and smoke, and even todrink as much as two litres of aguardiente until they had passed out on the floor in a brickmason'sdrunken stupor130. But her habit of sniffing131 at all the clothing she happened across seemed to him notonly inappropriate but unhealthy as well. She took it as a joke, which is what she did witheverything she did not care to discuss, and she said that God had not put that diligent132 oriole's beakon her face just for decoration. One morning, while she was at the market, the servants aroused theentire neighbourhood in their search for her three-year-old son, who was not to be found anywherein the house. She arrived in the middle of the panic, turned around two or three times like atracking mastiff, and found the boy asleep in an armoire where no one thought he could possiblybe hiding. When her astonished husband asked her how she had found him, she replied: "By thesmell of caca."The truth is that her sense of smell not only served her in regard to washing clothes or findinglost children: it was the sense that oriented her in all areas of life, above all in her social life.
Juvenal Urbino had observed this throughout his marriage, in particular at the beginning, when shewas the parvenu133 in a milieu134 that had been prejudiced against her for three hundred years, and yetshe had made her way through coral reefs as sharp as knives, not colliding with anyone, with apower over the world that could only be a supernatural instinct. That frightening faculty135, whichcould just as well have had its origin in a millenarian wisdom as in a heart of stone, met itsmoment of misfortune one ill-fated Sunday before Mass when, out of simple habit, Fermina Dazasniffed the clothing her husband had worn the evening before and experienced the disturbingsensation that she had been in bed with another man.
First she smelled the jacket and the vest while she took the watch chain out of the buttonholeand removed the pencil holder137 and the billfold and the loose change from the pockets and placedeverything on the dresser, and then she smelled the hemmed138 shirt as she removed the tiepin andthe topaz cuff139 links and the gold collar button, and then she smelled the trousers as she removedthe keyholder with its eleven keys and the penknife with its mother-of-pearl handle, and finallyshe smelled the underwear and the socks and the linen140 handkerchief with the embroideredmonogram. Beyond any shadow of a doubt there was an odour in each of the articles that had notbeen there in all their years of life together, an odour impossible to define because it was not thescent of flowers or of artificial essences but of something peculiar141 to human nature. She saidnothing, and she did not notice the odour every day, but she now sniffed136 at her husband's clothingnot to decide if it was ready to launder128 but with an unbearable97 anxiety that gnawed142 at herinnermost being.
Fermina Daza did not know where to locate the odour of his clothing in her husband'sroutine. It could not be placed between his morning class and lunch, for she supposed that nowoman in her right mind would make hurried love at that time of day, least of all with a visitor,when the house still had to be cleaned, and the beds made, and the marketing143 done, and lunchprepared, and perhaps with the added worry that one of the children would be sent home earlyfrom school because somebody threw a stone at him and hurt his head and he would find her ateleven o'clock in the morning, naked in the unmade bed and, to make matters worse, with a doctoron top of her. She also knew that Dr. Juvenal Urbino made love only at night, better yet in absolutedarkness, and as a last resort before breakfast when the first birds began to chirp144. After that time,as he would say, it was more work than the pleasure of daytime love was worth to take off one'sclothes and put them back on again. So that the contamination of his clothing could occur onlyduring one of his house calls or during some moment stolen from his nights of chess and films.
This last possibility was difficult to prove, because unlike so many of her friends, Fermina Dazawas too proud to spy on her husband or to ask someone else to do it for her. His schedule of housecalls, which seemed best suited to infidelity, was also the easiest to keep an eye on, because Dr.
Juvenal Urbino kept a detailed145 record of each of his patients, including the payment of his fees,from the first time he visited them until he ushered146 them out of this world with a final sign of thecross and some words for the salvation147 of their souls.
In the three weeks that followed, Fermina Daza did not find the odour in his clothing for afew days, she found it again when she least expected it, and then she found it, stronger than ever,for several days in a row, although one of those days was a Sunday when there had been a familygathering and the two of them had not been apart for even a moment. Contrary to her normalcustom and even her own desires, she found herself in her husband's office one afternoon as if shewere someone else, doing something that she would never do, deciphering with an exquisiteBengalese magnifying glass his intricate notes on the house calls he had made during the last fewmonths. It was the first time she had gone alone into that office, saturated with showers ofcreosote and crammed148 with books bound in the hides of unknown animals, blurred149 schoolpictures, honorary degrees, astrolabes, and elaborately worked daggers150 collected over the years: asecret sanctuary151 that she always considered the only part of her husband's private life to which shehad no access because it was not part of love, so that the few times she had been there she hadgone with him, and the visits had always been very brief. She did not feel she had the right to goin alone, much less to engage in what seemed to be indecent prying152. But there she was. Shewanted to find the truth, and she searched for it with an anguish153 almost as great as her terrible fearof finding it, and she was driven by an irresistible154 wind even stronger than her innate155 haughtiness,even stronger than her dignity: an agony that bewitched her.
She was able to draw no conclusions, because her husband's patients, except for mutualfriends, were part of his private domain156; they were people without identity, known not by theirfaces but by their pains, not by the colour of their eyes or the evasions157 of their hearts but by thesize of their livers, the coating on their tongues, the blood in their urine, the hallucinations of theirfeverish nights. They were people who believed in her husband, who believed they lived becauseof him when in reality they lived for him, and who in the end were reduced to a phrase written inhis own hand at the bottom of the medical file: Be calm. God awaits you at the door. FerminaDaza left his study after two fruitless hours, with the feeling that she had allowed herself to beseduced by indecency.
Urged on by her imagination, she began to discover changes in her husband. She found himevasive, without appetite at the table or in bed, prone158 to exasperation159 and ironic160 answers, andwhen he was at home he was no longer the tranquil161 man he had once been but a caged lion. Forthe first time since their marriage, she began to monitor the times he was late, to keep track ofthem to the minute, to tell him lies in order to learn the truth, but then she felt wounded to thequick by the contradictions. One night she awoke with a start, terrified by a vision of her husbandstaring at her in the darkness with eyes that seemed full of hatred162. She had suffered a similar frightin her youth, when she had seen Florentino Ariza at the foot of her bed, but that apparition163 hadbeen full of love, not hate. Besides, this time it was not fantasy: her husband was awake at two inthe morning, sitting up in bed to watch her while she slept, but when she asked him why, hedenied it. He lay back on the pillow and said: "You must have been dreaming."After that night, and after similar episodes that occurred during that time, when FerminaDaza could not tell for certain where reality ended and where illusion began, she had theoverwhelming revelation that she was losing her mind. At last she realised that her husband hadnot taken Communion on the Thursday of Corpus Christi or on any Sunday in recent weeks, andhe had not found time for that year's retreats. When she asked him the reason for those unusualchanges in his spiritual health, she received an evasive answer. This was the decisive clue, becausehe had not failed to take Communion on an important feast day since he had made his firstCommunion, at the age of eight. In this way she realised not only that her husband was in a stateof mortal sin but that he had resolved to persist in it, since he did not go to his confessor for help.
She had never imagined that she could suffer so much for something that seemed to be theabsolute opposite of love, but she was suffering, and she resolved that the only way she couldkeep from dying was to burn out the nest of vipers164 that was poisoning her soul. And that is whatshe did. One afternoon she began to darn socks on the terrace while her husband was reading, ashe did every day after his siesta165. Suddenly she interrupted her work, pushed her eyeglasses up ontoher forehead, and without any trace of harshness, she asked for an explanation: "Doctor."He was immersed in L'Ile des pingouins, the novel that everyone was reading in those days,and he answered without surfacing: "Oui." She insisted: "Look at me."He did so, looking without seeing her through the fog of his reading glasses, but he did nothave to take them off to feel burned by the raging fire in her eyes.
"What is going on?" he asked.
"You know better than I," she said.
That was all she said. She lowered her glasses and continued darning socks. Dr. JuvenalUrbino knew then that the long hours of anguish were over. The moment had not been as he hadforeseen it; rather than a seismic166 tremor167 in his heart, it was a calming blow, and a great relief thatwhat was bound to happen sooner or later had happened sooner rather than later: the ghost of MissBarbara Lynch had entered his house at last.
Dr. Juvenal Urbino had met her four months earlier as she waited her turn in the clinic ofMisericordia Hospital, and he knew immediately that something irreparable had just occurred inhis destiny. She was a tall, elegant, large-boned mulatta, with skin the colour and softness ofmolasses, and that morning she wore a red dress with white polka dots and a broad-brimmed hatof the same fabric168, which shaded her face down to her eyelids169. Her sex seemed more pronouncedthan that of other human beings. Dr. Juvenal Urbino did not attend patients in the clinic, butwhenever he passed by and had time to spare, he would go in to remind his more advancedstudents that there is no medicine better than a good diagnosis170. So that he arranged to be present atthe examination of the unforeseen mulatta, making certain that his pupils would not notice anygesture of his that did not appear to be casual and barely looking at her, but fixing her name andaddress with care in his memory. That afternoon, after his last house call, he had his carriage passby the address that she had given in the consulting room, and in fact there she was, enjoying thecoolness on her terrace.
It was a typical Antillean house, painted yellow even to the tin roof, with burlap windows andpots of carnations171 and ferns hanging in the doorway172. It rested on wooden pilings in the saltmarshes of Mala Crianza. A troupial sang in the cage that hung from the eaves. Across the streetwas a primary school, and the children rushing out obliged the coachman to keep a tight hold onthe reins175 so that the horse would not shy. It was a stroke of luck, for Miss Barbara Lynch had timeto recognise the Doctor. She waved to him as if they were old friends, she invited him to havecoffee while the confusion abated176, and he was delighted to accept (although it was not his customto drink coffee) and to listen to her talk about herself, which was the only thing that had interestedhim since the morning and the only thing that was going to interest him, without a moment'srespite, during the months to follow. Once, soon after he had married, a friend told him, with hiswife present, that sooner or later he would have to confront a mad passion that could endanger thestability of his marriage. He, who thought he knew himself, knew the strength of his moral roots,had laughed at the prediction. And now it had come true.
Miss Barbara Lynch, Doctor of Theology, was the only child of the Reverend Jonathan B.
Lynch, a lean black Protestant minister who rode on a mule through the poverty-strickensettlements in the salt marshes174, preaching the word of one of the many gods that Dr. JuvenalUrbino wrote with a small g to distinguish them from his. She spoke good Spanish, with a certainroughness in the syntax, and her frequent slips heightened her charm. She would be twenty-eightyears old in December, not long ago she had divorced another minister, who was a student of herfather's and to whom she had been unhappily married for two years, and she had no desire torepeat the offence. She said: "I have no more love than my troupial." But Dr. Urbino was tooserious to think that she said it with hidden intentions. On the contrary: he asked himself inbewilderment if so many opportunities coming together might not be one of God's pitfalls177, whichhe would then have to pay for dearly, but he dismissed the thought without delay as a piece oftheological nonsense resulting from his state of confusion.
As he was about to leave, he made a casual remark about that morning's medicalconsultation, knowing that nothing pleases patients more than talking about their ailments178, and shewas so splendid talking about hers that he promised he would return the next day, at four o'clocksharp, to examine her with greater care. She was dismayed: she knew that a doctor of hisqualifications was far above her ability to pay, but he reassured179 her: "In this profession we try tohave the rich pay for the poor. " Then he marked in his notebook: Miss Barbara Lynch, MalaCrianza Salt Marsh173, Saturday, 4 p. m. Months later, Fermina Daza was to read that notation,augmented by details of the diagnosis, treatment, and evolution of the disease. The name attractedher attention, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was one of those dissolute artists from theNew Orleans fruit boats, but the address made her think that she must come from Jamaica, a blackwoman, of course, and she eliminated her without a second thought as not being to her husband'staste.
Dr. Juvenal Urbino came ten minutes early for the Saturday appointment, and Miss Lynchhad not finished dressing180 to receive him. He had not felt so much tension since his days in Pariswhen he had to present himself for an oral examination. As she lay on her canvas bed, wearing athin silk slip, Miss Lynch's beauty was endless. Everything about her was large and intense: hersiren's thighs181, her slow-burning skin, her astonished breasts, her diaphanous182 gums with theirperfect teeth, her whole body radiating a vapour of good health that was the human odour FerminaDaza had discovered in her husband's clothing. She had gone to the clinic because she sufferedfrom something that she, with much charm, called "twisted colons," and Dr. Urbino thought that itwas a symptom that should not be ignored. So he palpated her internal organs with more intentionthan attention, and as he did so he discovered in amazement183 that this marvellous creature was asbeautiful inside as out, and then he gave himself over to the delights of touch, no longer the best-qualified physician along the Caribbean coastline but a poor soul tormented184 by his tumultuousinstincts. Only once before in his austere185 professional life had something similar happened to him,and that had been the day of his greatest shame, because the indignant patient had moved his handaway, sat up in bed, and said to him: "What you want may happen, but it will not be like this."Miss Lynch, on the other hand, abandoned herself to his hands, and when she was certain that theDoctor was no longer thinking about his science, she said: "I thought this not permitted by yourethics."He was as drenched187 by perspiration188 as if he had just stepped out of a pool wearing all hisclothes, and he dried his hands and face with a towel.
"Our code of ethics186 supposes," he said, "that we doctors are made of wood.""The fact I thought so does not mean you cannot do," she said. "Just think what it mean forpoor black woman like me to have such a famous man notice her.""I have not stopped thinking about you for an instant," he said.
It was so tremulous a confession that it might have inspired pity. But she saved him from allharm with a laugh that lit up the bedroom.
"I know since I saw you in hospital, Doctor," she said. "Black I am but not a fool."It was far from easy. Miss Lynch wanted her honour protected, she wanted security and love,in that order, and she believed that she deserved them. She gave Dr. Urbino the opportunity toseduce her but not to penetrate189 her inner sanctum, even when she was alone in the house. Shewould go no further than allowing him to repeat the ceremony of palpation and auscultation withall the ethical190 violations191 he could desire, but without taking off her clothes. For his part, he couldnot let go of the bait once he had bitten, and he continued his almost daily incursions. For reasonsof a practical nature, it was close to impossible for him to maintain a continuing relationship withMiss Lynch, but he was too weak to stop, as he would later be too weak to go any further. Thiswas his limit.
The Reverend Lynch did not lead a regular life, for he would ride away on his mule on thespur of the moment, carrying Bibles and evangelical pamphlets on one side and provisions on theother, and he would return when least expected. Another difficulty was the school across the street,for the children would recite their lessons as they looked out the windows, and what they saw withgreatest clarity was the house across the way, with its doors and windows open wide from sixo'clock in the morning, they saw Miss Lynch hanging the birdcage from the eaves so that thetroupial could learn the recited lessons, they saw her wearing a bright-coloured turban and goingabout her household tasks as she recited along with them in her brilliant Caribbean voice, and laterthey saw her sitting on the porch, reciting the afternoon psalms192 by herself in English.
They had to choose a time when the children were not there, and there were only twopossibilities: the afternoon recess193 for lunch, between twelve and two, which was also when theDoctor had his lunch, or late in the afternoon, after the children had gone home. This was alwaysthe best time, although by then the Doctor had made his rounds and had only a few minutes tospare before it was time for him to eat with his family. The third problem, and the most serious forhim, was his own situation. It was not possible for him to go there without his carriage, which wasvery well known and always had to wait outside her door. He could have made an accomplice194 ofhis coachman, as did most of his friends at the Social Club, but that was not in his nature. In fact,when his visits to Miss Lynch became too obvious, the liveried family coachman himself dared toask if it would not be better for him to come back later so that the carriage would not spend somuch time at her door. Dr. Urbino, in a sharp response that was not typical of him, cut him off.
"This is the first time since I know you that I have heard you say something you should nothave," he said. "Well, then: I will assume it was never said."There was no solution. In a city like this, it was impossible to hide an illness when theDoctor's carriage stood at the door. At times the Doctor himself took the initiative and went onfoot, if distance permitted, or in a hired carriage, to avoid malicious195 or premature196 assumptions.
Such deceptions197, however, were to little avail. Since the prescriptions198 ordered in pharmaciesrevealed the truth, Dr. Urbino would always prescribe counterfeit200 medicines along with the correctones in order to preserve the sacred right of the sick to die in peace along with the secret of theirillness. Similarly, he was able in various truthful201 ways to account for the presence of his carriageoutside the house of Miss Lynch, but he could not allow it to stay there too long, least of all for theamount of time he would have desired, which was the rest of his life.
The world became a hell for him. For once the initial madness was sated, they both becameaware of the risks involved, and Dr. Juvenal Urbino never had the resolve to face a scandal. In thedeliriums of passion he promised everything, but when it was over, everything was left for later.
On the other hand, as his desire to be with her grew, so did his fear of losing her, so that theirmeetings became more and more hurried and problematic. He thought about nothing else. Hewaited for the afternoons with unbearable longing, he forgot his other commitments, he forgoteverything but her, but as his carriage approached the Mala Crianza salt marsh he prayed to Godthat an unforeseen obstacle would force it to drive past. He went to her in a state of such anguishthat at times as he turned the corner he was glad to catch a glimpse of the woolly head of theReverend Lynch, who read on the terrace while his daughter catechized neighbourhood children inthe living room with recited passages of scripture202. Then he would go home relieved that he wasnot defying fate again, but later he would feel himself going mad with the desire for it to be fiveo'clock in the afternoon all day, every day.
So their love became impossible when the carriage at her door became too conspicuous203, andafter three months it became nothing less than ridiculous. Without time to say anything, MissLynch would go to the bedroom as soon as she saw her agitated204 lover walk in the door. She tookthe precaution of wearing a full skirt on the days she expected him, a charming skirt from Jamaicawith red flowered ruffles205, but with no underwear, nothing, in the belief that this convenience wasgoing to help him ward47 off his fear. But he squandered206 everything she did to make him happy.
Panting and drenched with perspiration, he rushed after her into the bedroom, throwing everythingon the floor, his walking stick, his medical bag, his Panama hat, and he made panic-stricken lovewith his trousers down around his knees, with his jacket buttoned so that it would not get in hisway, with his gold watch chain across his vest, with his shoes on, with everything on, and moreconcerned with leaving as soon as possible than with achieving pleasure. She was left dangling,barely at the entrance of her tunnel of solitude207, while he was already buttoning up again, asexhausted as if he had made absolute love on the dividing line between life and death, when inreality he had accomplished208 no more than the physical act that is only a part of the feat19 of love.
But he had finished in time: the exact time needed to give an injection during a routine visit. Thenhe returned home ashamed of his weakness, longing for death, cursing himself for the lack ofcourage that kept him from asking Fermina Daza to pull down his trousers and burn his ass7 on thebrazier.
He did not eat, he said his prayers without conviction, in bed he pretended to continue hissiesta reading while his wife walked round and round the house putting the world in order beforegoing to bed. As he nodded over his book, he began to sink down into the inevitable209 mangroveswamp of Miss Lynch, into her air of a recumbent forest glade210, his deathbed, and then he couldthink of nothing except tomorrow's five minutes to five o'clock in the afternoon and her waitingfor him in bed with nothing but the mound211 of her dark bush under her madwoman's skirt fromJamaica: the hellish circle.
In the past few years he had become conscious of the burden of his own body. He recognisedthe symptoms. He had read about them in textbooks, he had seen them confirmed in real life, inolder patients with no history of serious ailments who suddenly began to describe perfectsyndromes that seemed to come straight from medical texts and yet turned out to be imaginary.
His professor of children's clinical medicine at La Salp锚 tri猫 re had recommended paediatricsas the most honest specialisation, because children become sick only when in fact they are sick,and they cannot communicate with the physician using conventional words but only with concretesymptoms of real diseases. After a certain age, however, adults either had the symptoms withoutthe diseases or, what was worse, serious diseases with the symptoms of minor212 ones. He distractedthem with palliatives, giving time enough time to teach them not to feel their ailments, so that theycould live with them in the rubbish heap of old age. Dr. Juvenal Urbino never thought that aphysician his age, who believed he had seen everything, would not be able to overcome the uneasyfeeling that he was ill when he was not. Or what was worse, not believe he was, out of purescientific prejudice, when perhaps he really was. At the age of forty, half in earnest and half in jest,he had said in class: "All I need in life is someone who understands me." But when he foundhimself lost in the labyrinth213 of Miss Lynch, he no longer was jesting.
All the real or imaginary symptoms of his older patients made their appearance in his body.
He felt the shape of his liver with such clarity that he could tell its size without touching214 it. He feltthe dozing215 cat's purr of his kidneys, he felt the iridescent216 brilliance217 of his vesicles, he felt thehumming blood in his arteries218. At times he awoke at dawn gasping219 for air, like a fish out of water.
He had fluid in his heart. He felt it lose the beat for a moment, he felt it syncopate like a schoolmarching band, once, twice, and then, because God is good, he felt it recover at last. But instead ofhaving recourse to the same distracting remedies he gave to his patients, he went mad with terror.
It was true: all he needed in life, even at the age of fifty-eight, was someone who understood him.
So he turned to Fermina Daza, the person who loved him best and whom he loved best in theworld, and with whom he had just eased his conscience.
For this occurred after she interrupted his afternoon reading to ask him to look at her, and hehad the first indication that his hellish circle had been discovered. But he did not know how,because it would have been impossible for him to conceive of Fermina Daza's learning the truthby smell alone. In any case, for a long time this had not been a good city for keeping secrets. Soonafter the first home telephones were installed, several marriages that seemed stable were destroyedby anonymous220 tale-bearing calls, and a number of frightened families either cancelled their serviceor refused to have a telephone for many years. Dr. Urbino knew that his wife had too much self-respect to allow so much as an attempt at anonymous betrayal by telephone, and he could notimagine anyone daring to try it under his own name. But he feared the old method: a note slippedunder the door by an unknown hand could be effective, not only because it guaranteed the doubleanonymity of sender and receiver, but because its time-honoured ancestry221 permitted one toattribute to it some kind of metaphysical connection to the designs of Divine Providence.
Jealousy222 was unknown in his house: during more than thirty years of conjugal223 peace, Dr.
Urbino had often boasted in public--and until now it had been true--that he was like those Swedishmatches that light only with their own box. But he did not know how a woman with as muchpride, dignity, and strength of character as his wife would react in the face of proven infidelity. Sothat after looking at her as she had asked, nothing occurred to him but to lower his eyes again inorder to hide his embarrassment and continue the pretence224 of being lost among the sweet,meandering rivers of Alca Island until he could think of something else. Fermina Daza, for herpart, said nothing more either. When she finished darning the socks, she tossed everything into thesewing basket in no particular order, gave instructions in the kitchen for supper, and went to thebedroom.
Then he reached the admirable decision not to go to Miss Lynch's house at five o'clock in theafternoon. The vows225 of eternal love, the dream of a discreet226 house for her alone where he couldvisit her with no unexpected interruptions, their unhurried happiness for as long as they lived-everythinghe had promised in the blazing heat of love was cancelled forever after. The last thingMiss Lynch received from him was an emerald tiara in a little box wrapped in paper from thepharmacy, so that the coachman himself thought it was an emergency prescription199 and handed it toher with no comment, no message, nothing in writing. Dr. Urbino never saw her again, not evenby accident, and God alone knows how much grief his heroic resolve cost him or how many bittertears he had to shed behind the locked lavatory227 door in order to survive this private catastrophe228. Atfive o'clock, instead of going to see her, he made a profound act of contrition229 before his confessor,and on the following Sunday he took Communion, his heart broken but his soul at peace.
That night, following his renunciation, as he was undressing for bed, he recited for FerminaDaza the bitter litany of his early morning insomnia230, his sudden stabbing pains, his desire to weepin the afternoon, the encoded symptoms of secret love, which he recounted as if they were themiseries of old age. He had to tell someone or die, or else tell the truth, and so the relief heobtained was sanctified within the domestic rituals of love. She listened to him with closeattention, but without looking at him, without saying anything as she picked up every article ofclothing he removed, sniffed it with no gesture or change of expression that might betray herwrath, then crumpled232 it and tossed it into the wicker basket for dirty clothes. She did not find theodour, but it was all the same: tomorrow was another day. Before he knelt down to pray before thealtar in the bedroom, he ended the recital233 of his misery234 with a sigh as mournful as it was sincere:
"I think I am going to die." She did not even blink when she replied.
"That would be best," she said. "Then we could both have some peace."Years before, during the crisis of a dangerous illness, he had spoken of the possibility ofdying, and she had made the same brutal235 reply. Dr. Urbino attributed it to the naturalhardheartedness of women, which allows the earth to continue revolving236 around the sun, becauseat that time he did not know that she always erected237 a barrier of wrath231 to hide her fear. And in thiscase it was the most terrible one of all, the fear of losing him.
That night, on the other hand, she wished him dead with all her heart, and this certaintyalarmed him. Then he heard her slow sobbing238 in the darkness as she bit the pillow so he would nothear. He was puzzled, because he knew that she did not cry easily for any affliction of body orsoul. She cried only in rage, above all if it had its origins in her terror of culpability239, and then themore she cried the more enraged240 she became, because she could never forgive her weakness incrying. He did not dare to console her, knowing that it would have been like consoling a tiger runthrough by a spear, and he did not have the courage to tell her that the reason for her weeping haddisappeared that afternoon, had been pulled out by the roots, forever, even from his memory.
Fatigue overcame him for a few minutes. When he awoke, she had lit her dim bedside lampand lay there with her eyes open, but without crying. Something definitive241 had happened to herwhile he slept: the sediment242 that had accumulated at the bottom of her life over the course of somany years had been stirred up by the torment64 of her jealousy and had floated to the surface, and ithad aged43 her all at once. Shocked by her sudden wrinkles, her faded lips, the ashes in her hair, herisked telling her that she should try to sleep: it was after two o'clock. She spoke, not looking athim but with no trace of rage in her voice, almost with gentleness.
"I have a right to know who she is," she said.
And then he told her everything, feeling as if he were lifting the weight of the world from hisshoulders, because he was convinced that she already knew and only needed to confirm thedetails. But she did not, of course, so that as he spoke she began to cry again, not with her earliertimid sobs243 but with abundant salty tears that ran down her cheeks and burned her nightdress andinflamed her life, because he had not done what she, with her heart in her mouth, had hoped hewould do, which was to be a man: deny everything, and swear on his life it was not true, and growindignant at the false accusation244, and shout curses at this ill-begotten society that did not hesitateto trample245 on one's honour, and remain imperturbable246 even when faced with crushing proofs of hisdisloyalty. Then, when he told her that he had been with his confessor that afternoon, she fearedshe would go blind with rage. Ever since her days at the Academy she had been convinced that themen and women of the Church lacked any virtue247 inspired by God. This was a discordant248 note inthe harmony of the house, which they had managed to overlook without mishap249. But her husband'sallowing his confessor to be privy250 to an intimacy that was not only his but hers as well was morethan she could bear.
"You might as well have told a snake charmer in the market," she said.
For her it was the end of everything. She was sure that her honour was the subject of gossipeven before her husband had finished his penance, and the feeling of humiliation251 that thisproduced in her was much less tolerable than the shame and anger and injustice252 caused by hisinfidelity. And worst of all, damn it: with a black woman. He corrected her: "With a mulatta." Butby then it was too late for accuracy: she had finished.
"Just as bad," she said, "and only now I understand: it was the smell of a black woman."This happened on a Monday. On Friday at seven o'clock in the evening, Fermina Daza sailedaway on the regular boat to San Juan de la Ci閚 aga with only one trunk, in the company of hergoddaughter, her face covered by a mantilla to avoid questions for herself and her husband. Dr.
Juvenal Urbino was not at the dock, by mutual agreement, following an exhausting three-daydiscussion in which they decided that she should go to Cousin Hildebranda Sanchez's ranch inFlores de Mar韆 for as long a time as she needed to think before coming to a final decision.
Without knowing her reasons, the children understood it as a trip she had often put off and thatthey themselves had wanted her to make for a long time. Dr. Urbino arranged matters so that noone in his perfidious253 circle could engage in malicious speculation254, and he did it so well that ifFlorentino Ariza could find no clue to Fermina Daza's disappearance it was because in fact therewas none, not because he lacked the means to investigate. Her husband had no doubts that shewould come home as soon as she got over her rage. But she left certain that her rage would neverend.
However, she was going to learn very soon that her drastic decision was not so much the fruitof resentment255 as of nostalgia256. After their honeymoon257 she had returned several times to Europe,despite the ten days at sea, and she had always made the trip with more than enough time to enjoyit. She knew the world, she had learned to live and think in new ways, but she had never goneback to San Juan de la Ci閚 aga after the aborted258 flight in the balloon. To her mind there was anelement of redemption in the return to Cousin Hildebranda's province, no matter how belated. Thiswas not her response to her marital259 catastrophe: the idea was much older than that. So the merethought of revisiting her adolescent haunts consoled her in her unhappiness.
When she disembarked with her goddaughter in San Juan de la Ci閚 aga, she called on thegreat reserves of her character and recognised the town despite all the evidence to the contrary.
The Civil and Military Commander of the city, who had been advised of her arr
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innovative
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| adj.革新的，新颖的，富有革新精神的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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anthem
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favourable
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cholera
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atrocities
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tar
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vice
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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dwellings
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iguanas
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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19
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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20
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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21
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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22
ravaging
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| 毁坏( ravage的现在分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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23
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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24
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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25
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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26
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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27
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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28
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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29
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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30
delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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31
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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32
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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33
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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34
pueblo
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| n.（美国西南部或墨西哥等）印第安人的村庄 | |
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35
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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36
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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37
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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38
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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39
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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40
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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41
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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42
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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43
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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44
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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45
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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46
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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47
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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48
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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49
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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50
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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51
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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52
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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53
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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54
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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55
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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56
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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57
ovation
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| n.欢呼，热烈欢迎，热烈鼓掌 | |
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58
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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59
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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60
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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61
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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62
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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63
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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64
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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65
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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66
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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67
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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68
trolleys
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| n.（两轮或四轮的）手推车( trolley的名词复数 )；装有脚轮的小台车；电车 | |
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69
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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70
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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71
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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72
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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73
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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74
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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75
mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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76
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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77
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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78
replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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79
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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80
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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81
passersby
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| n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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82
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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83
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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84
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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85
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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86
protagonists
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| n.（戏剧的）主角( protagonist的名词复数 )；（故事的）主人公；现实事件（尤指冲突和争端的）主要参与者；领导者 | |
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87
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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88
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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89
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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90
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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91
obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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92
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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93
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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94
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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95
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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96
tuberculosis
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| n.结核病，肺结核 | |
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97
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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98
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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99
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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100
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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101
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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102
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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103
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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104
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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105
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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107
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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108
vacillation
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| n.动摇；忧柔寡断 | |
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109
loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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110
mired
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| abbr.microreciprocal degree 迈尔德（色温单位）v.深陷( mire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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112
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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113
inhibited
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| a.拘谨的，拘束的 | |
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114
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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115
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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116
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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117
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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118
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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119
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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120
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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122
accordions
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| n.手风琴( accordion的名词复数 ) | |
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123
amulets
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| n.护身符( amulet的名词复数 ) | |
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124
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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125
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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126
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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127
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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128
launder
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| v.洗涤；洗黑钱（把来路可疑的钱弄得似乎合法） | |
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129
laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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130
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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131
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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132
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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133
parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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134
milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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135
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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136
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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137
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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138
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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139
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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140
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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141
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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142
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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143
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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144
chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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145
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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146
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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148
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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149
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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150
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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151
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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152
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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153
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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154
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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155
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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156
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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157
evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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158
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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159
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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160
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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161
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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162
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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163
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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164
vipers
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| n.蝰蛇( viper的名词复数 )；毒蛇；阴险恶毒的人；奸诈者 | |
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165
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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166
seismic
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| a.地震的，地震强度的 | |
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167
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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168
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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169
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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170
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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171
carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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172
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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173
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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174
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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175
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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176
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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177
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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178
ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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179
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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180
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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181
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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182
diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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183
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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184
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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185
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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186
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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187
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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188
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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189
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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190
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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191
violations
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| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
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192
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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193
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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194
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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195
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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196
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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197
deceptions
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| 欺骗( deception的名词复数 )； 骗术，诡计 | |
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198
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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199
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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200
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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201
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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202
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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203
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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204
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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205
ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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206
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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208
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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209
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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210
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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211
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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212
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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213
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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214
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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215
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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216
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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217
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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218
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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219
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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220
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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221
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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222
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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223
conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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224
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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225
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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226
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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227
lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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228
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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229
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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230
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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231
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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232
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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233
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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234
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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235
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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236
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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237
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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238
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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239
culpability
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| n.苛责，有罪 | |
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240
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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241
definitive
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| adj.确切的，权威性的；最后的，决定性的 | |
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242
sediment
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| n.沉淀，沉渣，沉积(物) | |
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243
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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244
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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245
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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246
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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247
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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248
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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249
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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250
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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251
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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252
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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253
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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254
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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255
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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256
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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257
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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258
aborted
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| adj.流产的，失败的v.（使）流产( abort的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）（某事物）中止；（因故障等而）（使）（飞机、宇宙飞船、导弹等）中断飞行；（使）（飞行任务等）中途失败 | |
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259
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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