the kitchen； waiting for the biscuits to e out of the oven so that she could pick the best ones and cap them in a napkin that she had embroidered for the occasion。
“Marry him；？she told her。 “You’ll have a hard time finding another man like him。？
Amaranta feigned a reaction of displeasure。
“I don’t have to go around hunting for men；？she answered。 “I’m taking these biscuits to Gerineldo because I’m sorry that sooner or later they’re going to shoot him。？
She said it without thinking； but that was the time that the government had announced its threat to shoot Colonel Gerineldo Márquez if the rebel forces did not surrender Riohacha。 The visits stopped。 Amaranta shut herself up to weep； overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt similar to the one that had tormented her when Remedios died； as if once more her careless words had been responsible for a death。 Her mother consoled her。 She inured her that Colonel Aureliano Buendía would do something to prevent the execution and promised that she would take charge of attracting Gerineldo Márquez herself when the war was over。 She fulfilled her promise before the imagined time。 When Gerineldo Márquez returned to the house； invested with his new dignity of civil and military leader； she received him as a son； thought of delightful bits of flattery to hold him there； and prayed with all her soul that he would remember his plan to marry Amaranta。 Her pleas seemed to be answered。 On the days that he would have lunch at the house； Colonel Gerineldo Márquez would linger on the begonia porch playing Chinese checkers with Amaranta。 ？rsula would bring them coffee and milk and biscuits and would take over the children so that they would not bother them。 Amaranta was really making an effort to kindle in her heart the forgotten ashes of her youthful passion。 With an anxiety that came to be intolerable； she waited for the lunch days； the afternoons of Chinese checkers； and time flew by in the pany of the warrior with a nostalgic name whose fingers trembled imperceptibly as he moved the pieces。 But the day on which Colonel Gerineldo Márquez repeated his wish to marry her； she rejected him。
“I’m not going to marry anyone；？she told him； “much less you。 You love Aureliano so much that you want to marry me because you can’t marry him。？
Colonel Gerineldo Márquez was a patient man。 “I’ll keep on insisting；？he said。 “Sooner or later I’ll convince you。？He kept on visiting the house。 Shut up in her bedroom biting back her secret tears； Amaranta put her fingers in her ears so as not to bear the voice of the suitor as he gave ？rsula the latest war news； and in spite of the fact that she was dying to see him she had the strength not to go out and meet him。
At that time Colonel Aureliano Buendía took the time to send a detailed account to Macondo every two weeks。 But only once； almost eight months after he had left； did he write to ？rsula。 A special messenger brought a sealed envelope to the house with a sheet of paper inside bearing the colonel’s delicate hand： Take good care of Papa because he is going to die。 ？rsula became alarmed。 “If Aureliano says so it’s because Aureliano knows；？she said。 And she had them help her take Jos？Arcadio Buendía to his bedroom。 Not only was he as heavy as ever； but during his prolonged stay under the chestnut tree he had developed the faculty of being able to increase his weight at will； to such a degree that seven men were unable to lift him and they had to drag him to the bed。 A smell of tender mushrooms； of wood…flower fungus； of old and concentrated outdoors impregnated the air of the bedroom as it was breathed by the colossal old man weather…beaten by the sun and the rain。 The next morning he was not in his bed。 In spite of his undiminished strength； Jos？Arcadio Buendía was in no condition to resist。 It was all the same to him。 If he went back to the chestnut tree it was not because he wanted to but because of a habit of his body。 ？rsula took care of him； fed him； brought him news of Aureliano。 But actually； the only person with whom he was able to have contact for a long time was Prudencio Aguilar。 Almost pulverized at that time by the decrepitude of death； Prudencio Aguilar would e twice a day to chat with him。 They talked about fighting cocks。 They promised each other to set up a breeding farm for magnificent birds； not so much to enjoy their victories； which they would not need then； as to have something to do on the tedious Sundays of death。 It was Prudencio Aguilar who cleaned him fed him and brought him splendid news of an unknown person called Aureliano who was a colonel in the war。 When he was alone； Jos？Arcadio Buendía consoled himself with the dream of the infinite rooms。 He dreamed that he was getting out of bed； opening the door and going into an identical room with the same bed with a wrought…iron head； the same wicker chair； and the same small picture of the Virgin of Help on the back wall。 From that room he would go into another that was just the same； the door of which would open into another that was just the same； the door of which would open into another one just the same； and then into another exactly alike； and so on to infinity。 He liked to go from room to room。 As in a gallery of parallel mirrors； until Prudencio Aguilar would touch him on the shoulder。 Then he would go back from room to room； walking in reverse； going back over his trail； and he would find Prudencio Aguilar in the room of reality。 But one night； two weeks after they took him to his bed； Prudencio Aguilar touched his shoulder in an intermediate room and he stayed there forever； thinking that it was the real room。 On the following morning ？rsula was bringing him his breakfast when she saw a man ing along the hall。 He was short and stocky； with a black suit on and a hat that was also black； enormous； pulled down to his taciturn eyes。 “Good Lord；？？rsula thought； “I could have sworn it was Melquíades。？It was Cataure； Visitación’s brother； who had left the house fleeing from the insomnia plague and of whom there had never been any news。 Visitación asked him why he had e back； and he answered her in their solemn language：
“I have e for the exequies of the king。？
Then they went into Jos？Arcadio Buendía’s room； shook him as hard as they could； shouted in his ear； put a mirror in front of his nostrils； but they could not awaken him。 A short time later； when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin； through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling。 They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm； and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who dept outdoors。 So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a pact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by。
Chapter 8
SITTNG IN THE WICKER ROCKING chair with her interrupted work in her lap； Amaranta watched Aureliano； Jos？； his chin covered with foam； stropping his razor to give himself his first shave。 His blackheads bled and he cut his upper lip as he tried to shape a mustache of blond fuzz and when it