h horn。 It had been signed by General Carlos Cortes Vargas and his secretary； Major Enrique García Isaza； and in three articles of eighty words he declared the strikers to be a “bunch of hoodlums？and he authorized the army to shoot to kill。
After the decree was read； in the midst of a deafening hoot of protest； a captain took the place of the lieutenant on the roof of the station and with the horn he signaled that he wanted to speak。 The crowd was quiet again。
“Ladies and gentlemen；？the captain said in a low voice that was slow and a little tired。 “you have five minutes to withdraw。？
The redoubled hooting and shouting drowned out the bugle call that announced the start of the count。 No one moved。
Five minutes have passed；？the captain said in the same tone。 “One more minute and we’ll open fire。？
Jos？Arcadio Segundo； sweating ice； lowered the child and gave him to the woman。 “Those bastards might just shoot；？she murmured。 Jos？Arcadio Segundo did not have time to speak because at that instant he recognized the hoarse voice of Colonel Gavilán echoing the words of the woman with a shout。 Intoxicated by the tension； by the miraculous depth of the silence； and furthermore convinced that nothing could move that crowd held tight in a fascination with death； Jos？Arcadio Segundo raised himself up over the heads in front of him and for the first time in his life he raised his voice。
“You bastards！？he shouted。 “Take the extra minute and stick it up your ass！？
After his shout something happened that did not bring on fright but a kind of hallucination。 The captain gave the order to fire and fourteen machine guns answered at once。 But it all seemed like a farce。 It was as if the machine guns had been loaded with caps； because their panting rattle could be heard and their incandescent spitting could be seen； but not the slightest reaction was perceived； not a cry； not even a sigh among the pact crowd that seemed petrified by an instantaneous invulnerability。 Suddenly； on one side…of the station； a cry of death tore open the enchantment： “Aaaagh； Mother。？A seismic voice； a volcanic breath。 the roar of a cataclysm broke out in the center of the crowd with a great potential of expansion。 Jos？Arcadio Segundo barely had time to pick up the child while the mother with the other one was swallowed up by the crowd that swirled about in panic。
Many years later that child would still tell； in spite of people thinking that he was a crazy old man； how Jos？Arcadio Segundo had lifted him over his head and hauled him； almost in the air； as if floating on the terror of the crowd； toward a nearby street。 The child’s privileged position allowed him to see at that moment that the wild mass was starting to get to the corner and the row of machine guns opened fire。 Several voices shouted at the same time：
“Get down！ Get down！？
The people in front had already done so； swept down by the wave of bullets。 The survivors； instead of getting down； tried to go back to the small square； and the panic became a dragon’s tail as one pact wave ran against another which was moving in the opposite direction； toward the other dragon’s tail In the street across the way； where the machine guns were also firing without cease。 They were Penned in。 swirling about in a gigantic whirlwind that little by little was being reduced to its epicenter as the edges were systematically being cut off all around like an onion being peeled by the insatiable and methodical shears of the machine guns。 The child saw a woman kneeling with her arms in the shape of a cross in an open space； mysteriously free of the stampede。 Jos？Arcadio Segundo put him up there at the moment he fell with his face bathed in blood； before the colossal troop wiped out the empty space； the kneeling woman； the light of the high； drought…stricken sky； and the whorish world where ？rsula Iguarán had sold so many little candy animals。
When Jos？Arcadio Segundo came to he was lying face up in the darkness。 He realized that he was riding on an endless and silent train and that his head was caked with dry blood and that all his bones ached。 He felt an intolerable desire to sleep。 Prepared to sleep for many hours； safe from the terror and the horror； he made himself fortable on the side that pained him less； and only then did he discover that he was lying against dead people。 There was no free space in the car except for an aisle in the middle。 Several hours must have passed since the massacre because the corpses had the same temperature as a plaster in autumn and the same consistency of petrified foam that it had； and those who had put them in the car had had time to pile them up in the same way in which they transported bunches of bananas。 Trying to flee from the nightmare； Jos？Arcadio Segundo dragged himself from one car to an other in the direction in which the train was heading； and in the flashes of light that broke through the wooden slats as they went through sleeping towns he saw the man corpses； woman corpses； child corpses who would be thrown into the sea like rejected bananas。 He recognized only a woman who sold drinks in the square and Colonel Gavilán； who still held wrapped in his hand the belt with a buckle of Morelia silver with which he had tried to open his way through the panic。 When he got to the first car he jumped into the darkness and lay beside the tracks until the train had passed。 It was the longest one he had ever seen； with almost two hundred freight cars and a lootive at either end and a third one in the middle。 It had no lights； not even the red and green running lights； and it slipped off with a nocturnal and stealthy velocity。 On top of the cars there could be seen the dark shapes of the soldiers with their emplaced machine guns。
After midnight a torrential cloudburst came up。 Jos？Arcadio Segundo did not know where it was that he had jumped off； but he knew that by going in the opposite direction to that of the train he would reach Macondo。 After walking for more than three hours； soaked to the skin； with a terrible headache； he was able to make out the first houses in the light of dawn。 Attracted by the smell of coffee； he went into a kitchen where a woman with a child in her arms was leaning over the stove。
“Hello；？he said； exhausted。 “I’m Jos？Arcadio Segundo Buendía。？
He pronounced his whole name； letter by letter； in order to convince her that he was alive。 He was wise in doing so； because the woman had thought that he was an apparition as she saw the dirty； shadowy figure with his head and clothing dirty with blood and touched with the solemnity of death e through the door。 She recognized him。 She brought him a blanket so that he could wrap himself up while his clothes dried by the fire； she warmed some water to wash his wound； which was only a flesh wound； and she gave him a clean diaper to bandage his head。 Then she gave him a mug of coffee without sugar as she had been told the Buendías drank it； and she spread his clothing out near the fire。
Jos？Arcadio Segundo did not speak until he had finished drinking his coffee。
“There must have been three thousand of them？he murmured。
“What？？
“The dead；？he clarifie