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search in his heart for the place where his affection had rotted away and he could not find it。 On another occasion； he felt at least a confused sense of shame when he found the smell of ？rsula on his own skin； and more than once he felt her thoughts interfering with his。 But all of that had been wiped out by the war。 Even Remedios； his wife； at that moment was a hazy image of someone who might have been his daughter。 The countless women he had known on the desert of love and who had spread his seed all along the coast had left no trace in his feelings。 Most of them had e into his room in the dark and had left before dawn； and on the following day they were nothing but a touch of fatigue in his bodily memory。 The only affection that prevailed against time and the war was that which he had felt for his brother Jos？Arcadio when they both were children； and it was not based on love but on plicity。
“I’m sorry；？he excused himself from ？rsula’s request。 “It’s just that the war has done away with everything。？
During the following days he busied himself destroying all trace of his passage through the world。 He stripped the silver shop until all that were left were impersonal objects； he gave his clothes away to the orderlies； and he buried his weapons in the courtyard with the same feeling of penance with which his father had buried the spear that had killed Prudencio Aguilar。 He kept only one pistol with one bullet in it。 ？rsula did not intervene。 The only time she dissuaded him was when he was about to destroy the daguerreotype of Remedios that was kept in the parlor lighted by an eternal lamp。 “That picture stopped belonging to you a long time ago；？she told him。 “It’s a family relic。？On the eve of the armistice； when no single object that would let him be remembered was left in the house； he took the trunk of poetry to the bakery when Santa Sofía de la Piedad was making ready to light the oven。
“Light it with this；？he told her； handing her the first roll of yellowish papers。 “It will； burn better because they’re very old things。？
Santa Sofía de la Piedad； the silent one； the condescending one； the one who never contradicted anyone； not even her own children； had the impression that it was a forbidden act。
“They’re important papers；？she said。
“Nothing of the sort；？the colonel said。 “They’re things that a person writes to himself。？
“In that case；？she said； “you burn them； colonel。？
He not only did that； but he broke up the trunk with a hatchet and threw the pieces into the fire。 Hours before； Pilar Ternera had e to visit him。 After so many years of not seeing her； Colonel Aureliano Buendía was startled at how old and fat she had bee and how much she had lost of the splendor of her laugh； but he was also startled at the depths she had reached in her reading of the cards。 “Watch out for your mouth；？she told him； and he wondered whether the other time she had told him that during the height of his glory it had not been a surprisingly anticipated vision of his fate。 A short time later； when his personal physician finished removing his sores； he asked him； without showing any particular interest； where the exact location of his heart was。 The doctor listened with his stethoscope and then painted a circle on his cheat with a piece of cotton dipped in iodine。
The Tuesday of the armistice dawned warm and rainy。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía appeared in the kitchen before five o’clock and had his usual black coffee without sugar。 “You came into the world on a day like this；？？rsula told him。 “Everybody was amazed at your open eyes。？He did not pay any attention because he was listening to the forming of the troops； the sound of the ets； and the voices of mand that were shattering the dawn。 Even though after so many years of war they should have sounded familiar to him this time he felt the same weakness in his knees and the same tingling in his skin that he had felt in his youth in the presence of a naked woman。 He thought confusedly； finally captive in a trap of nostalgia； that perhaps if he had married her he would have been a man without war and without glory； a nameless artisan； a happy animal。 That tardy shudder which had not figured in his forethought made his breakfast bitter。 At seven in the morning； when Colonel Gerineldo Márquez came to fetch him； in the pany of a group of rebel officers； he found him more taciturn than ever； more pensive and solitary。 ？rsula tried to throw a new wrap over his shoulders。 “What will the government think；？she told him。 “They’ll figure that you’ve surrendered because you didn’t have anything left to buy a cloak with。？But he would not accept it。 When he was at the door； he let her put an old felt hat of Jos？Arcadio Buendía’s on his head。
“Aureliano；？？rsula said to him then； “Promise me that if you find that it’s a bad hour for you there that you’ll think of your mother。？
He gave her a distant smile； raising his hand with all his fingers extended； and without saying a word he left the house and faced the shouts； insults； and blasphemies that would follow him until he left the town。 ？rsula put the bar on the door； having decided not to take it down for the rest of her life。 “We’ll rot in here；？she thought。 “We’ll turn to ashes in this house without men； but we won’t give this miserable town the pleasure of seeing us weep。？She spent the whole morning looking for a memory of her son in the most hidden corners； but she could find none。
The ceremony took place fifteen miles from Macondo in the shade of a gigantic ceiba tree around which the town of Neerlandia would be founded later。 The delegates from the government and the party and the mission of the rebels who were laying down their arms were served by a noisy group of novices in white habits who looked like a flock of doves that had been frightened by the rain。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía arrived on a muddy mule。 He had not shaved； more tormented by the pain of the sores than by the great failure of his dreams； for he had reached the end of all hope； beyond glory and the nostalgia of glory。 In accordance with his arrangements there was no music； no fireworks； no pealing bells； no shouts of victory； or any other manifestation that might alter the mournful character of the armistice。 An itinerant photographer who took the only picture of him that could have been preserved was forced to smash his plates without developing them。
The ceremony lasted only the time necessary to sign the documents。 Around the rustic table placed in the center of a patched circus tent where the delegates sat were the last officers who were faithful to Colonel Aureliano Buendía。 Before taking the signatures； the personal delegate of the president of the republic tried to read the act of surrender aloud； but Colonel Aureliano Buendía was against it。 “Let’s not waste time on formalities；？he said and prepared to sign the papers without reading them。 One of his officers then broke the soporific silence of the tent。
“Colonel；？he said； “please do us the favor of not being the first to sign。？
Colonel Aureliano Buendía acceded。 When the documents went all around the table； in the midst of a silence that was so pure that one could have deciphered the signatures from the scratching of the pen on the paper； the first line was still blank。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía prepared to fill it。
“Colonel；？another of his officers said； “there’s still time for everything to e out right。？
Without changing his expression； Colonel Aureliano Buendía signed the first copy。 He had not finished signing the last one when a rebel colonel appeared in the doorway leading a mule carrying two chests。 In spite of his entire youth he had a dry look and a patient expression。 He was the treasurer of the revolution in the Macondo region。 He had made a difficult journey of six days； pulling along the mule； who was dying of hunger； in order to arrive at the armistice on time。 With an exasperating parsimony he took down the chests； opened them； and placed on the table； one by one； seventy…two gold bricks； Everyone had forgotten about the existence of that fortune。 In the disorder of the past year； when the central mand fell apart and the revolution degenerated into a bloody rivalry of leaders； it was impossible to determine any responsibility。 The gold of the revolution； melted into blocks that were then covered with baked clay； was beyond all control。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía had the seventy…two gold bricks included in the inventory of surrender and closed the ceremony without allowing any speeches。 The filthy adolescent stood opposite him； looking into his eyes with his own calm； syrup…colored eyes。
“Something else？？Colonel Aureliano Buendía asked him。
The young colonel tightened his mouth。
“The receipt；？he said。
Colonel Aureliano Buendía wrote it out in his own hand。 Then he had a glass of lemonade and a piece of biscuit that the novices were passing around and retired to a field tent which had been prepared for him in case he wished to rest。 There he took off his shirt； sat on the edge of the cot； and at three…fifteen in the afternoon took his pistol and shot himself in the iodine circle that his