so that the horses would not run her down。 The troop took off。 A special guard surrounded the prisoners and took them to the jail at a trot。
At dusk ？rsula visited Colonel Aureliano Buendía in jail。 She had tried to get permission through Don Apolinar Moscote； but he had lost all authority in the face of the military omnipotence。 Father Nicanor was in bed with hepatic fever。 The parents of Colonel Gerineldo Márquez； who had not been condemned to death； had tried to see him and were driven off with rifle butts。 Facing the impossibility of finding anyone to intervene； convinced that her son would be shot at dawn； ？rsula wrapped up the things she wanted to bring him and went to the jail alone。
“I am the mother of Colonel Aureliano Buendía；？she announced。
The sentries blocked her way。 “I’m going in in any case；？？rsula warned them。 “So if you have orders to shoot； start right in。？She pushed one of them aside and went into the former classroom； where a group of half…dressed soldiers were oiling their weapons。 An officer in a field uniform； ruddy…faced； with very thick glasses and ceremonious manners； signaled to the sentries to withdraw。
“I am the mother of Colonel Aureliano Buendía；？？rsula repeated。
“You must mean；？the officer corrected with a friendly smile； “that you are the mother of Mister Aureliano Buendía。？？rsula recognized in his affected way of speaking the languid cadence of the stuck…up people from the highlands。
“As you say； mister；？she accepted； “just as long as I can see him。？
There were superior orders that prohibited visits to prisoners condemned to death； but the officer assumed the responsibility of letting her have a fifteen…minute stay。 ？rsula showed him what she had in the bundle： a change of clean clothing； the short boots that her son had worn at his wedding； and the sweet milk candy that she had kept for him since the day she had sensed his return。 She found Colonel Aureliano Buendía in the room that was used as a cell； lying on a cot with his arms spread out because his armpits were paved with sores。 They had allowed him to shave。 The thick mustache with twisted ends accentuated the sharp angles of his cheekbones。 He looked paler to ？rsula than when he had left； a little taller； and more solitary than ever。 He knew all about the details of the house： Pietro Crespi’s suicide； Arcadio’s arbitrary acts and execution。 the dauntlessness of Jos？Arcadio Buendía underneath the chestnut tree。 He knew that Amaranta had consecrated her virginal widowhood to the rearing of Aureliano Jos？and that the latter was beginning to show signs of quite good judgment and that he had learned to read and write at the same time he had learned to speak。 From the moment In which she entered the room ？rsula felt inhibited by the maturity of her son； by his aura of mand； by the glow of authority that radiated from his skin。 She was surprised that he was so well…informed。 “You knew all along that I was a wizard；？he joked。 And he added in a serious tone； “This morning； when they brought me here； I had the impression that I had already been through all that before。？In fact； while the crowd was roaring alongside him； he had been concentrating his thoughts； startled at how the town had aged。 The leaves of the almond trees were broken。 The houses； painted blue； then painted red； had ended up with an indefinable coloration。
“What did you expect？？？rsula sighed。 “Time passes。？
“That’s how it goes；？Aureliano admitted； “but not so much。？
In that way the long…awaited visit； for which both had prepared questions and had even anticipated answers； was once more the usual everyday conversation。 When the guard announced the end of the visit； Aureliano took out a roll of sweaty papers from under the cot。 They were his poetry； the poems inspired by Remedios； which he had taken with him when he left； and those he had written later on during chance pauses in the war。 “Promise me that no one will read them；？he said。 “Light the oven with them this very night。？？rsula promised and stood up to kiss him good…bye。
“I brought you a revolver；？she murmured。
Colonel Aureliano Buendía saw that the sentry could not see。 “It won’t do me any good；？he said in a low voice； “but give it to me in case they search you on the way out。？？rsula took the revolver out of her bodice and put it under the mattress of the cot。 “And don’t say good…bye；？he concluded with emphatic calmness。 “Don’t beg or bow down to anyone。 Pretend that they shot me a long time ago。？？rsula bit her lip so as not to cry。
“Put some hot stones on those sores；？she said。
She turned halfway around and left the room。 Colonel Aureliano Buendía remained standing； thoughtful； until the door closed。 Then he lay down again with his arms open。 Since the beginning of adolescence； when he had begun to be aware of his premonitions； he thought that death would be announced with a definite； unequivocal； irrevocable signal； but there were only a few hours left before he would die and the signal had not e。 On a certain occasion a very beautiful woman had e into his camp in Tucurinca and asked the sentries？permission to see him。 They let her through because they were aware of the fanaticism of mothers； who sent their daughters to the bedrooms of the most famous warriors； according to what they said； to improve the breed。 That night Colonel Aureliano Buendía was finishing the poem about the man who is lost in the rain when the girl came into his room。 He turned his back to her to put the sheet of paper into the locked drawer where he kept his poetry。 And then he sensed it。 He grasped the pistol in the drawer without turning his head。
“Please don’t shoot；？he said。
When he turned around holding his Pistol； the girl had lowered hers and did not know what to do。 In that way he had avoided four out of eleven traps。 On the other hand； someone who was never caught entered the revolutionary headquarters one night in Manaure and stabbed to death his close friend Colonel Magnífico Visbal； to whom he had given his cot so that he could sweat out a fever。 A few yards away； sleeping in a hammock in the same room。 he was not aware of anything。 His efforts to systematize his premonitions were useless。 They would e suddenly in a wave of supernatural lucidity； like an absolute and momentaneous conviction； but they could not be grasped。 On occasion they were so natural that he identified them as premonitions only after they had been fulfilled。 Frequently they were nothing but ordinary bits of superstition。 But when they condemned him to death and asked him to state his last wish； he did not have the least difficulty in identifying the premonition that inspired his answer。
“I ask that the sentence be carried out in Macondo；？he said。
The president of the court…martial was annoyed。 “Don’t be clever； Buendía；？ he told him。 “That’s just a trick to gain more time。？
“If you don’t fulfill it； that will be your worry。？the colonel said； “but that’s my last wish。？
Since then the premonitions had abandoned him。 The day when ？rsula visited him in jail； after a great deal of thinking he came to the conclusion that perhaps death would not be announced that time because it did not depend on chance but on the will of his executioners。 He spent the night awake； tormented by the pain of his sores。 A little before dawn he heard steps in the hallway。 “They’re ing；？he said to himself； and for no reason he thought of Jos？Arcadio Buendía； who at that moment was thinking about him under the dreary dawn of the chestnut tree。 He did not feel fear or nostalgia； but an intestinal rage at the idea that this artificial death would not let him see the end of so many things that he had left unfinished。 The door opened and a sentry came in with a mug of coffee。 On the following day at the same hour he would still be doing what he was then； raging with the pain in his armpits； and the same thing happened。 On Thursday he shared the sweet milk candy with the guards and put on his clean clothes； which were tight for him； and the patent leather boots。 By Friday they had still not shot him。
Actually； they did not dare carry out the sentence。 The rebelliousnes