Chapter 7 Chapter Six
It did not occur to Fermina Daza that Florentino Ariza would regard the letter she wrote, driven by an unknown fire, as a love letter.In the letter, she poured out all the anger she could, said the cruelest words, and the most hurtful and even unfair slanders.However, in her opinion, these were still insignificant compared with the huge insult she had suffered.It was a last-ditch, painful attempt to exorcise her demons and adjust to her new situation.She wanted to find herself, to regain everything she had been forced to give up in half a century of servile life.No doubt that life had made her happy, but after her husband's death she could not find even a trace of herself.Like a ghost in someone else's home, she wandered aimlessly through a house that had become empty and lonely overnight, constantly asking herself in agony who was the dead: the dead husband, or she, the one who stayed behind. .
She couldn't get rid of the resentment hidden in her heart, resenting her husband for abandoning her alone in this vast ocean.Everything about him would make her cry: the pajamas under the pillow, the pair of flat slippers that only sick people would wear in her opinion; in her memory, when she was combing her hair by the bed and preparing to go to bed, he in the mirror took off his clothes and the smell of his skin, which lingered on hers long after his death.No matter what she was doing, she might stop halfway and pat herself on the forehead because she suddenly remembered something she forgot to tell him.Countless everyday questions would pop up in her mind at any moment, and only he could answer them.He once said something that eluded her: After an amputation, patients could still feel pain, cramping and itching in the leg that was no longer there.It was the same way she felt after losing him, she felt that he was there even though he was no longer there.
When she woke up on the first morning after becoming a widow, she turned over on the bed with her eyes closed, trying to find a more comfortable position and continue to sleep. At this moment, she really realized that he was dead.It was only then that she realized that this was the first time in many years that he hadn't spent the night at home.Another situation that touched her was at a dinner table, not because she felt alone, though it was true, but because she had a strange belief that she was dining with someone who no longer existed.It wasn't until her daughter Ophelia came from New Orleans with her husband and their three daughters that she came to the table to eat again, but she didn't use the same table she had been using before, but a new one. She had someone set up a smaller makeshift dining table in the hallway.Before that, she hadn't had a serious meal.Whenever she was hungry, she would go into the kitchen, stick a fork into the pot, and eat whatever was available, and she did not use a plate, but stood in front of the fire and talked to the maids, who were the only ones. Someone who can make her feel lighter and better.Yet, no matter how hard she tried, her dead husband seemed to be everywhere: wherever she went, wherever she walked, whatever she did, she came across something of him that reminded her of him again.Although it seemed to her that grief was loyal and justified, she wanted to do everything possible not to wallow in it.So, she made an extreme decision: to clear out all the things that reminded her of her deceased husband out of the house. This was the only way she could think of. Only in this way could she survive without him.
It was a devastating cleansing ritual.The son agreed to remove everything from the study so she could turn it into a sewing room, which she hadn't had since her marriage.The daughter would take some furniture and a number of things she thought would be suitable for auction at antique shops in New Orleans.All this made Fermina Daza feel a lot easier, although she was not happy when she learned that the things she had bought on her wedding trip had become the relics of the antique dealers.In spite of the silent astonishment of servants, neighbors, and girlfriends who came to accompany her in those days, she had a bonfire lit in the clearing behind the house, and burned everything that reminded her of her husband: The most expensive and elegant clothes that can be seen in the city since the last century, the most exquisite shoes, his hat that looks more like his own than the photo, the nap rocking chair he got up from before he died, and countless pieces that are closely related to his life , an object which has become a part of his person.She did this without the slightest hesitation, with the full confidence that her husband would agree to it, and not just for reasons of hygiene.He has repeatedly expressed his desire to be cremated after death, rather than being imprisoned in that dark, seamless cedar box.Of course, his religion forbade him to do so: he had ventured to ask the archbishop for his opinion, but the archbishop had flatly denied it.This is pure delusion, and the Church would never allow cremation furnaces in our cemeteries, not even for non-Catholics.In fact, no one except Juvenal Urbino saw any advantage in doing so.But Fermina Daza remembered her husband's fear deeply, and even in the first few hours of trance, she did not forget to order the carpenter to leave a slit in the coffin to let the light pass through, as a token of respect for her husband. comfort.
But in any case, that burning operation was futile.Fermina Daza soon discovered that the memory of her deceased husband not only survived the fire, but also seemed to survive the passage of time.To make matters worse, when the clothes turned to ashes, she still missed not only the things that made her husband likeable, but also the things that upset her, such as the noise he made every day when he got out of bed.These memories helped her out of the jungle of pain.So she made up her mind again to continue living with the memory of her husband as if he hadn't died.She knew that waking up every morning would still be painful, but it would get better.
Sure enough, after three weeks, she began to see the light.But as the light became stronger and clearer, she gradually realized that there was a ghost with ulterior motives in her life, which made her restless for a moment.He was not the wretched phantom that peeped at her in the Gospel Garden, not the phantom she used to think of with some tenderness in old age, but the one in the hangman's frock coat, holding his hat to his breast. the loathsome phantom.His stupid rudeness upset her so much that she couldn't get it out of her head.Ever since she rejected him at the age of eighteen, she had felt that she had planted in him a seed of hatred that time would germinate.She felt this hatred all the time, and whenever the ghost was near her she could smell it in the air, and just looking at him made her flustered.She was so afraid of him that she could never find a natural way to behave herself in his presence.That night, when he reaffirmed his love to her, the house was still filled with the fragrance of the flowers commemorating his deceased husband. She could not but regard this rude words and deeds as the first step of his revenge, and who knows what happened after that? How many insidious attempts are still hidden?
His obstinate occupation of her mind made her rage.She awoke thinking of him the day after the funeral, but with sheer will she succeeded in getting him out of her mind again.But the anger kept coming back, and she soon discovered that the great desire to forget him was the strongest inducement that forced her to think of him.So, for the first time, she was shrouded in nostalgia, boldly recalling the illusory time of that ethereal love.She tried to think back to the little garden, the dry almond tree, and the bench he sat on, trying to remember what it had been like, because it wasn't what it used to be.Everything has changed.Those trees were gone, along with the yellow fallen leaves all over the ground.In the place of the beheaded hero, another statue in ornate livery was erected, without name, date, or reason for its construction, but with a grand podium containing a statue of the region. Power control device.Her family's house had been sold many years ago, and now it is in dilapidated condition in the hands of the provincial government.It was not easy for her to imagine Florentino Ariza then, but to imagine the taciturn, helpless boy standing in the rain, and the frail, rotten old man now. It is even more difficult to recognize the son as the same person.This old man completely disregarded her situation and didn't have the slightest respect for her pain. He just stood in front of her and burned her soul with blazing insults, which still made her so upset that she couldn't breathe.
In order to recover from Miss Lynch's misfortune, she lived for a while at Cousin Hildebranda Sanchez's Fleur de Maria estate, and she came to visit her shortly thereafter.When the cousin came, she was old and fat, but very happy, accompanied by her eldest son.Like her father, her older son had become a colonel in the army but had been turned away by him for his ignominious participation in the massacre of workers in the banana plantations of San Juan de la Hienaga.The two sisters met many times, and each time they spent time in memories, recalling the time when they first met.On her last visit, Hildebranda was nostalgic for the good old days more than ever, and lamented the frailty of old age.To better immerse herself in the past, she brought the photograph of them dressed like old dames, taken by the Belgian photographer, and it was on that afternoon that young Juvenal Ur Noir gracefully stabs the wayward Fermina Daza in the heart.The photograph of Fermina Daza herself has been lost, and that of Hildebranda is almost invisible, but the two recognize each other in the haunting blur For myself: so young, so beautiful, and all this is gone forever.
It was impossible for Hildebranda not to mention Florentino Ariza, since she had always believed that his fate was very similar to her own.She recalled seeing him the day she first sent a telegram, and the image of that poor little bird destined to be forgotten by her lover could never be erased from her mind.As for Fermina Daza, she saw him many times later, without speaking to him, of course, but she could not believe that he was her first love.News of him was always coming to her, as news of all the men of slight influence in the town would reach her sooner or later.People say he never married because his interests were different.But it didn't come to her attention, partly because she never paid any heed to the rumours, and partly because the same thing was said about many blameless men.But she found it odd that Florentino Ariza kept wearing his weird clothes, using weird body washes, and, after he had carved out a life for himself in such a striking and respectable way, After the road, it is still as mysterious as a mystery.She couldn't believe that he was who he had been, and was always amazed when Hildebranda said, "Poor man, how much he has suffered."Because she had seen him without pain since long ago: he was a shadow erased from her heart.
However, the night she met him at the cinema—not long after her return from the Flower of Mary, strange feelings arose.She was not surprised that there was a woman next to him, and a black one at that.She was amazed that he was so well maintained and even more relaxed than before.She didn't realize that when Miss Lynch made disturbing intrusions into her private life, it was she, not him, who should have changed.From then on, for more than twenty years, she looked at him with more sympathetic eyes.On the night of her husband's wake, she not only thought his presence was understandable, but even believed that his resentment towards her had ended naturally: his presence was a symbol of forgiveness and forgetting.So it was beyond her expectation that he dramatically reiterated to her a love that never existed in her opinion, and it was at such an age that both he and she could only be content with fate.
After holding a symbolic cremation ceremony for her husband, the uncontrollable anger brought to her by the first shock not only did not diminish at all, but became more and more uncontrollable, and even sprang up unexpectedly.What's more, she managed to get rid of the memory of the dead, but the memory space was slowly and relentlessly occupied by the poppies, where everything about Florentino Ariza was buried.In this way, she thought about him reluctantly, and the more she thought about him, the angrier she became, and the angrier she became, the more she thought about him, until finally she couldn't bear it and almost went crazy.So she sat down at her late husband's desk and wrote a three-page letter to Florentino Ariza, full of insults and vicious provocations.She took comfort in having so actively done one of the most indecent acts of her long life.
And for Florentino Ariza those weeks were extremely painful.On the night he reaffirmed his love to Fermina Daza, he wandered aimlessly through the streets devastated by the heavy rain in the afternoon, asking himself in horror that he had just killed the tiger that had besieged him for more than half a century, What to do next with the tiger skin.The city is in critical condition due to torrential rains.In some houses, half-naked men and women are trying to salvage something from the flood by God's will.Florentino Ariza felt as if he was also closely related to this common disaster.But at this moment, the wind and the sea are calm, and the Caribbean stars also quietly stay in their original positions.Suddenly, in the midst of the silence, Florentino Ariza heard the voice of a man who had heard it at the same moment and on the same street corner as Leona Casciani many years before: I came back from the bridge with tears streaming down my face.Such a song, such a melody, such a night, seemed to exist only for him, and had something to do with death.
He missed Transido Ariza more than he did now, her wise words, her absurd queenly hairstyle with paper flowers.Inevitably, whenever he was on the verge of disaster, he needed a woman's protection.So, looking for the direction where he could find the woman, he came to the normal school and saw a light in the long row of windows in the American Vicuña dormitory.It took a lot of effort to keep himself from falling into the madness of his old grandfather, taking his granddaughter away at two o'clock in the morning, sleeping in warm swaddling clothes, smelling of the weeping cradle.
On the other side of the city, Leona Casciani was alone and free, and there was no doubt that she would offer him the sympathy he needed at two o'clock in the morning, three o'clock in the morning, or at any time, in any situation.And this is not the first time he has knocked on her door in the wasteland of insomnia, but he knows that she is too smart and they love each other too deeply, he can't just cry on her lap and not tell her why .After thinking for a long time, and wandering in the desolate city like sleepwalking for a long time, he finally remembered that Prudencia Pitre, the "two-widow" is better than looking for any woman.She is younger than him.They had known each other in the last century, but they stopped seeing each other later because she insisted on not wanting people to see her at that time: half-blind and on the verge of old age.Thinking of her, Florentino Ariza immediately returned to the Rue de la Window, filled a shopping bag with two bottles of Bordeaux wine and a small bottle of pickles, and went to see her, although he did not know whether she Still living in the same place, whether alone, or even alive.
Prudencia Pitres did not forget his signal to scratch the door, and opened the door for him without asking.He had been using this code to identify himself when they thought they were young.He was dressed in black woolen clothes, a hard top hat, and a bat-like umbrella hanging from his arm. He could barely make out his figure in the dark street.Her eyesight was bad, and the light was so dim that she couldn't see clearly at all.But she recognized him by the light reflected from the metal rims of his glasses by the street lamps.He looked like a murderer with blood on his hands.
"Please take in a poor orphan."
It was the only thing he could think of, just to say something.He was surprised how much she had aged since the last time they saw her, and he knew very well that she must have thought of him that way in her heart.But he thought comfortingly, after a while, when the two people recover from the initial shock, they will gradually find that the scars left by life on each other are not so obvious, and then they will feel each other again. Still as young as when we first met.
"You look like you're going to a funeral," she said.
Indeed.And like almost everyone in the city, she has been guarding the window since eleven o'clock, watching the funeral procession with the largest number of attendees and the most luxurious since the death of Archbishop Del Luna.The earth-shattering rumbling of the cannon, the cacophony of the military band, and the dirge that overshadowed the death knells that had been ringing in all the churches since the day before, all combined to wake her from her nap.From the balcony she saw soldiers on horseback in honor guard uniforms, religious groups, school students, black limousines of government dignitaries, funeral carriages (drawn by horses with feathered helmets and gold drape), and a historic cannon carriage carrying yellow coffins covered with the national flag, followed by a row of old open carriages still used to carry wreaths.Shortly after noon, as the funeral procession passed Prudencia Pitre's balcony, it began to rain heavily and the crowd dispersed in panic.
"What an absurd way to die!" she said.
"Death can't be funny," he said, adding sentimentally: "Especially at our age."
They sat on the terrace, facing the vast sea, looking at the moon whose halo took up almost half of the sky, admiring the multicolored lights of ships on the horizon, and enjoying the mild and fragrant breeze after the storm.They drank Bordeaux wine and ate slices of bread that Prudencia Pitre had cut from a rustic loaf in the kitchen, along with pickles.She had no children, and they had spent countless nights like this together since she was widowed.When Florentino Ariza first met her, it was at a time when she could take any man who would accompany her, even if he was rented by the hour.But the two ended up forming a relationship that was more serious and longer-lasting than it appeared.
Although she never hinted at it, if she could walk into the marriage hall with him again, then even if she had to sell her soul to the devil, she would be willing.She knew that it was not easy to get used to his stinginess, his precocious obstinacy of ignorance of the world, his eccentric temperament, his desire to take but not to give, all of which were not easy, but even so, no man was There is no better partner than him, because no man in this world needs love more than him.But at the same time, no man was more slippery than he, so their love never crossed the boundaries of his control: all so as not to interfere with his determination to keep Fermina Daza free.Still, their love continued for many years, even after he had arranged for her to marry a business agent.The agent stayed at home for three months at a time and then traveled around for three months. She and him had a daughter and four sons, one of whom, she swore, was Florentino Ariza's son. .
They talked regardless of the time, for they had been used to sharing sleepless nights since they were young, and they had nothing to lose when they were old.Although Florentino Ariza seldom drank more than two drinks, this time he was still alive after three.He was sweating profusely, so the "two widows" made him take off his coat, vest, and trousers, or all if he wanted to, and what the hell was that, after all, they were naked instead of wearing clothes Get to know each other better while naked.He said that if she took it off, he would take it off.But she didn't want to: she had looked in the wardrobe mirror long ago and knew immediately that she would never have the courage to let him or anyone see her naked again.
Florentino Ariza was so excited that he couldn't calm down after drinking four glasses of Bordeaux.He went on reminiscing about the past, talking about the good old days, which had been his only topic since a long time ago.In fact, what he desperately hopes is to find a secret way from the memories of the past to let himself vent.Because that's what he desperately needed: to get his soul out of his mouth.When he saw the first few lights on the horizon, he tried to approach the target by insinuating.He asked in a seemingly casual way: "For example, as a widow like you, at this age, if someone proposes to you, what would you do?" Wrinkled, asked rhetorically, "Are you talking about the widow of Urbino?"
Florentino Ariza always forgets this when it should be least forgotten: women think more about the implications of a question than about the question itself, and Prudencia Pitre in particular .She hit the nail on the head and it was horrifying. He panicked and wanted to find a fake door to sneak out: "I mean you." She laughed again: "Go and tease your bitch. May her soul rest in peace ’” She urged him to say what he wanted to say, because she knew that neither he, nor any man, would drink Bordeaux and eat country bread and pickles at three o’clock in the morning after a long absence. She wakes up."It's only done when one wants to have a good cry," she said. Florentino Ariza was defeated.
"You're wrong this time," he said. "I'm actually here tonight to sing."
"Then let's sing," she said.
He sang the popular song at that time with a beautiful voice: Ramona, I can't live without you.Thus ended the night, for he dared not play the forbidden game with the woman who had proved time and again that she knew the other side of the moon.He walked out the door, as if he had come to another city, where the last dahlias in June were fragrant, and he seemed to be walking on the streets of his youth, seeing one after another widows in the dark looking at five o'clock Bell of Mass.But now, he, not them, had to go to the other side of the sidewalk to keep his unstoppable tears from being seen.He thought that it had been flowing since midnight, but it was not. These were the tears that he had been suppressing in his heart for fifty-one years, nine months and four days.
When he wakes up in front of a blinding window, he has no idea where he is and has lost track of time.The sound of América Vicuña playing ball with the maids in the garden brought him back to reality: he was lying in his mother's bed, a bedroom that had always remained the same, during those rare times when solitude disturbed him , he often sleeps here to reduce a little loneliness.Opposite the bed was the large mirror in Don Sancho's dining room, which he saw every time he woke up, and the reflection of Fermina Daza reflected in the depths of the mirror was enough for him.He knew it was Saturday because on that day the driver would pick up America Vicuña from the boarding school and take him to his house.He realized that he had fallen asleep unknowingly while dreaming that he could not sleep, and had also imitated a dream in which he was disturbed by Fermina Daza's angry face.As he took a shower, he wondered what to do next.He put on his best clothes without haste, sprayed on perfume, and glued his pointed white beard.As soon as he walked out of the bedroom, he saw the beautiful girl in school uniform from the corridor on the second floor.She was jumping up to catch the ball in the air, and that charming figure had made him shudder on so many Saturdays, but this morning, it didn't stir up the slightest ripple in his heart.He motioned for her to follow him.Before getting into the car, he said unnecessarily to her, "We're not playing small games today." He took her to the Americana, which was packed with parents eating ice cream with their children under a large ceiling fan.America Vicuña ordered an ice cream with several layers, each layer a different color, in a giant cup.It's her favorite ice cream and the best seller here because of the magic smoke it gives off.Florentino Ariza watched the girl without saying a word as he drank his black coffee as she ate the ice cream with a long spoon that reached to the bottom of the cup.He looked at her intently, and suddenly said, "I'm getting married."
Her hand holding the spoon stopped in the air, with a look of doubt on her face, she looked into his eyes, then calmed down again, and smiled.
"Liar," she said, "the old man won't marry."
They went to a puppet show in the park that afternoon, ate lunch at the fish stand on the jetty, saw a circus caged beast that had just arrived in town, and bought A couple of laps of the city in an open car in exchange for sweets to take back to boarding school, all to get her used to the fact that he was her guardian, not her lover.Then, in a never-ending downpour, just before the Angelus prayer, he sent her back to school.On Sunday he sent her a car so she could go out with her companions, but he didn't want to see her, since he had been fully aware of the age difference between them since last week.That night he made up his mind to write a letter to Fermina Daza begging for forgiveness, if only to show that he had not given up, but decided to wait until the next day.On Monday, three full weeks into the ordeal, he came in, drenched in heavy rain, and found her letter.
It was eight o'clock in the evening.The two maids had already gone to bed, and they had left the only burning lamp in the corridor to follow Florentino Ariza into the bedroom.He knew that his simple and boring dinner was on the table in the dining room. For many days, he just ate two bites casually, and at this moment, the trace of hunger that had been accumulated so easily was thrown out of the sky because of excitement.With trembling hands he struggled to turn on the headlight in the bedroom.He put the wet letter on the bed, lit the little lamp on the bedside table, and pretended to be calm—this was his usual way of calming himself.He took off his soaking coat, hung it on the back of the chair, took off his vest, folded it on top of the coat, undid his black silk bow tie, took off his now obsolete celluloid collar, and put the He unbuttoned his shirt to his waist, loosened his belt to breathe better, and finally took off his hat and hung it to hang by the window.Suddenly, he trembled all over, forgetting where he had put the letter, which made him so nervous that when he finally found it, he was surprised: he didn't remember putting it on the bed.Before opening, he dried the envelope with a handkerchief, being careful not to bleed the ink with his name on it.In doing so, he suddenly realized that the secret was no longer exclusive to the two of them, but to at least a third person, because whoever sent the letter would have noticed that Urbino's widow had died after her husband's death. In only three weeks, she wrote a letter to a person outside her circle, and it was so urgent, not by post, and so mysterious, asking him not to hand it into the other party's hands, but to slip it in under the door like an anonymous note.He doesn't need to tear the envelope because the glue has been soaked by the water.But the letter was still dry: three tightly packed pages, with no letterhead, signed at the end with her married initials.
He sat on the bed and read it quickly first.He was more curious about the tone of the letter than the content.Before he even got to the second page, he knew it was the very abusive letter he'd been waiting for.He unfolded the letter and put it in the light of the bedside lamp, then took off his wet shoes, went to the door, turned off the headlight, put on a chamois beard, and lay down without taking off his trousers and shirt, His head rested on the two large pillows he used as a backrest when he read.He read it again, this time word for word, word for word, not missing a single hidden meaning.Then he read it four more times, until his mind was so full of words that they began to lose their meaning.Finally, he put the letter without the envelope in the drawer of the bedside table, and lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head.For four hours, he stared unblinkingly at the empty mirror in which she had appeared, barely breathing, more dead than dead.At twelve o'clock sharp, he went to the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee as strong as crude oil, took it to his room, and put his dentures in the boric acid water that had been kept for him on the bedside table.Afterwards, he returned to the same marble-like reclining position just now, but he would take a sip of coffee every once in a while, and only move at this moment, until the maid brought a full bottle of coffee at six o'clock the next morning. A pot of coffee.
At this time, Florentino Ariza already knew what to do in every next step.In fact, those insults did not make his heart hurt, and he had no intention of clearing up those unfair charges. He knew Fermina Daza's character and the reason for her strict words. Her words could have been sharper. of.All that interested him was that the letter itself gave him the opportunity, even the acknowledgment of his right to reply.Furthermore, she was actually asking for an answer from him.As a result, life was now at the turning point he expected.The rest is up to him, he is very sure that his private hell that has lasted for more than half a century will put many life and death tests in front of him, and he is ready to take it with unprecedented enthusiasm, pain and passion. Love to face them, for this will be the final test.
When he arrived at the office five days after receiving Fermina Daza's letter, he felt as if he were floating in some sudden and unusual typewriter vacuum, the rain of which made the silence all the more remarkable. attract attention.It turned out that it stopped temporarily.When the voice sounded again, Florentino Ariza leaned into Leona Casciani's office and saw her sitting in front of her typewriter, which seemed to be magically moving under her fingertips. Jianxia obeyed the command.Sensing that someone was watching her, she looked toward the door with her formidably bright smile, but did not stop until the paragraph was typed.
"Tell me one thing, my dear lioness," Florentino Ariza asked, "how would you feel if you received a love letter written in this thing?" When she heard this, she also showed a surprised expression.
"My God!" she exclaimed, "I've never seen anything like it." So she couldn't make any other answer.Before that, Florentino Ariza had not thought about this possibility, but he decided to take the risk.He brought home a typewriter from the office, which drew friendly jeers from his subordinates: "Old parrots can't learn to talk." Leona Casciani, enthusiastic about anything new, volunteered to come home Go give him typing lessons.However, since Lodario Turgut wanted to teach him to play the violin according to the music score, he opposed systematic learning.Lodario Thugut threatened him that it would take at least a year to get started, five years to get recognized by a professional orchestra, and a lifetime to really play the piano well, and every day Practice for six hours.But he finally persuaded his mother to buy him a blind violin. After less than a year of practicing according to the five basic rules taught to him by Lodario Turgut, he dared to play in the choir of the cathedral. Serenade Fermina Daza from the cemetery of the poor according to the direction of the wind.If he could learn something as difficult as playing the violin at the age of twenty, he couldn't figure out why he couldn't learn something as simple as typing with one finger at the age of seventy-six.
He was right.It took him three days to remember the position of the letters on the keyboard, and another six days to learn how to think while typing. Finally, in three days, after tearing up half a ream of paper, he typed out the first letter without any mistakes. letter.He used a solemn title: madam, and signed it with his initials, just like the fragrant letters when he was young.他把信邮寄出去，用的是绘有哀悼纹饰的信封，这是给新近孀居的寡妇写信的规矩，并且，信封背面没有署寄信人的姓名。
这是一封六页的信，和过去他写过的任何一封信都大相径庭。没有了初恋时的语气、文风和飘逸修辞，论述得如此合情合理，而且恰如其分，以至于若配上栀子花的香气都会显得唐突。在某种意义上说，这是他写得最接近商业信函的信，尽管他从来也没写好过这类信件。多年以后，一封用机器打出的私人信件几乎会被视作一种侮辱，但在当时，打字机还是办公室里的一头猛兽，尚没有自己的伦理特征，礼仪教科书也还没预见到它将被驯化用于私人用途。这更像是一种大胆的现代主义行为，至少费尔明娜·达萨定是这样理解的，因为就在她写给弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨的第二封信中，一开头就请求他原谅她撩草的字体，因为她没有比钢笔更先进的书写工具。
弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨在信中甚至都没有提到她寄给他的那封可怕的信，而是从一开始就试图釆取一种截然不同的方式诱导她，对过去的爱情只字不提，连带过去的一切都不再提起：所有往事一笔勾销，一切重新开始。他写下的更像是对人生的一种广泛性的思考，依据的是多年来他对男女之间关系的看法和经验，他曾一度想把这些作为《恋人指南》的增订本写出来，只不过此时，他把这种思考隐藏在一种家长式的淳朴文风之下，如同一个老者的回忆，为的就是不那么明显地被人看出，这实际上是一封倾诉爱情的书信。他原本也按照旧时的文风写了很多份草稿，但以冷静的头脑一读再读之后，最终在一瞬间把它们付诸一炬。他知道，任何一个不起眼的疏忽，或者哪怕轻率流露出的一点点怀旧之情，都可能搅起她对往事的反感。虽然他预料到她有可能在鼓足勇气打开第一封信之前先退上个上百封信，但还是盼望这样的事一次也不要发生。所以，他像筹划最后一场决战那样，对每个细枝末节都思虑周详：一切都要与众不同，如此方能在一个于巅峰上过完一生的女人心中激起新的好奇、新的兴致和新的希望。这封信应该要提供一种蠢蠢欲动的幻想，并且给予她足够的勇气，把某个阶层的不公偏见扔进垃圾堆里去。她原本并不出身于那个阶层，可那个阶层最终却变得比其他任何阶层都更像她的出身之处。这封信应该教会她把爱情想成一种美好的状态，而非达到任何目的的途径，爱情自有其本身的起点和终点。
他清楚地知道不能期待立刻得到答复，其实只要信不退回，他也就心满意足了。这封信果然没有退回来，以后的每一封也都没有退回来。随着日子一天天过去，他的焦虑与日俱增。越久不见退信，他就越希望得到一封回信。一开始，他写信的频率取决于他手指的灵活程度：先是每星期一封，后来每星期两封，最后是每天一封。对于邮电事业从他当旗手的时代到目前为止所取得的进步，他备感欣慰，因为他不必再冒被人发现每天到邮局去给同一个人寄信的风险，也不必冒险找人送信，因为这人有可能把事情说出去。相反，只要派一个职员买回能用上一个月的邮票，再把信塞进分布在老城区的三个邮筒中的任何一个，这简直易如反掌。很快，他把这个习惯纳入了他的生活常规：他利用不眠的夜晚写信，然后在第二天去办公室的路上，让司机在街角的邮筒前停一分钟，自己下车亲自把信放进去。他从不让司机代他投信，尽管在一个雨天的早晨，司机曾想帮他这样做。还有时，他小心谨慎，不止带一封信，而是同时带上好几封，为了显得更加自然。司机当然不知道，那些凑数的信件不过是弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨寄给自己的几张白纸，因为他从不与任何人互通私人信件，除了每个月末会写信给阿美利加·维库尼亚的父母，作为监护人汇报一下他对姑娘的行为、精神状态、健康情况以及她在学习上取得的好成绩的个人印象。
从第一个月起，他就开始给信编号，像报纸上的连载小说一样，在每封信的开头对上一封信做一小结，生怕费尔明娜·达萨看不出它们之间存在着一定的联系。此外，自从信的频率变成每日一封后，他把带有哀悼纹饰的信封换成白色的长信封，这样一来，它们看上去就像千篇一律的商业信函，不知出自何人之手。从一开始，他就准备好让自己的耐心经受更大的考验，至少，只要没有确凿的证据表明他是在用所能想出的唯一与众不同的方法浪费时间，就要坚持下去。的确，他等待着，不像年轻时那样带有种种苦痛烦忧，而是以一个坚如磐石的老人的固执等待。反正，这个老人在一家已经一帆风顺、只身前进的河运公司里也别无他事可想，别无他事可做。他坚信自己能活下去，并能完美地保持他的男性机能，一直等到明天、后天，或者永远等下去。费尔明娜·达萨最终会说服自己，她那孤独寡妇的焦虑与痛苦没有其他出路，唯有向他放下吊桥。
与此同时，他仍旧过着有条不紊的生活。由于预见自己会得到一个圆满的答复，他对房子进行了第二次整修，以使它配得上那个自它被买下来那天起，就该来当女主人的人。他遵守承诺，又去看了几次普鲁登西娅·皮特雷，以向她证明尽管年岁不饶人，他还是爱她的，而且不只是在孤苦无依的夜晚，有几次还是在大白天，从敞开的大门走进去的。他仍旧从安德雷娅·瓦隆的家门前经过，直到有一天看见浴室的灯熄着，便进去在她的床上粗野地尝试各种疯狂的举动，尽管这样做不过是为了让自己不失去爱的习惯，其依据是他的一个到那时为止尚未被证伪的迷信，即一个人只要坚持做爱，身体就会一直管用。
唯一的障碍是他与阿美利加·维库尼亚的关系。他继续让司机每星期六上午十点到寄宿学校去接她，但他不知道周末该拿她怎么办。他第一次没有亲自陪她，她对这一变化十分不悦。他将她托付给女佣，让她们带她去看下午场的电影，听儿童公园的露天音乐会，参加慈善抽奖；又或者为她安排好星期日的活动，让她和同学一起玩，为的就是不必再把她带进办公室后面那座隐秘的天堂——她第一次去过之后，就总想再去那里。他沉浸于对未来的崭新幻想之中，竟没有注意到，女人其实可以在三天内就变得成熟，而自从他到父亲港的机动帆船上把她接来，已经过去了整整三年。不管他如何想让这一变化进展温和，对她来说都是极其残忍的，而且她无法明白这其中的缘由。那天在冷饮店里，他告诉她真相，说自己就要结婚了，她霎时间被吓坏了，可随后又觉得这种可能性近乎荒谬，便又把它抛在脑后。然而，她很快看出来，他表现得就像真的一样，总是莫名其妙地支支吾吾、闪烁其词，就好像他不是比她大六十岁，而是比她小六十岁似的。
一个星期六的下午，弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨看见她在他的卧室里试着用打字机打字。她打得相当不错，因为在学校学过这门功课。她已经打了多半页纸，全都是不假思索自动打出来的，但时不时就很容易从某个词中瞧出她的心境来。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨弯下身子，趴在她肩上读着她写的话。他那男人的热气、断断续续的呼吸，以及衣服上散发出的和枕头上一样的香水味，使得她一阵慌乱。她已不再是那个初来乍到的小姑娘了。那时，他得一件一件地为她脱掉衣服，像哄骗婴儿似的哄她说：先脱掉小鞋子，给小熊穿，再把小衬衫脱下来给小狗穿，再把小花衬裤脱下来给小兔子穿，现在，亲亲爸爸香喷喷的小鸟。不，她如今已成了一个真真正正、地地道道的女人，喜欢享有主动权。她继续用右手的一个指头打字，左手却在摸索他的大腿，探寻着它，找到了它，感觉到它又复活了、生长了、急促地喘着气，他那老人的呼吸变得磕磕绊绊，艰难无比。她了解他：从这一刻起，他就会失去控制，抛开理智，屈服于她的意志，在一切结束之前，无法再找到回头的路。她拉着他的手，慢慢把他带到床上，就像牵着一个走在街上的可怜的盲人。她带着居心不良的温柔，一块块地把他肢解，按照她的喜好撒上盐、胡椒，再放上一瓣蒜、一片月桂叶，倒进切碎的洋葱和柠檬汁，在盘中腌至恰到好处，而炉子早已调到合适温度，一切都准备妥当。家中没有别人。女佣们出门了，负责修缮房子的泥瓦匠和木匠星期六不干活——整个世界都是他们两个人的。但在深渊的边缘，他竟步出了销魂的仙境，推开她的手，坐起身来，用颤抖的声音说：“小心，我们没有小橡胶套了。”
她仰面朝天地在床上躺了许久，一直在想。当她提前一小时返回寄宿学校时，已经完全不再有想哭的欲望了。她调整好嗅觉，磨尖了爪子，定要找出那只躲在背后搅乱她生活的狡兔的踪迹。而弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨再次犯了一个男人的错误：他以为她在自己的努力徒劳无功之后，已经决定忘记一切了。
他忙着自己的事情。六个月过去了，完全没有一点回音。他在床上辗转反侧，直到天明，迷失在一种新的失眠的荒漠之中。他想，费尔明娜·达萨一定由于那淡雅的信封打开了第一封信，也一定看到了那在往日的信中熟识的首字母，她一定是把它扔进了烧垃圾的火堆，甚至都不愿费事去撕碎它。此后的信，她也定是一看到信封便连拆也不拆地做出了同样处理，直到时间的尽头，而最终，他也文思枯竭，再写不出什么新鲜东西来了。他不相信这世上有女人能抵制住这样的好奇，对半年来每天收到的信是用什么颜色的墨水写的都不关心。但如果真有这样的女人，那也只可能是她。
弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨感到，暮年的岁月不是奔涌向前的激流，而是一个无底的地下水池，记忆从这里慢慢流走。他的智慧渐渐枯竭。在拉曼加的那座别墅周围转悠了几天之后，他意识到，用年轻时的手段终究难以敲开被葬礼封死的大门。一天早上，他在电话簿上寻找某个号码时，偶然找到了她的号码。他拨通了电话。铃声响了好几遍，终于，他听到并辨出她的声音，声音严肃而微弱：“喂？”他没有说话，挂上了话筒，那个虚无缥缈的声音感觉无限遥远，削弱了他的意志。
就在那几天前后，莱昂娜·卡西亚尼庆祝自己的生日，把为数不多的几个朋友邀请到她家。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨心不在焉，把鸡肉的酱汁洒在了身上。她把餐巾的一角在水杯中蘸湿，为他擦净衣服的翻领，接着又给他戴上围嘴，以免发生更糟糕的事故：这样一来，他简直就像一个老婴儿。她发现，用餐时他好几次把眼镜摘下来，用手帕擦拭，因为他的眼睛不停地流泪。喝咖啡时，他竟然手拿着杯子睡着了，她想不吵醒他，悄悄地把杯子接过来，可是他却惊醒了，尴尬地掩饰道：“我只是在休息眼睛。”莱昂娜·卡西亚尼上床睡觉时，吃惊地想着，他竟已老得这般明显。
胡维纳尔·乌尔比诺医生去世一周年时，他的家人送出请柬，邀请大家出席大教堂举行的纪念弥撒。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨此时仍没有收到任何回音。这促使他大胆决定，尽管没受到邀请，也要去参加弥撒。这是一次奢华多过伤感的社交活动。前几排的座位是终身及世袭的荣誉席位，椅背的铜牌上刻着主人的名字。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨是最早到达的客人之一，为的是能坐在一个费尔明娜·达萨必然会经过并且看见的位置上。他想，最佳位置应该是正殿，在那些保留座位的后面。但出席的人太多了，那里根本找不到空位子。于是，他不得不坐到了穷亲戚们所在的中殿。从那里，他看见费尔明娜·达萨挽着儿子的手臂走进来，穿着一袭黑色天鹅绒裙子，袖子长及手腕，没有佩戴任何首饰，一长排扣子从脖子直到脚尖，就像主教的长袍。她肩上搭着一块卡斯蒂利亚手工编织的窄披肩，而没有像其他寡妇，甚至许多渴望成为寡妇的女人那样头戴面纱帽。她那未施粉黛的脸颊发出一种雪花石膏般的光芒，柳叶形的眼睛在正殿巨大的吊灯下显现出特有的勃勃生机。她走路的时候，腰板是那样的笔直，神情是那样的高傲，姿态是那样的从容，看上去似乎还没有儿子年龄大。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨站在那里，用指尖撑着前排座椅的靠背，直到一阵眩晕的感觉过去，他感到自己和她不止七步之遥，而是处在两个不同的时空。
费尔明娜·达萨在几乎整个仪式期间都站在正对主祭台的家族座位那儿，像看歌剧一样神态优雅。但最后，她打破礼拜仪式的常规，没有按照当时的习惯在原地接受人们向她重表哀悼之情，而是走了出来，向每一位来宾表示谢意：这是一个革新举动，与她的为人十分相配。她逐一向大家问候，最终来到穷亲戚的座位跟前。然后，她又环视了一下四周，以确保没有漏掉一位相识的客人。这时，弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨感到有一股超自然的风将他从众人中推了出来：她看见了他。费尔明娜·达萨以她在社交场合一贯的敏捷自如离开陪伴在她身边的人，向他伸过手来，带着极为甜美的微笑对他说：“感谢您的到来。”
这是因为，她不仅仅收到了他的信，还以极大的兴趣读完了，并在其中发现了严肃而发人深省的理由让她活下去。收到第一封信时，她正坐在餐桌前，和女儿一起吃早餐。因为信是用打字机打的，她好奇地拆开了。认出签名的首字母时，她的脸一下子红得像烧着了一般。但她很快就恢复了自然的神态，将信收进围裙的口袋里，说：“是政府的吊唁信。”她的女儿很惊讶：“所有的吊唁信都已经到了呀。”她泰然自若：“这是另一封。”她本打算等过后女儿不再追问的时候将信烧掉，可最终还是没能抵制住先看上一眼的诱惑。她以为信中是对她那封辱骂信应有的回应，事实上，那封信她刚一送出去便后悔了。可是，从庄重的称谓和第一段的主题，她便明白世界已经发生了变化。她如此好奇，于是把自己关在卧室里，以便在烧掉之前能从容地读上一读。结果，她一口气读了三遍。
那是对人生、爱情、老年和死亡的思考：这些想法曾无数次像夜间的鸟儿一般扑扇着翅膀掠过她的头顶，可每当她想抓住它们时，它们就惊飞四散，只剩下散落的片片羽毛。而如今，它们就在这里，清晰明了，正如她自己原本想表达的那样。她又一次感到难过，丈夫已经不在了，无法再和他一起讨论这些，就像每晚睡前他们都会讨论这一天发生的事情一样。由此，她发现了一个陌生的弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨，他的真知灼见和他年轻时那些炽热的情书不相符，也和他一生阴郁的举止不相符。他的话更像是出自一个埃斯科拉斯蒂卡姑妈所认为的受到圣神启示的男人之口。这个想法又让她像第一次收到他的信时那样害怕起来。但无论如何，最令她安心的是，她确信这封由一个睿智老人所写的信并非试图重申葬礼那天的无礼言语，而是意在抹掉过去，可谓高尚之举。
接下来的那些信最终使她平静下来。但不管怎样，她还是在怀着越来越浓厚的兴趣读过之后，便把它们烧掉了，尽管随着信一封封地被烧掉，她的心底渐渐沉积下一种挥之不去的愧疚。于是，当她开始收到有编号的信时，她终于找到了一直期待的不毁掉这些信的道德依据。无论如何，她最初的意图并非是为自己保留它们，而是想等待机会将它们还给弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨，以免这些在她看来对人类如此有用的东西被白白扔掉。但糟糕的是，随着时间流逝，信件一如既往地到达，整整一年里每隔三四天便收到一封，她却不知道如何将它们归还，才能既不让他难堪，因为她已不想再如此，又无需写一封信前去解释，因为她的骄傲不会允许她这样做。
这最初的一年已足够她适应寡妇的生活。对丈夫的纯净回忆不再妨碍她的日常行动，不再妨碍她的内心思考，也不再妨碍她的一些最简单的意图了，而是变成一种时时注视着她的存在：指引她，但并不烦扰她。有时，她会看到他，并不是看到一个幽灵，而是一个有血有肉的人，出现在当真需要他的场合。确信他就在那里，她感到鼓舞。他还活着，但没有了男人的任性，没有了家长式的命令，也没有了那些令她精疲力竭的需求：时时要求她以他爱她的那些方式来爱他，比如不合时宜的亲吻，以及时时挂在嘴边的甜言蜜语。她比他活着的时候更加理解他了，理解他对爱的渴望，理解他迫切地需要在她身上找到足以支撑起他的社交生活的安全感，而事实上，这种安全感他从未得到过。曾有一天，她绝望之极，冲他喊道：“你就没有发现我一点也不幸福吗？”而他以他特有的姿势摘下眼镜，不温不火，用他那孩童般天真的眼睛中的一汪清水淹没了她，只说了一句话，就让她体会到他那令人难以忍受的智慧的全部分量：“你要永远记住，对于一对恩爱夫妻，最重要的不是幸福，而是稳定。”从守寡最初的寂寞时光开始，她便明白，这句话中隐藏的并不是她当初所认为的卑劣威胁，而是一块为两人带来过无数幸福时光的月亮宝石。
在多次周游世界的旅行中，费尔明娜·达萨买回所有因新奇而引起她注意的东西。她想要得到它们都是因为一时的冲动，但丈夫却乐于为她的冲动找出合适的理由。这些东西摆在它们原来的环境中，都是美丽且有用的，比如在罗马、巴黎、伦敦的玻璃橱窗里，或是在正因查尔斯顿舞而抖动不止、一座座摩天大楼拔地而起的纽约的橱窗里。然而，它们经不起施特劳斯的圆舞曲、煎猪皮，以及在四十度的高温下找个阴凉处举行节日庆典的考验。她每次回来都带着五六个巨大的立式箱子，由上过漆的金属制成，锁和包角都是铜的，就像神话故事中的棺材。带回来的东西让她成为世界最新奇迹的代言人，可实际上，除了他们本地的圈中人看见这些东西的第一瞬间，其余时候，它们根本不值那高昂的价格。不过，它们本来也就是为了让别人看见一次才买的。她在步人老年之前很久，就已经意识到自己的公众形象不过是虚荣，因而常常能听见她在家里说：“得弄走这些破烂才行，都没有住的地方了。”乌尔比诺医生嘲笑她的这种想法徒劳无益，因为他知道，腾出的地方只会被重新填满。但是她坚持要这样做，因为多一件东西确实也放不下了，更何况所有地方没有一件东西是真正能派上点用场的，比如挂在门把手上的那些衬衫，还有压了又压才塞进厨房柜子的欧洲冬衣。于是，一天早晨，她情绪高涨地爬起床来，翻箱倒柜，把阁楼翻了个底朝天，发动了一场战争般的扫荡，清理了一堆堆过时已久的衣服、一顶顶在流行时都没有机会戴的帽子，以及欧洲设计师们依据女王们加冕时穿的式样设计的鞋子一它们在本地被那些门第高贵的小姐们鄙视，因为款式和黑女人从市场上买回来的居家便鞋一模一样。整个早上，内阳台一直处于一片忙乱之中，樟脑球散发出的一阵阵刺鼻气味让家里的人呼吸困难。但几小时后，家中又恢复了平静，因为她最终心软了，那么多的丝绸衣物被扔在地上，那么多的锦缎、废弃的金银丝带、蓝狐尾，竟通通要被扔进火堆。
“烧掉这些东西真是罪过，”她说，“还有那么多人连饭都吃不上呢。”
就这样，焚烧活动被推迟了，而且是无限期地推迟。东西不过是换了个地方，从特权的位置挪到已变成废旧物品仓库的旧马厩里，而腾出来的空间，正如他所言，又重新被塞进新的东西，满得几乎要溢出来。这些东西都只为一刻而活，注定要死在衣橱里，直到下—次清理焚烧。她说：“真该发明个办法，好处理那些既派不上用场又不能扔掉的东西。”正是如此：物品的贪婪使费尔明娜·达萨害怕，它们逐渐侵占着空间，代替了人，把人挤到角落里去生活，直到她把它们放进看不见的地方去。她不像别人想象的那样有条理，但她有自己的办法，一个绝望中的办法：把混乱的东西藏起来。在胡维纳尔·乌尔比诺去世那天，大家不得不腾出半间书房，把东西都堆到卧室里去，以便有个地方为他守灵。
死神的来访使问题得到了解决。在烧掉了丈夫的衣服后，费尔明娜·达萨发现自己的手并没有颤抖。于是，她以同样的动力继续每隔一段时间就点起火堆，把所有的东西都丢进去，不管是新的还是旧的，也不顾忌富人的忌妒和饿得要死的穷人的报复。最后，她让人把芒果树连根砍倒，让这场不幸彻底不留一点痕迹，又将活着的鹦鹉赠给了新建的城市博物馆。直到这时，她才得以在这个家里畅快地呼吸，像她一直梦想的那样：一个宽敞、自由、只属于她的家。
女儿奥菲利娅陪伴她三个月后就回新奥尔良去了。儿子每星期日都带着家人过来吃午餐，其他日子，只要有可能也会来。服丧期一过，费尔明娜·达萨最亲近的女友们便开始来看望她，面对着光秃秃的院子玩牌，试验新菜谱，还把她缺席的这些日子里这个依旧运转的贪婪世界里的种种秘闻讲给她听，以让她跟上潮流。最常来的女友之一是卢克雷西娅·德尔雷亚尔·德尔奥比斯波，一个老派贵族，费尔明娜·达萨一直和她很要好，自从胡维纳尔·乌尔比诺死后，她和她更加亲近。被关节炎折磨得身体僵硬并对自己昔日的放荡生活感到懊悔的卢克雷西娅·德尔雷亚尔不仅是她最好的女伴，还常常会向她询问城中正在酝酿什么爱国举动或世俗活动。这让她感到自己还是有用的，而不是仅仅倚仗着丈夫的保护伞。然而，人们从来没有像现在这样把她同丈夫视为一体，大家不再像以前那样叫她做姑娘时的名字，而是开始称呼她乌尔比诺的寡妇。
这让她无法理解。但随着丈夫去世一周年的临近，费尔明娜·达萨觉得自己渐渐进人一种阴凉、清爽、安静的环境之中：无法避免的必然之境。但她还不十分清楚，之后的很多个月里她也没有意识到，弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨笔下的见解对她重获精神的平静起到了多大的作用。她将他的思考付诸实践，这才渐渐懂得了自己的生活，平静地等待着暮年的种种安排。周年弥撒上的相遇是上天赐予的一次机会，她借此让弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨明白，多亏了他那些令人鼓舞的信，她也正准备忘掉过去。
两天以后，她收到一封他寄来的与往日截然不同的信，是手写的，用的是一张亚麻纸，信封背面清晰地署了寄信人的全名。和早年的那些信一样，同样的花体字，同样的情真意切，但内容就只有一段简短的感激之言，感谢费尔明娜·达萨在大教堂里对他与众不同的问候。读过之后的好几天里，费尔明娜·达萨都怀着一种躁动不断地想起这封信。她胸怀坦荡，于是，在接下来的那个星期四，她突兀地问起卢克雷西娅·德尔雷亚尔·德尔奥比斯波，问她是否凑巧认识弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨，内河航运公司的老板。卢克雷西娅回答说认识：“好像是个放荡的魔鬼。”她重复了那个流行的说法，说他从不结识女人，但为人很大方，还说他有一间秘密办公室，专为把夜晚在码头上弄到手的男孩带去。费尔明娜·达萨几乎自打有记忆以来就听到这种传言，她从来不信，也不放在心上。但她听到也曾一度被认为有些怪异嗜好的卢克雷西娅·德尔雷亚尔·德尔奥比斯波也言之凿凿地说起此事时，忍不住要即刻把事情解释清楚。她告诉她，自己从小就认识弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨。她还说，记得他的母亲在窗户街有一家杂货铺，除此之外，还在内战时期收购旧衬衫和床单，拆开后当作急救药棉出售。最后，她十分肯定地得出结论：“他是个正经人，全凭双手养活自己。”见她说得如此激动，卢克雷西娅收回了自己的话：“说到底，别人也是这样说我的。”费尔明娜·达萨并没有好奇地自问，为何她会如此热切地维护一个不过是她生活中的影子的男人。她继续想着他，特别是当邮差到来却没有带来他的新信时。就这样，无声无息地过了两个星期，直到这天，一个女佣用慌张的口吻小声地在她耳边把她从午睡中叫醒。
“夫人，”女佣对她说，“弗洛伦蒂诺先生来了。”他真的来了。费尔明娜·达萨的第一反应是惊慌。她甚至想，不行，让他改日找个合适的时间再来吧，她现在无法接待来访，而且也没有什么可谈的。但她马上镇定下来，吩咐女佣把他带到客厅，给他送上一杯咖啡，她收拾好就去见他。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨等在临街的大门前，在下午三点地狱般的烈日下炙烤着自己，但自信十足。他已做好被拒绝的准备，尽管她的借口很可能是和善的。确信了这一点反倒使他非常平静。但她传来的口信之坚决让他颤至骨髓。走进阴凉的客厅中时，他根本没时间去思考自己正在经历的这一奇迹，因为他的腹部突然胀起来，像要爆炸一般，充满了疼痛的气泡。他屏住呼吸坐下来，被该死的回忆纠缠着，想起他的第一封情书落上鸟粪的情景。他一动不动地坐在阴凉处，第一阵寒战过去之后，他决心在此时接受任何不幸，只要不让那件不公平的倒霉事重演就行。他非常了解自己：虽然患有先天性便秘，但这么多年来，肚子还是有三四次当众背叛了他，而每一次他都不得不投降。只有在那几次，以及另外几次紧急情况中，他才发现自己开玩笑时常说的一句话千真万确：“我不信上帝，但我怕上帝。”他来不及去怀疑，试图找出任何一句所能记得的祈祷词来祷告，却一句也找不到。小时候，另一个小孩曾教过他一句用石头打鸟儿的神奇咒语：“打中，打中，若打不中，就把你变。”他第一次上山时，用一把新弹弓试验了这句咒语，鸟儿果然被击中，掉下来死了。他迷茫地想，一件事和另一件事之间总有些关联，便带着祈祷的热情重复了这句咒语，但没有产生同样的效果。肠子像根螺旋轴似的绞动着，使得他从椅子上站了起来，肚子里的气泡越来越密，越来越疼，最后发出了一声呻吟，他则出了一身冷汗。给他送咖啡的女仆看见他死人般的脸色，吓了一跳。他叹了一口气：“是因为热。”她打开窗，以为这样会使他满意，可下午的太阳正好照到他脸上，她不得不又把窗户关上。他心里明白，再多一分钟自己也忍不了了。正在此时，费尔明娜·达萨出现了，她的身影在阴暗之中几乎看不清楚。看到他这副样子，她也吓坏了。“您可以脱掉外套。”她对他说。
比起要命的绞痛，若是让她听见自己肚子里叽里咕噜的声音，他会更加痛苦。他尽全力要多忍片刻，说了一声“不”，并说自己此次前来是为了问她何时能接受他的拜访。她站在那儿，困惑地说：“可您已经在这里了呀。”她请他随她到院子里的露台上去，那里会凉快些。他拒绝了，声音在她听来更像一声遗憾的叹息。
“我恳求您，明天吧。”
她想起明天是星期四，是卢克雷西娅·德尔雷亚尔·德尔奥比斯波定时来访的日子，但她还是给了他一个不容申辩的解决办法：“后天下午五点。”弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨向她表示了感谢，拿着帽子匆忙地做了一个告别的姿势，一口咖啡也没喝就走了。她困惑地站在大厅中央，不明白刚才到底发生了什么事，直到汽车的声音消失在街道尽头。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨在车后座上找了个可以减轻疼痛的姿势，闭上双眼，放松肌肉，让自己屈从于身体的意愿。他仿佛得到了重生。司机为他开了那么多年车，早已见怪不怪，对此泰然处之。但在家门口为他打开车门时，司机对他说：“您要当心啊，弗洛伦先生，这可有点像霍乱。”
幸好，这不过是老毛病。星期五下午五点整，当女仆领他穿过阴凉的客厅，来到院子里的露台上时，弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨为此感谢了上帝。在那里，他见到了费尔明娜·达萨，她正坐在为两人准备好的小桌前。她问他要茶、巧克力，还是咖啡。弗洛伦蒂诺·阿里萨要了咖啡，那种很热很浓的咖啡，她则吩咐女仆说：“我还是老样子。”所谓老样子，就是好几种东方茶叶混合在一起的茶，可以在午睡后为她提神。她喝完一壶茶的时候，