Input: Jiangnan Xiaoxiao Sheng
The reason why it is called “Fragments of One Hundred Years of Solitude” is precisely because the article itself is a part of the excerpts of the masterpiece “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, so I have no intention of stealing it as an already existing, and presenting it here, but only to let netizens take a look at the masterpiece, the erotic portrayal of how to carry out the portrayal of the parties involved in the psychological portrayal of how meticulous and nuanced.
The article is about a nephew and his aunt… If you feel that the background of the story is not clear enough to understand, then you’d better go to the original and take a closer look… It’s not something that can be explained in a few words here… After all, it’s a magical and realistic masterpiece. At the same time, I would also like to see more exquisite sketches, mellifluous middle-grade stories, and magnificent masterpieces in Yuan Yuan…
Amaranta sat in a rattan rocker, resting the work in her hands on her knees, and staring at Aureliano. Hosse, his chin covered with soap bubbles, was sharpening his razor on a strip of leather, shaving for the first time in his life. The acne on his face was shaved with blood, and he was trying to trim the fine yellowish hairs on his upper lip into the shape of a moustache, but no matter how much he trimmed them, the fuzzy hairs on his lips remained the same, but the laborious shaving made Amaranta feel that she was beginning to age at this very moment.
“Aureliano was exactly the same as you are now when he was your age.” She said, “You’re already an adult.”
In fact, he had long since become an adult. It was one day, long ago, when Amaranta treated him as if he were a child, as she always did, and undressed and bathed him in front of him, as she had always done, ever since Pilar Tenera had given him to her to raise. She had always done so, ever since Pilar Tenella had given him to her to raise. Aureliano Hosse was naïve. Hosse, who was very naive, when he first saw the indentation between her breasts, asked her what was the matter, and Amaranta pretended to pick at them with her fingers, saying, “It is a big, big, big, big lump to be gouged out like this.” Later, when she had recovered from the suicide of Pietro Crespi, she was told that she had been killed. Later, when she recovered from Pietro Crespi’s suicide, she took Aureliano Hosse to the bath. Later, when she recovered from Pietro Crespi’s suicide and took Aureliano Hosse to the bath, it was no longer the dimples between the breasts that caught his attention.
He looked at the bulbous breasts with their purplish nipples and an inexplicable shudder ran through him.
Little by little he looked down, slowly discovering the secrets of her body, so he felt the sweaty hairs on his skin like they were standing on end, just like they did when her skin touched the water.
From a very young age he had been in the habit of climbing out of his hammock at night and going to sleep in Amaranta’s bed, where he could drive away his fear of the darkness just by being next to her. But from the day he had become interested in Amaranta’s nakedness, it was no longer the fear of the darkness, but the desire to feel her warm breath at dawn that drove him into his aunt’s tent.
One morning, when she had refused the advances of Colonel Herinetto Marrakos. Aureliano Hosse woke up with a sensation of relief, that Amaranta’s fingers were like hot worms eagerly seeking him. Hosse woke up with a sensation of being out of breath, and it turned out that Amaranta’s fingers were like hot worms, eagerly searching for his penis.
Pretending to be asleep, he rolled over and changed his position so that she had no difficulty touching it. So he felt out the unbandaged hand like a blindly charging mollusk swimming back amongst the algae it had longed for. Though the two feigned ignorance of what they knew and didn’t know about each other, from that night on they were linked by this airtight complicity.
Aureliano Hosse could not sleep until the hall clock struck twelve. Hosse could not sleep until the hall clock struck twelve, and the old girl could not be still for a moment until he was in her tent. Her skin had begun to wrinkle with sadness, but she did not realize that the nocturnal wanderer she had raised had become a balm for her loneliness. Not only did the two of them sleep together, but they chased each other around the house, and no matter what time of day it was, the two of them would be locked in their room, excited without a moment’s pause.
One afternoon, the two of them almost caught Sewula in the act, and they were about to kiss when she walked into the barn. “You love your aunt very much?” Ursula asked Aureliano Hosse, without malice. Hosse. He replied in the affirmative. “You did the right thing.” Ursula said at the end as she estimated that she had taken the flour for the bread and returned to the kitchen.
This episode awoke Amaranta from her infatuation. She realized that she had gone too far, that she was no longer kissing and teasing a child, that she was playing in the waters of a twilight, dangerous and hopeless lust, and cut off the illicit idea at once. At that time, Aureliano Hosse was about to finish his military training. Hosse was about to finish his military training, and he accepted this reality and went to sleep in the barracks…
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…. Since he came home, she had always bolted the door to her room every night, but many days had passed, and every night she had heard the snoring in the next room so peaceful that she had paid little attention to such a prudent act as bolting the door.
At that time Aureliano Hosse had been back for almost two months. Hosse had been back for almost two months, and one night in the middle of the night, Amaranta realized that he had come into the room.
But instead of fleeing or screaming, as she had been prepared to do, she indulged in a feeling of relief and tenderness. She found him entering the tent, as he had done when he was a child, as he had always done in the past.
She couldn’t help but break out in a cold sweat, her teeth chattering. “Go!” She muttered, so strangely inside that she could hardly catch her breath bare. “Go away, or I shall call out.” But Aureliano K. Hosse knew what he had to do by this time; he was no longer a child afraid of the darkness, but an old horse that had been in the field for a long time.
From that night on, this fruitless and silent battle began again, and was to be fought until dawn.
“I am your aunt,” said Amaranta, exhausted and expectant, “and may simply be said to be your mother, and that not only in terms of age, but you are just short of my milk.” Aureliano always fled at dawn, and returned the next night, and when he realized that Amaranta had not bolted the door, he became even more enraged ┅┅┅┅
…in the darkness of the room, but she was hotter and more provocative than ever, and more provocative in her offensive defiance than she had ever been in the past. “You’re a bad man,” Amaranta said, cornered by her own hounds, “I’ve never heard of such things with an aunt before getting a papal license.” Aureliano Hosse promised to go to Rome. Hosse promised to go to Rome for sure, promised to go knee-deep in Europe to kiss the Pope’s slippers, if only she would let go of the drawbridge over which she hung.
“Not only for that,” Amaranta snaps, “but also because the son born will have a pig’s tail.” Aureliano Hosse was deaf to this. Hosse was deaf to his pleas, “It doesn’t matter if you give birth to a pangolin,” he begged…
A hundred years later…
At 4:30 p.m., Amaranta B. Amaranta Ursula came out of the bathroom. Aureliano saw that she was dressed in a little pleated bathrobe, with a towel tied around her head as a head-wrap. He followed her into the new room, staggering like a drunk, almost on his toes. Amaranta had just unzipped her bathrobe, and was so startled to see him enter that she hurriedly closed it again. She pointed silently to the next room, whose door was half-open, and where Aureliano knew Gaston had begun to write a letter.
“Come on.” She said, her voice too thin to hear.
Aureliano smiled. He crossed his arms around her waist and lifted her up like a pot of begonias and threw her on her back on the bed. Amaranta protected herself with all the tact of a wise woman.
Her smooth, soft, perfumed possum-like body dodged and dodged and dodged and dodged, all the while tiring him with her knees against his waist and scratching his face with her nails. But neither he nor Good gasped for breath, and their breathing, to the ears of an onlooker, was mistaken for the sighs of someone facing a cavernous window and admiring the view of April’s solemn twilight.
It was a brutal struggle, a vicious battle to the death, and yet there seemed to be no violence. For in this struggle the attack was wayward, the dodging false and slow, cautious and heterogeneous, so that in the intervals of the struggle there was ample time for the petunias to reopen and for Gaston to forget his fantasies of being a pilot in the next room.
At that moment the two were like two hostile lovers reconciled in the clear bottom of a pool. In the midst of the fierce and polite sounds of the struggle, it occurred to Amaranta how unconscionable it was that she should be so careful not to make a sound, which was more likely to arouse the suspicion of her husband, who was in the next room, than the snapping sound of the fight which she was trying to avoid, and so she began to pursed her lips and smiled, but held on to the fight.
She feigned tearing in self-defense, her body swaying less and less. Eventually both felt that they were both rivals and accomplices. The fight had degenerated into regular heckling, and the offense turned into petting.
Suddenly, almost farcically, like a new prank, Amaranta relaxed her self-defense, and when she was surprised by what she had caused and tried to react, it was too late. An extraordinary jolt subdued her in place, immobilizing her. The will to resist was crushed by an irresistible longing.
She longed to discover just what the orange shrill and the unseen balloon that awaited her on the other side of death was. She only had time to reach out and haphazardly feel for a towel, stuff it into her mouth and hold it in her teeth so that the cries of the mare’s cat that was tearing apart her innards wouldn’t come out of her mouth ┅┅┅┅
…ever since the afternoon when Aureliano and Amaranta had their first affair, they’d taken advantage of her husband Gaston’s rare absences to fall in love with each other, quietly and passionately, in fearful encounters, which were often interrupted by her husband’s sudden return home…
Gaston went back to Brussels.
…they reclosed the doors and windows to avoid the time-consuming process of undressing. They walked around the house naked, as the pretty Remedios had always wanted to do, and rolled around naked in the mud of the garden. One afternoon, they fell in love in the pool and almost drowned…
They tore the mattresses apart, dumped the cotton on the floor, and had so much fun in this storm of cotton that they were almost suffocating…
They get tired of playing together and seek new pleasures in the midst of boredom. They found that there were unexplored places in the monotony of love that were more interesting than lust. They began to worship the body. One night the two of them, coated from head to toe in peach syrup, lay on the floor of the hallway, licking each other like dogs, madly in love. They were awakened by a swarm of flesh-eating ants ready to eat them alive…
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Entered on 2000.08.31 Tired!