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Aureliano, had never been more lucid in any act of his life as when he forgot about his dead ones and the pain of his dead ones and nailed up the doors and windows again with Fernanda’s crossed boards so as not to be disturbed by any temptations of the world, for he knew then that his fate was written in Melquíades?parchments. He found them intact among the prehistoric plants and steaming puddles and luminous insects that had removed all trace of man’s passage on earth from the room, and he did not have the calmness to bring them out into the light, but right there, standing, without the slightest difficulty, as if they had been written in Spanish and were being read under the dazzling splendor of high noon, he began to decipher them aloud. It was the history of the family, written by Melquíades, down to the most trivial details, one hundred years ahead of time. He had written it in Sanskrit, which was his mother tongue, and he had encoded the even lines in the private cipher of the Emperor Augustus and the odd ones in a Lacedemonian military code. The final protection, which Aureliano had begun to glimpse when he let himself be confused by the love of Amaranta ?rsula, was based on the fact that Melquíades had not put events in the order of man’s conventional time, but had concentrated a century of daily episodes in such a way that they coexisted in one instant. Fascinated by the discovery, Aureliano, read aloud without skipping the chanted encyclicals that Melquíades himself had made Arcadio listen to and that were in reality the prediction of his execution, and he found the announcement of the birth of the most beautiful woman in the world who was rising up to heaven in body and soul, and he found the origin of the posthumous twins who gave up deciphering the parchments, not simply through incapacity and lack of drive, but also because their attempts were premature. At that point, impatient to know his own origin, Aureliano skipped ahead. Then the wind began, warm, incipient, full of voices from the past, the murmurs of ancient geraniums, sighs of disenchantment that preceded the most tenacious nostalgia.
He did not notice it because at that moment he was discovering the first indications of his own being in a lascivious grandfather who let himself be frivolously dragged along across a hallucinated plateau in search of a beautiful woman who would not make him happy. Aureliano recognized him, he pursued the hidden paths of his descent, and he found the instant of his own conception among the scorpions and the yellow butterflies in a sunset bathroom where a mechanic satisfied his lust on a woman who was giving herself out of rebellion. He was so absorbed that he did not feel the second surge of wind either as its cyclonic strength tore the doors and windows off their hinges, pulled off the roof of the east wing, and uprooted the foundations. Only then did he discover that Amaranta ?rsula was not his sister but his aunt, and that Sir Francis Drake had attacked Riohacha only so that they could seek each other through the most intricate labyrinths of blood until they would engender the mythological animal that wasto bring the line to an end. Macondo was already a fearful whirlwind of dust and rubble being spun about by the wrath of the biblical hurricane when Aureliano skipped eleven pages so as not to lose time with facts he knew only too well, and he began to decipher the instant that he was living, deciphering it as he lived it, prophesying himself in the act of deciphering the last page of the parchments, as if he were looking into a speaking mirror. Then he skipped again to anticipate the predictions and ascertain the date and circumstances of his death. Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude didnot have a second opportunity on earth.
在自己的一生中，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚的行为从来不象这天早晨如此理智：他忘记了死去的亲人，忘记了对死者的悲痛，重新把菲兰达的那些木十字架钉在所有的门窗上，不让人世间的任何一种诱惑扰乱他。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚已经知道，梅尔加德斯的羊皮纸手稿也指明了他的命运；在远古的植物、冒气的水塘以及光闪闪的昆虫（这些昆虫消灭了菲兰达房间里人的足迹）中间，他找到了这些依然完整无损的羊皮纸手稿；他无法克制自己迫不及待的心情，还没把它们拿到光亮的地方，就仁立在那儿嘀嘀咕咕地破译起来——他没有碰到任何困难，仿佛这些手稿是用西班牙文写的，仿佛他是在晌午令人目眩的阳光下阅读的。这是布恩蒂亚的一部家族史，在这部家族史中，梅尔加德斯对这个家族里的事件提前一百年作了预言，并且陈述了一切最平常的细节。梅尔加德斯先用他本族的文字——梵文——记下这个家族的历史，然后把这些梵文译成密码诗，诗的偶数行列用的是奥古斯都皇帝（奥古斯都（公元前63年——公元14年），罗马第一位皇帝。）的私人密码，奇数行列用的是古斯巴达的军用密码。至于梅尔加德斯采取的最后一个防范措施，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚早在自己迷恋阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜的时候就已经开始思索了，那就是老头儿并没有按照人们一般采用的时间顺序来排列事件，而是把整整一个世纪里每一天的事情集中在一起，让它们同时存在于一瞬之间。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚对这个发现入了迷，一口气地读完了改成乐谱的“教皇通谕”——这些通谕是梅尔加德斯从前打算念给阿卡蒂奥听的，实际上是预言阿卡蒂奥将被处死；接着，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚发现了世上最美的一个女人诞生的预言，她的躯体和灵魂都将升天；然后，奥雷连诺。 布恩蒂亚还查明了一对孪生兄弟的诞生，他们是在自己的父亲死后出世的，他们未能破译羊皮纸手稿，不仅是由于他们缺乏能力和韧劲，也是因为他们的尝试为时过早。读到这儿，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚急于想知道自己的出身，不由得把羊皮纸手稿翻过去几页。刹那间吹来一阵微风，在这刚刚开始的微风中，夹杂着往日的声响——老天竺葵发出的沙沙声和顽固的怀旧病之前失望的叹息声。.
奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚没有觉察到这阵微风，因为此刻他正好在他那好色的祖父身上发现了自己出身的初步迹象，这个祖父曾经轻率地闯到海市蜃楼的一片沙漠中去找一个不会使他幸福的美女，查明自己的祖父以后，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚继续顺着本族血统的神秘小径寻去，突然碰上了小蝎子和黄蝴蝶在半明不暗的浴室里刹那间交配的情景，就在这间浴空里，一个女人开头是一种抗拒心情，后来向一个工人屈服了，满足了他的情欲。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚全神贯注地探究，没有发觉第二阵凤——强烈的飓风已经刮来，飓风把门窗从铰链上吹落下来：掀掉了东面长廊的屋顶，甚至撼动了房子的地基。此刻，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚发现阿玛兰塔，乌苏娜并不是他的姐姐，而是他的姑姑，而且发现弗兰西斯·德拉克爵士围攻列奥阿察，只是为了搅乱这里的家族血统关系，直到这里的家族生出神话中的怪物，这个怪物注定要使这个家族彻底毁灭。此时，《圣经》所说的那种飓风变成了猛烈的龙卷风，扬起了尘土和垃圾，团团围住了马孔多。为了避免把时间花在他所熟悉的事情上，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚赶紧把羊皮纸手稿翻过十一页，开始破译和他本人有大的几首诗，就象望着一面会讲话的镜子似的，他预见到了自己的命运，他又跳过了几页羊皮纸手稿，竭力想往前弄清楚自己的死亡日期和死亡情况。可是还没有译到最后一行，他就明白自己已经不能跨出房间一步了，因为按照羊皮纸手稿的预言，就在奥雷连诺。 布恩蒂亚译完羊皮纸手稿的最后瞬刻间，马孔多这个镜子似的（或者蜃景似的）城镇，将被飓风从地面上一扫而光，将从人们的记忆中彻底抹掉，羊皮纸手稿所记载的一切将永远不会重现，遭受百年孤独的家族，往定不会在大地上第二次出现了。
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