September 18, 2006

do you believe in magic?

The gypsy wrapped him in the frightful climate of his look before he turned into a puddle of pestilential and smoking pitch over which the echo of his reply still floated: "Melquíades is dead." Upset by the news, José Arcadio Buendía stood motionless, trying to rise above his affliction, until the group dispersed, called away by other artifices, and the puddle of the taciturn Armenian evaporated completely. Other gypsies confirmed later on that Melquíades had in fact succumbed to the fever on the beach at Singapore and that his body had been thrown into the deepest part of the Java Sea. The children had no interest in the news. They insisted that their father take them to see the overwhelming novelty of the sages of Memphis that was being advertised at the entrance of a tent that, according to what was said, had belonged to King Solomon. They insisted so much that José Arcadio Buendía paid the thirty reales and led them into the center of the tent, where there was a giant with a hairy torso and a shaved head, with a copper ring in his nose and a heavy iron chain on his ankle, watching over a pirate chest. When it was opened by the giant, the chest gave off a glacial exhalation. Inside there was only an enormous, transparent block with infinite internal needles in which the light of the sunset was broken up into colored stars. Disconcerted, knowing that the children were waiting for an immediate explanation, José Arcadio Buendía ventured a murmur: "It's the largest diamond in the world."

"No," the gypsy countered. "It's ice."

José Arcadio Buendía, without understanding, stretched out his hand toward the cake, but the giant moved it away. 'Five reales more to touch it,' he said. José Arcadio Buendía paid them and put his hand on the ice and held it there for several minutes as his heart filled with fear and jubilation at the contact with mystery. Without knowing what to say, he paid ten reales more so that his sons could have that prodigious experience. Little José Arcadio refused to touch it. Aureliano, on the other hand, took a step forward and put his hand on it, withdrawing it immediately. 'It's boiling,' he exclaimed, startled. But his father paid no attention to him. Intoxicated by the evidence of the miracle, he forgot at that moment about the frustration of his delirious undertakings and Melquíades' body, abandoned to the appetite of the squids. He paid another five reales and with his hand on the cake, as if giving testimony on the holy scriptures, he exclaimed:

"This is the great invention of our time."

One Hundred Years of Solitude
Gabriel García Márquez

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Isn't this extraordinary? José Arcadio Buendía detaches himself from his worldly obligations and inherent responsibility as father and provider at the sight of an object which brings him an unimaginable hope; the beauty and simplicity he has always desired fuse to provide him with a glimpse of what he has always deemed unreachable with regards to himself.

And that is what some of us are like: wandering shadows slipping through the portals of time and indecision, without the discernment of what we need and what we want, and upon seeing something better, more beautiful, more unreachable than we are, we blindly pursue after it, completely oblivious to the goals, commitment and dreams we have painstakingly built up over the years.

Yet, the material fades away, albeit after a long time, but it does. In our impatience to see the eternal come to pass, we forget that the invisible is immaterial, and cannot, will not, and refuses to be judged and measured by the standards of the material.

And that makes what we already have, and hope for, all the more precious.

Helen Keller once said, "The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision."

How true.

Márquez. Magic Realism.

Fascinating.
gid posted at 17:35