remedios the ugly

Nov 24 2012

remedios read One Hundred Years Of Solitude because she had heard a number of times that it contained a character sharing her name. she liked the idea of sharing a name with a character in a book. perhaps this other remedios would be something like her and they would share some sort of affinity despite the fictionality of the other remedios. these things can be imagined.

when she first opened the book remedios discovered a family tree on one of the first pages before the novel even properly began describing the relationships of the characters through the generations, and she located the figure she had been interested in. she noticed that the character was in actuality not called remedios like she was, but rather Remedios The Beauty. that seemed like a completely different name to hers. even if she read the book, and discovered that Remedios The Beauty was referred to simply as Remedios within the pages of the actual narrative, she would never be able to forget that it was so far possible to define that figure as A Beauty that it had been etched in a diagram that had been presented to her as a reader before she had even encountered that character. and the graphic fact of the diagram appeared to endow the appellation with an official scientific sort of weight.

remedios herself was not A Beauty, but was hideous and revolting. she was remedios the ugly. everyone knew it and none could deny it. children especially who cried or pointed or ran away when they saw her as though she were some sort of archetypal storybook monstrosity. she had been born that way and she had never known what it was to be Beautiful. her features appeared to have been partially dismantled by a number of miscellaneous simple mechanical tools and her skin possessed all the fascinations of latex rubber. there was nothing that could be achieved by hair or nail alterations because in any case those culturally venerated fibres and integuments continually spontaneously detached themselves from her body. it hurt her deeply that anyone at all had dared to mention to her the existence of a character, enshrined in immortal literary fiction, named Remedios The Beauty. informing her of this matter seemed a deliberate act of cruelty. or perhaps the communication was intended as an implicit suggestion that appearances are mere vanity? remedios had a heart and mind that told her that this could not be so, and yet she felt it might be fun to pretend, so she determined to read the novel.

remedios did not like the book very much at first, but she found herself captivated by certain features of it, and before long she realised that she was obsessed by it. it seemed to go on and on, not like other long books she had read, but on and on like the long long penis of José Aureliano (II), so long that it might almost begin again. its end must be generative, it must begin again. she was mesmerised by its continual disintegration and proliferation. and particularly by the compromisingly ripe gorgeously fatal odor of Remedios The Beauty who seemed to her to be the center of all things. she read it over and over again and again and its pages became encrusted with the filth of her fingers like as though they were dirty soiled bedclothes. remedios herself developed a powerful, intoxicating body odor, that hung around her in an unshakeable fug, and lured to her men and women alike, who turned and fled at the sight of her appearance. but it didnt really matter.

the hundredth time remedios finished reading it she suddenly felt very light just like Remedios. although she was not really thinking about that anymore but she felt her feet leave the ground. but she was not really thinking about that either because she was looking to Heaven. One Hundred Years Of Solitude was still between her fingers but she was not really thinking about it anymore as she was ascending to Heaven.

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