A third clown slipped out of the circle. One pillow was tied to the back of his breechclout and another was strapped to his belly. A fur mustache was stuck to his lip, gold stars were pasted on his shoulders, and on his head he wore an Army officer’s cap with a paper star. Ponderously he walked clockwise to the dancers, so that they passed in review for him. When he added a twitch to the pillow on his ass, the impersonation of General Groves was complete. The other clowns bowed and salaamed. Anna laughed, but Oppy looked pained.

A Buick four-door drew up in front of the mission. Fuchs was at the wheel and Augustino was with him. Cars weren’t allowed that close. When a tribal policeman went to the car and waved it to move on, a rear window rolled down and Joe saw the Indian Service rider called Al. The car stayed.

The clown in sunglasses produced a small firecracker. Another clown took it, another blessed it and a fourth put the firecracker on the ground and pretended to light it while the clown-Groves raised binoculars to his circled eyes to watch. All the other clowns except the one in sunglasses put their fingers to their ears.

Nothing.

A second match was tried. A third. A fourth.

A dud.

One after another, clowns inspected the firecracker and passed it on until it was with the clown-Groves, who studied it through his binoculars and gave it to the clown in sunglasses, who turned and presented it to Oppy. The crowd closed in to see. The dancers had never stopped and the singers hadn’t ceased their chant, but their eyes were on Oppy too. Joe had never seen Oppy blush before. The clown in the sunglasses got on his knees and begged.

“Go ahead, Oppy!” Foote shouted. “Be a sport!”

In the car, Augustino pointed to the clown in glasses.

Anna handed Oppy a cigarette lighter. The other clowns fell to their knees to plead. Oppy rescued a smile, lit the fuse and threw the firecracker into the air, where it exploded with a puff and a bang.

Whether the firecracker happened to come at the end of the morning dance or was the signal for it to stop, the circle of dancers abruptly broke and dispersed for lunch. The clowns went off single file, holding on to the long black tails of one another’s breechclouts, through an alley on the north side of the plaza and out of bounds to tourists.

Fuchs’ Buick was gone.

“You should be proud,” Jaworski said and shook Oppy’s hand. “They’re dancing for our victory and success.”

“Wasn’t there some element of menace?” Teller suggested.

“Nonsense,” Foote said. “Oppy, you played your part beautifully, even modestly.”

Oppy returned Anna’s lighter. “Anna, I have to leave.”

“I’ll stay. They’re more alive than you said.”