“All right, it wasn’t out of gratitude but out of convenience, as always. Teresa wanted to go back to her husband and he met her with a club. According to him, Teresa was guilty of killing his daughter. He wanted to punish her. She was afraid she’d be killed and took refuge in the big house. When we came back to Ciudad Real, Teresa came with us. She went from being a wet nurse to being a porter. The idea was not to separate her from Idolina, whom she had grown very fond of.”

“She showed it when Idolina was sick.”

“That was later. I’ve never been in favor of having children grow up tied to an Indian woman’s tzec. They teach them all kinds of nonsense. Idolina, I’m ashamed to say, learned to speak their language before speaking Spanish. And as long as we kept Teresa nearby, trying to straighten her out was like trying to carry water in a basket. So we thought it best to send Teresa to work for another family. But when Idolina became so ill and there was no other servant who could keep up the pace, we brought her back.”

After Isabel had confided in her, Julia began paying attention to the Indian woman. She searched the impassive face in vain for the traces of an episode so cruel, a generosity so immoderate, an abjection so profound. She saw nothing more than an almost mineral oblivion, an inhuman resignation. In the end, she lost interest in Teresa. Occasionally, she happened to see her carrying out her tasks in silence. Since her presence was no longer indispensable, she almost never appeared at Idolina’s side. Who was there to notice this or, having noticed it, to be concerned about it? She must be drudging away in some corner, since there was never any lack of work for her to do. And since Teresa had a very special aptitude for passing unperceived, several days went by before anyone noticed that the nana had deserted the Cifuentes house.

XII

CHAPTER XII

AT NIGHTFALL (and in San José Chiuptik, nightfall is foretold by the thick fog that covers the valleys) the flocks return from the countryside and the men from their toils. Here and there a small flame flickers, and when there is no rain a bonfire of ocote pine crackles in front of the chapel, diffusing its reddish glow into the atmosphere.