How mistaken Fernando Ulloa was! Being a patrón implied a race, a language, a history that the Coletos had and the Indians were incapable of improvising or acquiring. Patrón: a man who maintains a house in Ciudad Real with his wife and his legitimate children, many children; who has one querida in town and another on the ranch (apart from occasional adventures with little Indian girls and little mestiza maids; apart, too, from excursions to the less reputable side of town). Patrón: a man who makes bets during evening parties at the Gentlemen’s Club, who, during a wild spree, lights a cigar with a large bill out of pure ostentation; a man who risks his fortune on a political adventure, a military coup. A man who provides his sons with a liberal education and his daughters with a good husband. A man who travels, once or twice, to Guatemala, to Mexico and, in extraordinary cases, to Europe. A man who has seen to it that after his final departure he will leave a handsome legacy to ensure the well-being of his dependants.

“The ejido is indispensable, of course, but the Indians will also need a small amount of capital that a bank will supply.”

The hacienda, whose boundaries extend as far as the strength and greed of the neighboring landowners allows, will be broken up into a thousand pieces. The peon will no longer come to plead for a bushel of com, a yard of coarse cloth, a new machete, a gram of quinine. He will no longer run up debts in order to buy a demijohn of posh for a fiesta, a family ceremony, his day off, or to satisfy a vice. He will no longer die and leave a pledge of loyalty to the patrón as his children’s only legacy.

The Indian, made equal, raised up by a government order, will no longer walk the way he does now, always sticking close to the wall as if seeking protection there; he will not slip past like a furtive animal, fearful of the reprimand, the command he never succeeds in interpreting, the question for which he has nothing but insufficient and stammering answers. He will no longer stand before his master without daring to lift his eyes.

When this Indian speaks he will not do so in a little mouse voice, incredibly faint, “so as not to show any disrespect.” He will speak in a normal tone, and if he has learned Spanish, prudence will not keep him from speaking it in front of Caxláns. It will no longer be a crime to address the patrón as he would any other man.

“Until now, the Indians have lived under a tutelage that lent itself to many abuses. But they will reach the age of reason once they know how to read, write and cultivate their land scientifically.”