“What? You’re dreaming, ingeniero! An Indian can’t be taught anything. We tried it ourselves, it’s like trying to get blood from a stone.”

Fernando listened, his expression unchanged.

“Perhaps you didn’t know how to teach.”

Leonardo paused. He had never considered that possibility. He shot back hastily: “And while we’re all busy learning, who’s going to work and what are we going to live on?”

“There will be some lean years, but that’s not important. Afterward, everyone will be better off than they are now, I promise you.”

Leonardo watched his opponent for an instant. Did he really believe what he was saying? Or was he simply trying to increase the bribe?

“You’re more educated than we are, ingeniero; you’ve travelled, you’ve seen a bit of the world. But we know thé color of our cattle very well and it won’t be easy to change our opinion: an Indian, here or wherever else you like, is always poor and ignorant. Nothing can be done about it.”

“We’re going to do something.”

“I hope the cure doesn’t turn out to be worse than the disease. You, with what are undoubtedly very good intentions, are riling up the Indians by preaching that we’re all equal and have the same rights. I’m not going to ask you to understand and approve of customs you aren’t familiar with; nor will I ask that you take my word for the fact that it’s best not to shake that particular hornets’ nest because if it gets stirred up there’s no one who can calm it down. What I will prove to you is that the government is biting off a whole lot more than it can chew. And not for the first time.”

Leonardo had recovered his calm and sat down, moving his chair closer to the engineer’s.

“I’m going to tell you what I have been told. We have always been on the side of order, and we are very sedate in our little corner here as long as we are left to arrange our affairs in our own way. But suddenly revolutions come and everything gets blown to bits.”

Leonardo had lit a cigarette and was puffing on it with delectation.

“They say that when the French invaded, some military types, the kind that are always trying to make a deep bow with someone else’s hat, promised they would send volunteers from Chiapas. Volunteers! Who would want to go? Who cared if foreign troops were disembarking in Veracruz and taking over Mexico City? The French were never going to come to Chiapas. There weren’t any roads.”

“If they had gotten here, what would the Coletos have done?”