The priest of San Caralampio, Padre Cancino, had unlimited confidence in Don Timoteo. Seeing that the authorities were taking increasingly severe measures against the clergy, he put all his properties in his friend’s name. Those properties were not insignificant, for the parish paid well: a cattle ranch in the tropical lowlands, various orchards on the outskirts of the town, and two good houses in the best neighborhood.

Then it so happened that the strain of the persecution against the Church hastened Padre Cancino’s demise and he died suddenly without time to make a will. There were two legitimate heirs, two destitute spinster sisters. But Don Timoteo did not see fit to recognize their rights. Thus, in one fell swoop, he came into possession of one of the most considerable fortunes in Comitán.

Poor Don Timoteo! He hadn’t derived much enjoyment from his booty. If anyone—anyone from the right circle, of course— ever addressed a word to him, it was only to make him the butt of jokes or deluge him with innuendos.

Was this out of moral rectitude? No. Don Timoteo wasn’t the only one to enjoy an ill-gotten wealth. What was more (and though this might seem to detract from his inventiveness), it should be clarified that the idea of fishing in the turbid river of circumstance would never have occurred to him, and even less would he have dared put it into practice, if he hadn’t been encouraged by the example of others. But those others’ backgrounds were not as unsatisfactory as his. Many were from good families and their excesses were concealed by their family names. What was unforgivable in Don Timoteo ‘s case was that, despite his position, he still had the unmistakable air of a butcher, and rather than concealing it, he heightened it with the absurdity of his manners and the insolence of his accessories.

The privileged members of Comitán high society made him feel their reprobation by every available means. They gave him a nickname, “The Golden Calf,” which alluded both to his former trade and to his current circumstances. They knew exactly how to jab at this parvenu’s vanity: by excluding him from every gathering, thus denying him the opportunity to strut in front of others.

Because when it came to showing off, Don Timoteo had come up with more than enough ways to do so. Hadn’t he bought the house of Don Sebastián Revelo, a gentleman with titles of nobility proving his illustrious descent from some Andalucian family or other? Before he was hung for his gambling debts, Don Sebastián had to sell off all that was left of his inheritance, which passed into the hands of the former resident of La Pila.