And how the Comitecos delight in mockery! A town of sharp, ingenious people, quick to retort, with a deadly skill at coining nicknames. “Putting them in their place” was their favorite entertainment.

How could the Comitecos fail to laugh at the misfortunes of Don Timoteo and Doña Serafina! Naturally, their chuckles didn’t reach the ears of the interested parties. As the saying goes, there’s none more deaf than he who will not hear. Furthermore, the Santiagos almost never went out and weren’t on friendly terms with anyone. He was entirely absorbed in his business dealings and she spent all her time scampering from church to church. The only one still within reach of the evil tongues was César. But he wasn’t an easy prey either. His friendlessness forced him to become proud and reserved, and anyone who approached him did so at the risk of scurrying back with his tail between his legs. Because —oh, the impudence of it!—the boy boasted about his money. Who could tolerate that kind of showing off? No matter how fine you think you are there’s always someone finer, and a Comiteco doesn’t let anyone lord it over him. César’s enemies quickly learned how to get back at him by provoking him so as to have the pleasure of laughing in his face, bringing his dirty laundry out into the open. César defended himself but he was outnumbered and in the end he had to give in and hide away in a corner to nurse his indignation.

Without saying goodbye to anyone (who would a Johnny-come-lately like him say goodbye to?), the boy left for his father’s finca, the finca that had put a curse on Don Timoteo and all his descendants. But the blot on the family honor was a lovely one. Even its name was lovely: Las Delicias. With a big river to win it some respect and a lot of small, useful brooks. Good land, fruitful land, plenty of people. Indian men in white breeches and palm hats; Indian women enveloped in their blue tzecs; people with pride enough to do their utmost to preserve their rank as the best peons in the region. Some of them seemed as if they already wanted to become Ladinos. Not in their customs or clothing, but more generally: they had light-colored eyes, curly hair and a pallid tint to their skin. They were the “priest’s children,” so to speak, the region’s finest fighting cocks.