Ulloa’s students listened to him with distaste and unease. To all the teacher’s arguments they opposed a terse rejection, an insistent, “And what about us? Why do they have to spoil things for us? Let the people who don’t have anything work it out for themselves as best they can. It’s no concern of ours, and the Government doesn’t have any business meddling in it either.”

All of this was grist for Cesar’s mill. So: those who had set themselves up as his judges, his father’s judges, were the very landowners who, in order to amass and hang on to their fortunes, had unscrupulously and unstintingly resorted to the violence of conquest and legal chicanery. The power that had made them so haughty was now foundering. Because now, Fernando had announced, justice would be done at last. Everyone, old and new money alike, would be measured by the same yardstick. Everyone would merge in the great act of restitution to the disinherited that the Government was preparing to make. And those who were carrying out this restitution would know how to make the most of it.

In his disciple’s eyes, Ulloa had the prestige of an expert, the appeal of a politician. A groundswell of admiration grew up in the scrawny chest of the boy from Comitán. To listen reverently to his oracle, to defend him from the biting criticism of others— these were the ceremonies of the new cult César had given himself over to. So why not leave the Instituto entirely, if Fernando had no place there, and abandon everything to share in the engineer’s task and his eventual triumph?

Fernando had listened attentively to César’s words and though the boy’s motives still struck him as confused, he accepted him as his assistant. At least César wasn’t an accomplice of the men who were trying to block his mission.

XV

CHAPTER XV

WHEN WORD GOT OUT in Ciudad Real that César Santiago had become Fernando Ulloa’s assistant there was a murmur of disapproval. How dare that boy disobey a tacit command everyone else had respected? People began paying attention to him, watching him closely in order to discern the traits of a personality that had seemed insignificant until then but was now beginning to be dangerous.

Everything about Santiago fed their suspicions: his accent and his words, his clothing and his manners, his gestures and his habits. The owner of the boarding house would remark to her neighbors that César had refused a certain dish today at lunch and the neighbors received the tidings as obvious proof of his guilt. An aging bachelor, member of a religious brotherhood, pointed out that César had passed in front of a church, the Iglesia de Caridad, without uncovering his head.