Why do women place such importance on trivialities? It takes an exertion of Christian charity to endure them as they are.

“Maybe his conscience is troubling him about something? With these Indians you never know. . . . And it scares me. Why don’t you talk to him? Not right now,” Benita added, as if to excuse herself on seeing her brother’s gesture of irritation. “Later, when the moment is right and it doesn’t seem forced.” Then, inconsistent as ever, she concluded, “Though maybe it would be better to do it quickly.”

The cup was empty and Padre Manuel made no remark to soothe his sister’s apprehensions. Benita knew the audience was over.

Sighing, she went to the door. As she was closing it behind her, the priest’s voice stopped her.

“Tell Xaw to come here. We’ll talk for a while.”

His recognition of the validity of his sister’s fears was a way of compensating her for their conversation’s brevity. Benita should be grateful to him. But how quickly, with what delight, she would have exchanged that compensation for a few moments of closeness to Manuel!

The sacristan appeared before his master, still not completely resolved to narrate the events he had witnessed in the cave. His memory retained them, with all their details vivid and exact, but they were becoming increasingly incomprehensible; he placed them at a level that was further and further beyond the reach of his words and his judgment. Though also, and contradictorily, those same events provoked a tumult within him (anger? rejection? offense?) that kept him from remaining silent.

Padre Manuel had Xaw sit down in front of him and offered him a cigarette. Xaw took a few, ceremonious puffs, without pleasure, and put it out on the floor.

“What does your heart say, sacristán?”

Xaw began a confused and vacillating response. His need to refer to other matters was easily glimpsed and Padre Manuel didn’t fail to notice it.

“What does the heart of your people say, sacristán?”

The question was too direct for Xaw to sidestep. He stammered.

“They have left the straight path, padrecito. They no longer want to bring San Juan his candles or his incense. Before, when was a load of pine needles to scatter in the church ever lacking? When it was time to appoint’ the mayordomos and the other religious officials, we saw people quarreling.”

“And now?”

“Now they do not want to, padrecito.”

The priest felt wounded by his share of responsibility for this indifference. “What do they want, then? A meek little priest?” he inquired sharply.

Xaw remained suspended for several instants, turning his battered palm-leaf hat in his fingers.

“I will not offend your face by telling you what the people are doing and what they are saying. I tried to give them my advice: the fulfilment of the obligation is your repayment, I told them. But did they hear me? There is no more respect, ajwalil.”