He was the most prestigious lawyer in Ciudad Real, praised more for his effectiveness than for the integrity of his methods. “He knows a lot more than your average shyster,” they said. And that phrase summed up the general admiration for a talent on which passage through the halls, of learning and the possession of an advanced degree had not exerted any inhibiting influence, for Tovar’s inventiveness was still fresh and, on principle, he never rejected any opportunity which success could later anoint with respectability.

He greeted Fernando with the deference due to a representative of the federal government, but also with the reserve of someone who does not approve of his interlocutor’s conduct or wish to express solidarity with his attitude. Both of them sat down in front of the large mahogany desk on whose naked surface stood an ivory cross.

“I hope,” the lawyer said, pointing to it, “that such an open allusion to the beliefs I profess does not bother you. But what do you want? We Coletos are like that: frank. We don’t know how to conceal our feelings.”

That’s exactly what they do best, Fernando thought to himself as he made his reply. “You must be badly informed about me, señor licenciado. I don’t condemn anyone’s beliefs. I don’t even argue about them. That’s why I demand that all beliefs be held in equal regard.”

“You do not recognize any hierarchy?”

“No. And that brings us directly to the matter I have come to discuss: the women of Tzajal-hemel who were arrested for worshiping their idols.”

Tovar opened his cigarette case.

“Would you like one, señor ingeniero?”

Fernando made a quick negative gesture after which the other man served himself, struck a match, and drew in the first avid mouthfuls of smoke.

These delaying tactics managed to imply several things: first, that it was impossible to catch Señor Tovar unprepared by mentioning a trial about which he was not already fully informed; second, that his interpretation of the matter usually differed from the generally accepted one since, in formulating his opinion, he had access to information that was not available to others; and, third, that any discrepancy between their opinions should be understood to result from a mistake on the part of his interlocutor and skilled judgment on his own part. Satisfied with this conclusion, the lawyer took the cigarette from his lips.

“It isn’t a religious problem; it is political.”

“Political?” Fernando repeated, as if the word had been used incorrectly.

“Precisely. What the women of Tzajal-hemel have been accused of, along with their accomplices—because there must still be quite a number of them at large and perhaps they are very influential as well—is sedition.”

“And on what do you base such an absurd accusation?”

“You must know that better than I do.”

“Why?”