“They are not innocent, ingeniero. What was being plotted in that cave has happened before. Read our history: uprisings in 1712, in 1867, in 1917. Why not now? The difference is that they were discovered in time, before they could pose a threat to Ciudad Real.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about something we Coletos know far better than foreigners do: when the Indians gather together it is for no other reason than to do harm to the Ladinos. In their fiestas, in their drunken binges, the end result is always some Caxlán wounded or dead, some peddler’s stall burned down. It takes very little to make them attack us. And on top of that you come and fan the flames with your sermonizing. They’re afraid. That’s natural, because every time they’ve tried to rebel they’ve always paid heavily for it. Believing their idols will protect them, they rush out to kill and destroy. They forget that our God is stronger and more powerful than theirs!”

Tovar had clamped his fist around the crucifix. His voice was trembling with indignation as he continued.

“Defend them! Would you defend the person who murdered your father, raped your sisters? Would you defend those who took all you had and left you in misery?”

“Is that what happened to you, licenciado?”

“It happened to me and to every other Coleto!”

“Things may have happened that way in the past, but that is no basis for declaring that they will happen the same way today. The Indians’ guilt cannot be based on prophecies.”

“No one is prophesying. We are remembering, that’s all. You don’t understand that.”

“Even if I did understand it, I don’t accept it!”

So childish a recalcitrance was in the end quite moving to Virgilio Tovar. He gave Ulloa a look of kindness.

“Don’t put yourself between the horses’ hooves, ingeniero. Why? You’re young, you have a career, a future. There is still time: ask to be transferred, resign, do whatever you want. But don’t stay in Ciudad Real.”

Fernando Ulloa wasn’t deceived by the tone of the admonition. He said harshly, “Ciudad Real is no longer what all of you here believe it to be: the private domain of a few gentlemen and their crooked lawyers. Ciudad Real is Mexico, and in Mexico there are just laws and an honest President. I will not go. I do not betray my own either!”

Afterward, Fernando did not know how to explain the failure of his errand to the Tzotziles without damaging his prestige. And not out of vanity. The confidence the Indians placed in him was essential for the smooth flow of their relations. Finally he decided to take Pedro aside.