Jabbing with their elbows and shoving, the former martoma, Felipa and Teresa managed to make their way inside. At the back of the cave, surrounded by aromatic smoke and lighted candles, was the altar, covered with a sheet from Guatemala. Teresa was disappointed by the sight. She had hoped for a display of wealth and sumptuous offerings, but this was poorer than the poorest ranch chapel.

In contrast to the nakedness of the sanctuary, Catalina made her appearance weighed down with adornments, hieratic as a corpse, supported on both sides by the women of her retinue. She stood with her back to the altar, and made no genuflection before it. The idols being worshiped there, were they not her babies, her sons? No, she did not fear them. She had established herself as their equal. In their relationship, each side set the conditions that suited it and demanded the price that was just. Yes, they did look into the entrails of time and if they squeezed the world between their fingers they could lay it to waste. But without Catalina, through whom they had manifested themselves, without her to serve as their interpreter, what would they be reduced to? Invisibility and muteness once more.

Catalina faced the crowd without fear. A docile flock, but how quick to scatter at the least sign of danger! How quick to renounce their faith!

Teresa Entzín López observed the priestess’s slow movements, heard her grave and unmodulated voice.

“The saints are not content. Like cattle, they want to lick their salt, so they can become stronger. And there is no salt. No one has money, no one wants to make the sacrifice, to bring candles and pom.”

Somewhere, someone began to sob.

XXIV

CHAPTER XXIV

TERESA QUICKLY GREW accustomed to the monotonous chanting of this woman whose face seemed made of stone. She stopped listening and began to look around. People sighed loudly to attract attention to themselves; their moans begged for forgiveness. Even Felipa, so hostile toward Catalina, had fallen beneath her spell and was now vying with the others in making a display of her repentance and remorse. Teresa looked at her in amazement, feeling herself to be on the bank of a fast-flowing river that, with increasing turbulence, was dragging everyone else in an unknown direction.

“What am I doing here?” Teresa wondered suddenly with a disgust fueled by the odor of closely packed bodies, rotting flowers, ignited wax.

If this woman who demands that we perform these duties were truly capable of doing anything, Teresa reasoned, I would not be here. I would be with Idolina.