“Sacristán, apostle!” Catalina exclaimed in a loud voice. Only then did Xaw and the others recognize her and it became clear to them that Domingo was the one born at the eclipse. And their consternation increased.

When Catalina had finished cleaning the petals and water from her nephew, she moved off with him. Arrogant and masterful, she made her way through the people who were kneeling or lying flat on the ground as if she were hoisting a conquered trophy.

She was gripped by an abrupt certainty that the idols of Tzajal-hemel had just won a battle against the saints of Chamula. It struck her like a sudden rush of blood, like a gulp of aguardiente, and dizzied her for an instant, then gave her senses an unbearable acuteness so that she could perceive even the slightest of the vibrations that were electrifying the church’s atmosphere.

All activity was now concentrated around the Great Cross of Good Friday. Certain religious officials were moving it away from the wall against which it was leaning.

The Cross swayed in the air, threatening to crash down on many of those around it. But the religious officials managed to support it and slowly, in an open space left by the crowd, the Cross was lowered until it lay on the ground.

The dexterity of the officials was extolled. Those closest to them (and everyone was trying to get close to them) offered them flasks of liquor and small funnels so that they could drink their fill. From ¿ar, Catalina watched them: the gestures with which they expressed thanks for the invitation, the speed with which they accepted. They needed to recover their strength before continuing with their duties.

Those duties now consisted in unwrapping the fabric that swathed the Cross. They pulled at the cloth, trying not to rip it. But when, despite their precautions, a tear occurred, the religious officials kept even the tiniest of the unruly threads in a special case.

Finally the Cross was stripped of its coverings and the old, solid, unpolished wood was exposed to the eyes of those who were witnessing the ritual. The madrinas quickly flocked around it to clean it with cotton cloths. After that the wood was covered over again, this time with fresh and fragrant forest leaves.

Then came the incense burners. Seven incense burners, Pom was slowly consumed on the hot coals and wafted through the air, evoking in those who breathed it the great pine forests, the height and solitude of the mountain range.

Catalina closed her eyes. An unease she recognized was stealing over her. At what moment would the seizure overcome her? How much longer until she fell into the dark well of unconsciousness? Because it was impossible for this agony to go on any longer. A cold sweat of sickness, anguish, broke from her pores and permeated her clothing.