The religious functionaries stand back; the madrinas flee; the sacristan trembles. What will happen is what must happen. The moment when what is possible and what is necessary flow together and mingle and culminate is a moment that cannot be endured.

Catalina contemplates the Cross with the same compassion with which she contemplates herself. It is wood cut down by blows of an ax; it is contradiction and knot and .paralysis; it is total privation. And she, the ilol, has in her hands what the cross is missing in order to be not an inert symbol but the instrument of salvation for all. One gesture, the simplest gesture, is enough to solidify hope into reality. And Catalina makes the gesture.

XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIII

HOW SMALL THE WORLD is if a child can become its center.

His birth was marked by omens: he is “the one born at the eclipse.” But his destiny was concealed by the humbleness of his position and the routine of daily tasks. Today that destiny is revealed to the tribe. An ilol, a woman who has given birth to gods, holds him in her arms and speaks the words that anoint those who are chosen.

Domingo was not afraid of crowds. At Tzajal-Hemel he mingled with the crowd and took part in its adoration and propitiation of the idols. The crowd had thronged around his house like an animal, hungry but tame; it would scatter at the least sign of danger. The crowd that now encircles him does not dare go beyond a certain limit, though no one knows who marked that limit.

Domingo must be alone with the Cross. Catalina herself withdraws to stand among the men who have fallen silent, the women who are holding back their breath, the Tzotzil people who wait.

The period of atonement has now ended. The signs of proof have been fulfilled. The dark powers are reconciled with their slaves and have given them the gift that will make them equal in strength and power to the Caxláns. When the blood of an innocent is spilled, those who drink it will rise up with new might. Christ was what the Ladino had over them. Now they would have Christ.

The mayordomos recognize the victim who will ransom them and approach him to place the offerings of gratitude at his feet.

It does not frighten Domingo when they kneel before him. Grown-ups tend seedlings and light the fire on their knees; they kneel down to speak to small children.

Domingo is still a child. Though his days are not filled with games but are a succession of duties and tasks, though his teeth have often chewed the bone of hunger, though his skin has already been toughened by the elements and his intelligence sharpened by scarcity and danger, “the one who was born at the eclipse” is no more than a child.