The one who stays behind is forgotten. No one asks about his fate. Did that one come back? Did they bury him? Because only one thing sustains them in their endless peregrination, one beacon: Catalina’s promise. Those who died will come back to life bearing a weight that others have not yet experienced: that of not having died. And if they do not come back to life. . . .

Do not think any more, Chamulita, just walk. Loneliness is not a good counselor. Join up with a companion, and another, and yet another. Do not ask any questions. Because the foundation you built yourself on could crack and you could collapse.

XXXV

CHAPTER XXXV

JULIA STRETCHED HER HAND out over the always damp (and therefore clammy) surface of the sheet. She touched a solid shoulder and said timidly, “Are you asleep?”

Leonardo’s silences, which grew longer each day, frightened her. She wanted to attribute them to a natural cause. But the tension, the alarm that emanated from the body that had once been so tractable to her spell, did not let her deceive herself. A detached voice answered, “No.”

And then, more for himself than for her, “I’m thinking.”

Julia was well acquainted with the distances that worrying and preoccupation with matters other than love could visit upon the most intimate proximity. And she hated them. At another time, when she was the one holding the reins in this love affair, she would have protested vehemently: Now, she limited herself to getting up, trying not to make any noise, trying not to bother him.

What Leonardo was thinking (in a difficult, painful way that was impossible for him to put into words) was that it wasn’t worth the trouble of having made such an effort to become an integral, vital part of Ciudad Real. Then he raised his head.

“Do you know what happened to the men on the night watch yesterday?”

La Alazana had lit a small lamp in front of the dressing table mirror and was gathering up her hair to fasten it with a ribbon. Unable to keep a note of irritation from her voice, she answered.

“The Indians killed them. The burial processions passed in front of my house. They were singing hymns and swearing vengeance.”

Leonardo was looking at the roof with his hands clasped behind his head.

“But the Indians didn’t kill them. We made that up.”

Julia turned, puzzled.

“What then?”

“They killed each other. Out of fear.”