The desperate plea for advice was not directed to Pedro González Winiktón, husband of Catalina Díaz Puiljá, but to Pedro González Winiktón, judge, assessor of the actions of men. Nevertheless, now that the first offense against justice was complete (that of the night when Marcela took shelter under his roof and nothing was done to repair the damage inflicted on her by the Caxlán), other offenses were only awaiting their turn.

Without hesitation, without remorse, Pedro answered, “It is good.”

“But why am I to hand my daughter over, for nothing, to a man who will not even know how to make her his own?”

Not once since the innocent’s first wife confessed in the Cabildo, before all the principal men of Chamula, had anyone dared repeat that Lorenzo Díaz Puiljá was impotent. It was whispered in corners, perhaps; it was a matter for coarse or ambiguous joking. But now Catalina had flushed the cunning animal from its hiding place. She did what armadillo hunters do, asphyxiating their prey with smoke and harassing it with torches. The rumor had shown its face, at last. The punishment would be thrown back in that same face.

“No other man except Lorenzo Díaz Puiljá would accept your daughter.”

Felipa was no longer measuring the danger. She took her provocation to its limit.

“Why? Are you going to put a hex on her?”

“In Jobel, a Caxlán made ill use of her.”

Felipa could no longer continue to ignore the suspicion that had been jabbing at her since the day Marcela came back without the pitchers, without the money for the pitchers. But an unreasoning fury dictated her final protests.

“It is not true! Not true! My Xmel is not an ear of corn to be stripped of its grains like that, without a second thought. You are slandering her because you Want to take her without paying me what she is worth.”

Catalina took Felipa by the shoulders and shook her to put her brains back in their proper place.

“Do you want to see your daughter shamed in front of everyone? We will call them. Let them ask her! Let them search her!”

Felipa began sobbing again. The sobs were strangling her, strangling her words. But her head was still moving anxiously, shaking, saying no. Catalina let go of her. She stood up and without looking at Felipa said, “Pedro and I gave it much thought. And we agreed to inform you of Marcela’s engagement. Only out of consideration, because when all is said and done you are her mother. Understand it well. And tell Martoma Rosendo Gómez Oso about it when he comes back out of his drunkenness.”

Catalina and Winiktón left. Felipa watched them walk away without trying to detain them, without pleading with them until she made them change their decision, without kneeling before them to stave off this new misfortune come to annihilate her.