She sat still for a while, staring fixedly at the spindle that slept between her hands. Then, as if someone were listening to her, she said, “Rosendo, let us go to our village, to our house in Majomut. I swear to you I cannot work any more. I swear this to you. My feet hurt very much.”

V

CHAPTER V

WINIKTÓN WENT TO Tzajal-hemel. On his return, he walked in front and Lorenzo, carrying his household goods, came behind. Catalina helped her brother disencumber himself of his load and took him to her, caressing him slowly and clumsily like someone caressing an animal’s furry back. The innocent stared up at her and the limpidity of his pupils clouded over for an instant with recognition. Docile, he let them lead him to the hut where Marcela, gray with alarm and shyness, was waiting. Pointing to her, the ilol said, “This is your wife.”

Lorenzo looked her over with an animal’s sluggish thoroughness. But neither fright nor happiness nor aversion showed itself on that forehead. Little by little, Marcela became more at ease. Soon she remained calm in the newcomer’s presence, as calm as when she was alone.

Winiktón presided over the meal. Catalina had prepared a special dish: venison. They all ate in silence, with the gravity of people who are carrying out a ritual. Lorenzo was the only one who laughed from time to time, for no reason, a slack, deranged laugh. But the ilol reduced him to silence with no more than a light pressure on his arm.

Marcela watched him out of the corner of her eye. Lorenzo’s fingers trembled so badly that half of every mouthful he picked up fell, staining his clothes and dirtying his surroundings.

Pedro did not lift his eyes, but he was alert, imagining the gestures his brother-in-law was making. His obsessive preoccupation made his muscles tense, made his jaws grind almost perceptibly. He pretended not to notice the awkwardness of Lorenzo’s hands, in a childish effort to ensure that, since he was ignoring it, another person, Marcela, would ignore it, too. He did not want to hear her utter a breath of scorn or mockery. Because who but Pedro did she have the right to scorn? Who but justice would she mock, since both of them—justice and Pedro—had fostered, had permitted this union?