To a boy raised among clouds of incense, the skirts of pious women and the hustle and bustle of the sacristy, the possibility of the priesthood was not repellent or shocking. And the sentimental outbursts, the effusions of enthusiasm so common in adolescence could be interpreted as the call of Divine Grace. In other boys, such effervescence naturally led to a bed in a brothel, a fistfight or a drinking binge. In this one, without money or friends and tied to the apron strings of a much older sister, no other outcome was available but enrollment in the Seminary. The fact that his board and tuition would be free was an added temptation. For the moment, at least, the Mandujano legacy (a shack and a plot planted with fruit trees in the Tlaxcaltecas district) would remain intact.

Within the bramble-covered walls of the Seminary, Manuel found a happiness he had not known outside them. In his sister’s company, he was inhibited. After all was said and done, she was a woman, and one cannot talk to women. Now Manuel felt strengthened and ripened by his interaction with men. He discovered himself through them; he affirmed himself; he was constantly modifying himself. He found schoolmates to share his small secrets and his immense revelations; teachers who would place in his hands the formulas for triumphing over life, vanquishing the world, saving himself.

Triumph, vanquish. Manuel’s choice of vocabulary was not Catholic or even Christian. It betrayed pride, ambition, audacity. But since that always remained implicit and Manuel’s limbs were well oiled with humility, it wasn’t easy to deduce the motives that underlay his conduct. One man, Don Alfonso, who was his spiritual advisor and therefore the person closest to his intimate thoughts, suspected something. But other, more apparent facts always more than counterbalanced the suspicion. The brilliance he displayed in his studies, for example. Manuel’s intelligence, which was not particularly adventuresome or innovative, poured itself, docile, into the mold of the ecclesiastic disciplines.

Where his moral conduct was concerned, he was irreproachable. His sensuality, like that of all those born in the highlands, was shrouded. Neither his ascetic features nor his habitually reserved expression allowed anyone to glimpse the jolts of his flesh. He found a discreet outlet for them and hypocrisy did not mark him with even the smallest stigma of guilt.

It had never been Manuel’s ambition to become a saint. He dreamed of ruling over a diocese, guiding the multitudes from the pulpit, plotting vast intrigues. He always occupied the center of the stage; his kingdom was always of this world.

And why not? He had more of what it took to win than the others; he had ideas, character. When he was given the parish of San Diego, his first parish, his first stop on the road to his destiny, he believed the moment had arrived to take action.