“I’m glad our opinions coincide. Well then, the Jesuits undertook a very interesting experiment with the Indians in Paraguay. Do you remember it?”

“Vaguely. I think they tried to found a kind of utopia, which didn’t produce any results either.”

“It produced results.”

“Even if it did,” Manuel interrupted impatiently. “These are different times.”

“Yes. Our Holy Mother forgot the Jesuits’ lesson. But secular people took it up. They’re the ones who have begun to think about the Indians again. Do you know why Fernando Ulloa is here? To redistribute land. Later, teachers will come to teach them to speak Castilla, to read, to write. Do you realize what this means? Thousands of souls which by divine right belong to us will be snatched away by the unjust government you are fighting. And why will all this happen? Because we did not want to remedy our blameworthy negligence in time.”

“You’re very quick to take alarm, Monseñor. Let the teachers and engineers come; let the Government strive for all it’s worth. They won’t be able to do anything. All their good intentions will be smashed against the Indians’ indifference and stupidity.”

“And what if it doesn’t turn out that way?”

Manuel shrugged. “What can we do? We’re very poor. . . and there are so few of us!”

“That kind of rationalization is for cowards. If everyone thought as you do Christianity would never have been disseminated. Remember the situation and the tiny number of the Apostles. . .

“But the Holy Spirit dwelled in them and spoke through their mouths and. . . .”

“Commanded them to go forth and preach and they went forth and preached. The only supernatural thing about it was their obedience, so inflamed with faith that it moved mountains. And don’t tell me that was an exceptional episode. The story of the Apostles is repeated in every priest.”

Manuel gave in with a bitter smile.

“And now my time has come, Monseñor?”

“The Spirit moves where it wishes. I will do no more than put you in a suitable place.”

Manuel began to grow alarmed. The grandiloquence of Don Alfonso’s language could only be forewarning a very grave decision.

“I want you to take charge of the parish of San Juan Chamula.”

The name gave birth in the young priest to a thousand confusing images: unruly Indians, barbaric bouts of drunkenness, Ladino merchants fleeing in the middle of the night to save their lives, though not their properties, from looting and fire.

“For months the Chamulas have been restless. They learned about the Agrarian Reform and they are demanding that it be carried out, that the ejidos be redistributed. Their agitation has increased with Ulloa’s arrival.”

Manuel made a gesture of powerlessness.