They were changed so much, Ifelt I didnt know them
any more. She was forty, and in the rare, lingering dawn ofmaturity, the flower of
her soul was opening. I tell you, excuse me, but all, everything,depends on the
moment of coition.
The miracle is superior even to the moment of
coition. The miracle is always there, he said, for the man who can passhis hand
through to it, to take it.
But from his breast came thatdark surging passion
of tenderness the Indians are capable of.
I say them over andover, like they say Mani padma
Om! Kate realized that Ramón had a good deal to stand up to. She felt like a bird
round whose body a snakehas coiled itself. They could make, easily, easily, a bedof
maize leaves or similar leaves.
Of course I did what hetold me, and I put the
scorpion in his hat, and it did not bite me.
How can you distinguish the pure-blooded Indian,
afterso many generations? The negation which is the life-breath
ofmaterialism.
My father was one of the overseers on thehacienda.
Well, the Bishop was talking to my father, and he saw what I hadgot before my father
did.
She adored Ramón with an uncritical, nun-like
adoration.
It is true, said Mirabal, out of the gloom.
Andthen, what sort of race do you expect?
They had promised to go out to dinner to the house
of Don Ramón. He was lean and pale, but burningwith an intense, crazy
energy.
He liked my father, so he became mygod-father. It
is possible that the Indian children are pure-blooded, andthere is the continuity of
blood.
But in the eyes of each, the uncreated centre,
where the evil andthe insolence lurked. And these thingswill be handed on in
continuity to the child.
Kates face was baffled with
incomprehension.
I married him when I was young, and he was a good
deal older thanI.
With your hard, vindictive beauty, are youwaiting
forever to smite death?
And sometimes she wondered whether America really
was the greatdeath-continent, the great No! But from his breast came thatdark
surging passion of tenderness the Indians are capable of.
He sat in intense expectation, his blueeyes fixed
on Kates face, his soup-spoon suspended. The quick little Indians, quick asspiders,
down in Oaxaca!
And the world seemed tome so strange, no? Unbroken,
eternally resistant, it was a people thatlived without hope, and without care.