Torn from the Nest by Matto de Turner Clorinda.;Polt John;Cornejo Polar Antonio;

Author:Matto de Turner, Clorinda.;Polt, John;Cornejo Polar, Antonio;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oxford University Press, Incorporated
Published: 2011-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

24

Rumors and comments went from mouth to mouth, some accurate, most distorted; and the Indians, ashamed of having so blindly obeyed the summons of the bells and allowed themselves to be tricked into attacking the peaceful home of Don Fernando Marín, were loitering at the edge of town, silent and afraid.

Estéfano Benites gathered his friends in the “study” of his house where we have seen them playing cards; and when he saw that his accomplices were wavering, he encouraged them by saying, “No use crying over spilled milk, old pals.”

“I didn’t think the shot would go wild,” Escobedo replied, playing with his cane.

“If the magistrates come, you know what to do,” Estéfano instructed them.

“And what if they question us under oath?” Escobedo asked.

“You won’t know a thing, my friend, and … we’ll decide on a firm plan, once things get started. It’s not for nothing that I’m the secretary of the justice of the peace.”

“Let’s put the blame on the dead Indians,” one of them suggested.

“We’ll turn in the sexton. That Indian has some cows and can afford a lawsuit,” said another.

“Listen, did you talk to him that night?” Escobedo asked the earlier speaker.

“Not me, that was Don Estéfano,” was the reply.

“Yes, I talked to him,” Benites confirmed.

“And what did you say? I plan to summon him because he’s a good friend of mine and we’ve got a deal in the works about milling flour,” Escobedo said with a show of concern.

“Well, what I told him was: ‘Isidro, be on the lookout, because I’ve read that there are bandits around here who’ve come to rob churches; and since ours has a very valuable monstrance, we’ve got to protect it.’”

“That’s fine. He’s very fond of me; he’s ready to follow me through hell and high water,” Escobedo approved with a smile, tapping his cane against his feet.

“Very well, then, all of you make an effort to find out what’s going on, all right? I’m off to Don Sebastián’s to work on our story,” said Benites, taking leave of his colleagues; and they went to occupy their usual stations in the town square, which they considered the proper place for gossip and idle chatter.

And so the riot had come to pass just as had been planned in the rectory, though without achieving the results sought by those fanatical defenders of corrupt customs. Once people had gathered in the streets, Don Fernando’s house had been identified as the hiding place of the imaginary bandits; and since the mob, once aroused, is not given to sober thought, it believed and attacked. That was the tragedy. Afterward, the brave words of a young man almost unknown in town, backed by a woman as beloved and respected as Doña Petronila, produced a pause that preceded the restoration of calm; and then, with that lightning change of heart typical of the crowd, came repentance, abhorrence of what had been done, which the rosy light of dawn revealed as a criminal farce.

The magistrate visited the scene of the

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