Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [93]
He returned late because in the village he had spoken amiably with the civil and military authorities. One was amazed at so much courtesy in someone as dry and arrogant as Father Mazón.
Father Mazón, walking back, looks again at the desolation of the ash-colored volcano, compares it again to being abandoned by God, and would like to see things clearly, not with these clouded eyes . . .
The man of God arrived and took off his straw hat, revealing towcolored hair. Water ran down his cloak of corn leaves.
He looked coldly but without suspicion at the couple. “How’s that leg doing?”
“Better, Father.”
“When are you leaving us?”
“Whenever you say. I won’t stay a minute longer than you want. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
“Ah, but first you put it to the test.”
Félix couldn’t avoid a smile. “Your hospitality exceeds my expectations.”
The priest let the water run down his cloak and said to Mayalde without looking at her: “What are you waiting for?”
She came to remove his improvised raincoat.
“She’s an obedient girl,” the priest said severely.
She didn’t say anything.
“Go on, prepare supper.”
They ate without speaking, and when the table was cleared, Father Benito Mazón asked Félix Camberos if he was a student or a mountaineer.
“Well,” Félix said with a laugh, “a person can be both things.”
But the priest insisted: “A student?”
“Not a very good one.” Félix modulated his smile.
“Everyone chooses their life. Look at Mayalde. She’s mad to become a nun. I assure you it’s true, by the nails of Christ.”
This caused great hilarity in the priest, indifference in the young man, and stupefaction in the girl.
“Father, don’t say falsehoods. It’s a sin.”
“Ah,” Mazón said in surprise. “Are you rebelling, little girl? Don’t you want to go to a convent to get away from me?”
She didn’t say anything, but Father Mazón was already on the track that one knows.
“Well, I swear to you, your rebellion won’t last very long. And do you know why? Because you’re submissive. Submissive in your soul. Submissive to men. Because submission is stronger in you than rebellion.”
Felix intervened. “But affection is stronger than submission or rebellion, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, young man. Here you can prove it. In this house there is only love . . .” The priest paused and toyed with the blue and white Talavera cup he always had with him, supposedly to keep from forgetting his humble origins, before he raised his wolfish eyes. “Haven’t you proved that yet, boy?”
“I think I have.” Félix decided on irony to counteract the priest’s snares.
“Wasn’t it enough for you?”
“Affection is a good thing,” said Félix. “But you need knowledge, too.”
The priest smiled sourly. “You’re a student, aren’t you?”
“A student and a mountaineer, as I told you.”
“Do you think you know a great deal?”
“I try to learn. I know that I know very little.”
“I know God.”
Abruptly, the priest rose to his feet. “I am on intimate terms with God.”
“And what does God tell you, Father?” Félix continued in an agreeable tone.
“That the devil comes into houses by the back door.”
“You invited me in through the front door,” Félix responded with exacting harshness.
“Because I did not know you were going to steal the host from my temple.”
“Father.” Félix also stood, though he had no answer that wasn’t a lie. “You have to control yourself if you want to be respected.”
“I don’t control myself or respect myself—”
“Father.” Mayalde approached him. “It’s time you went to bed. You’re tired.”
“You put me to bed, girl. Undress me and sing me to sleep. Prove that you love me.”
He said it as if he wanted to transform his wolf’s eyes into the eyes of a lamb. Félix circled the dining room chair as if that piece of furniture gave him balance or checked, like a barrier, his desire to break the chair over the priest’s head.
“Father, restrain yourself, please.”
“Restrain myself?” Father Mazón replied with