“Yes, ma’m, coming.” Dobbs pushed the coffee over to the old man.
Chapter 16
“As I have said to you guys several times, to bring everything safely home and have it credited to your account isn’t quite so easy as wading in clay and having water at hand to wash your feet afterwards.” Howard was taking up this problem once more. It seemed that he could think of nothing else, and to him this problem had become really acute since they had decided to close the mine and leave for the port. He simply couldn’t free his mind from the difficulties which he foresaw would be theirs on the march.
He went on: “Did you ever hear the story about that treasureburdened woman, the most honorable and distinguished dona Catalina Maria de Rodriguez? I’m sure you haven’t, because there aren’t many people in this world who have. I mean, of course, the true story. With her it was not the question of how to get the gold and silver, but how to get it home, where it would have done her the most good. Gold is of no use to anybody as long as it is not where he wants it.
“It seems that in the Villa de Guadalupe there is an image of Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe—that is, Our Lady of Guadalupe, the holy patroness of Mexico and all the Mexicans. The little town is a suburb of Mexico City and can be reached from that city by street-car. To the Mexicans and the Indians of Mexico this image is of great importance, because whoever is in trouble or pain undertakes a pilgrimage to that shrine feeling sure that the Holy Virgin will help him out of his worries, whatever they are. Our Lady of Guadalupe has a very great heart and she understands fully the depths of the human soul. She is even supposed to help a peasant to a piece of land which belongs to his neighbor and to help a girl out of the natural consequences of a wrong step. Anyway, the Mexicans know how to use her to their benefit, and so do the holy persons who take care of the lady and are in charge of everything, including collecting the fees.”
“That’s all superstition. To hell with all those people who coin money out of the superstitions of the ignorant!” Curtin interrupted the tale.
“I wonder,” Howard said. “You have to believe, and then it will help you. It’s the same with the Lord. If you believe in the Lord, then there is a Lord for you; if you don’t believe in Him, there is no God for you—nobody who lights up the stars for you and directs the traffic in the heavens. Now, don’t let’s argue about such details; let’s come to the plain story. I’m telling you that story just as it happened.”
2
At about the time of the American Revolution there lived in the vicinity of Huacal, in northern Mexico, a well-to-do Indian farmer, who, in fact, was chieftain of the Chiricahua Indians. These Indians, very peaceful people, had settled in this region hundreds and hundreds of years before and had found more pleasure and riches in tilling the soil than the neighboring tribes who went marauding whenever they felt like it.
The chieftain, who was otherwise so blessed with well-being, had a great sorrow which overshadowed his whole life: His only son and heir was blind. In former times this son would have been done away with right after being born. But under the influence of the new religion even the Indians had become more generous in such things, and the child, as he was otherwise normal, was allowed to live. The boy was a strong and healthy child, handsome and well formed. He grew not only in size but in intelligence, and the nearer he came to manhood, the more sorrowful became his father.
It so happened that a monk came that way, a holy person who understood well how to live on the hospitality of the Indians without giving them more in return than an occasional story about events supposed to have taken place between two and three thousand years ago, concerning people entirely different from the Indians. Finally the monk felt that he had to do better if he wished to stay longer without having to plow and to sow for his living. Besides, he needed ready cash for some purpose or other. So he began bargaining with the chieftain, telling him that for a worthwhile consideration he would give him advice as to how to win the grace of the Holy Virgin and make her do what no doctor ever could do: give light to the eyes of the chief’s only son. The monk was expert in giving good counsel to the suffering and afflicted. He had been trained for it.
“Of course,” he explained to the chief, “this heavenly grace of Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe is not easily gained. You understand, my son, such a great lady cannot be treated like an ordinary hussy. Therefore do not spare the rich offerings, as the Holy Virgin, just to make it quite plain to you what I mean, is always in a very receptive mood toward money in any form and also jewelry. And so are the most holy persons who wait upon this great lady.”
