The Alcalde, Don Mario Arvila, conducted his visitors through his shabby little store and into the patio in the rear, exclaiming repeatedly, “Ah, Señor Padre, we welcome you! All Simití welcomes you and kisses your hand!” In the shade of his arbor he sat down to examine Josè’s letters from Cartagena.
Don Mario was a large, florid man, huge of girth, with brown skin, heavy jowls, puffed eyes, and bald head. As he read, his eyes snapped, and at times he paused and looked up curiously at the priest. Then, without comment, he folded the letters and put them into a pocket of his crash coat.
“Bien,” he said politely, “we must have the Padre meet Don Felipe Alcozer as soon as he returns. Some repairs are needed on the church; a few of the roof tiles have slipped, and the rain enters. Perhaps, Señor Padre, you may say the Mass there next Sunday. We will see. A––a––you had illustrious ancestors, Padre,” he added with hesitation.
“Do the letters mention my ancestry?” asked Josè with something of mingled surprise and pride.
“They speak of your family, which was, as we all know, quite renowned,” replied the Alcalde courteously.
“Very,” agreed Josè, wondering how much the Alcalde knew of his family.
“Don Ignacio was not unknown in this pueblo,” affably continued the Alcalde.
At these words Rosendo started visibly and looked fixedly at the priest.
“The family name of Rincón,” the Alcalde went on, “appears on the old records of Simití in many places, and it is said that Don Ignacio himself came here more than once. Perhaps you know, Señor Padre, that the Rincón family erected the church which stands in the plaza? And so it is quite appropriate that their son should officiate in it after all these centuries, is it not?”