“Humph!” grunted Josè. “Worse than heathenish!”
“But you see, Padre, the Church is only concerned with souls. And it is better to pay the money to get souls out of purgatory than to rent a bit of ground for the body, is it not?”
Josè wisely vouchsafed no answer.
“Come, Padre,” continued Rosendo. “I would not want to have to spend the night here. For, you know, if a man spends a night in a cemetery an evil spirit settles upon him––is it not so?”
Josè still kept silence before the old man’s inbred superstition. A few minutes later they stood before the old church. It was in the Spanish mission style, but smaller than the one in the central plaza.
“This was built in the time of your great-grandfather, Padre, the father of Don Ignacio,” offered Rosendo. “The Rincón family had many powerful enemies throughout the country, and those in Simití even carried their ill feeling so far as to refuse to hear Mass in the church which your family built. So they erected this one. No one ever enters it now. Strange noises are sometimes heard inside, and the people are afraid to go in. You see there are no houses built near it. They say an angel of the devil lives here and thrashes around at times in terrible anger. There is a story that many years ago, when I was but a baby, the devil’s angel came and entered this church one dark night, when there was a terrible storm and the waves of the lake were so strong that they tossed the crocodiles far up on the shore. And when the bad angel saw the candles burning on the altar before the sacred wafer he roared in anger and blew them out. But there was a beautiful painting of the Virgin on the wall, and when the lights went out she came down out of her picture and lighted the candles again. But the devil’s angel blew them out once more. And then, they say, the Holy Virgin left the church in darkness and went out and locked the wicked angel in, where he has been ever since. That was to show her displeasure against the enemies of the great Rincóns for erecting this church. The Cura died suddenly that 35 night; and the church has never been used since The Virgin, you know, is the special guardian Saint of the Rincón family.”
“But you do not believe the story, Rosendo?” Josè asked.
“Quien sabe?” was the noncommittal reply.
“Do you really think the Virgin could or would do such a thing, Rosendo?”
“Why not, Padre? She has the same power as God, has she not? The frame which held her picture”––reverting again to the story––“was found out in front of the church the next morning; but the picture itself was gone.”