“Not from my country, but from a country near.”
“Listen!” exclaimed Juana, awestruck. “El Señor is a gringito, and His Holy Mother is a gringita. Yes, one really knows. Look! Look at the feet of the Niña! Pure feet of the Santísima! Look!” Kate was barefoot, wearing sandals with a simple strap across the foot. Juana touched one of the Niña’s white feet, fascinated. “Feet of the Santísima. And She, the Holy Mary is a gringita. She came over the sea, like you, Niña?”
“Yes, she came over the sea!”
“Ah! You know it?”
“Yes. We know that.”
“Think of it! The Santísima is a gringita, and She came over the Sea like the Niña, from the countries of the Niña!” Juana spoke in a wicked wonder, horrified, delighted, mocking.
“And the Lord is a Gringito—pure Gringito?” barked Concha.
“And Niña—It was the gringos who killed El Señor? It wasn’t the Mexicans? It was those other gringos who put Him on the Cross?”
“Yes!” said Kate. “It wasn’t the Mexicans.”
“The gringos?”