“Yes, the gringos.”
“And He Himself was a Gringo?”
“Yes!” said Kate, not knowing what else to say.
“Look!” said Juana, in her hushed, awed, malevolent voice. “He was a Gringo, and the gringos put him on the Cross.”
“But a long time ago,” said Kate hastily.
“A long time ago, says the Niña,” echoed Juana, in her awed voice.
There was a moment of silence. The dark faces of the girls and men seated on the ground were turned up to Kate, watching her fixedly, in the half light, counting every word. In the outer air, thunder muttered in different places.
“And now, Niña,” came the cool, clear voice of Maria del Carmen, “El Señor is going back again to His Father, and our Quetzalcoatl is coming back to us?”
“And the Santísima is leaving us?” put in the hurried voice of Juana. “Think of it! The Santísima is leaving us, and this Quetzalcoatl is coming! He has no mother, he!”
“Perhaps he has a wife,” said Kate.