“And I a doctor,” said Pedro.
“Very good! Very good! Shall-be is far from am, and to-morrow is another day. Come to me when your heart tells you to come. You are my little boys, whatever you say, and I shall stroke your hair and laugh at you. Come! Come here!”
He looked at them, and they dared not refuse to obey, his power was so much greater than theirs.
He took his eldest son in his arms and stroked his head.
“There!” he said. “Thou art my eldest son, and I am thy father, who calls himself The Living Quetzalcoatl. When they say: ‘Is it thy father who calls himself The Living Quetzalcoatl?’—say to them: ‘Yes, he is my father.’ And when they ask you what you think of such a father, say: ‘I am young, and I do not understand him yet. But I do not judge my father without understanding him.’ Wilt thou say that, my boy, Pedro, my son?” And Ramón stroked the boy’s hair with the gentleness and tenderness which filled the child with a sort of awe.
“Yes, papa! I will say that,” said the boy, relieved.
“It is well,” said Ramón, laying his hand on the child’s head for a moment, like a blessing.
Then he turned to the younger son.
“Come then,” he said, “and let me stroke thy upstanding hair.”
“If I love thee, I cannot love mama!” said Cyprian.