Green Huitzilopochtli
Is Malintzi’s blade of grass.”
At the beginning of each stanza, the Guard of Huitzilopochtli struck their left palm with their scarlet right fist, and the drums gave a great crash, a terrific splash of noise. When the song ended, the drums gradually died down, like subsiding thunder, leaving the hearts of men re-echoing.
Ramón: “Why is your hand so red, Huitzilopochtli?”
Cipriano: “With blood of slain men, Brother.”
Ramón: “Must it always be red?”
Cipriano: “Till green-robed Malintzi brings her water-bowl.”
The bugle and the flute both sounded. The guard of Huitzilopochtli put out the red candles, one by one, the guard of Quetzalcoatl extinguished the blue candles. The church was dark, save for the small, but fierce blue-white light beyond the Quetzalcoatl statue, and the red smouldering on the altar.
Ramón began slowly to speak:
“The dead are on their journey, the way is dark.