Ramón and Teresa came along the lake, and rowed into the basin. It was a morning when the shadows on the mountains were almost corn-flower blue.
“Yet you must go away?” Ramón said to her.
“For a little while. You don’t think I am Lot’s wife, do you?”
“No!” laughed Ramón. “I think you’re Cipriano’s.”
“I am really. But I want to go back for a little while.”
“Ah yes! Better go, and then come again. Tell them in your Ireland to do as we have done here.”
“But how?”
“Let them find themselves again, and their own universe, and their own gods. Let them substantiate their own mysteries. The Irish have been so wordy about their far-off heroes and green days of the heroic gods. Now tell them to substantiate them, as we have tried to substantiate Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli.”
“I will tell them,” she said. “If there is anybody to listen.”
“Yes!” he said.