Owen was so American, he invariably said these things.
“But!” said Kate. “The Mexicans look so strong!”
“They are strong to carry heavy loads,” said Don Ramón. “But they die easily. They eat all the wrong things, they drink the wrong things, and they don’t mind dying. They have many children, and they like their children very much. But when the child dies, the parents say: Ah, he will be an angelito! So they cheer up and feel as if they had been given a present. Sometimes I think they enjoy it when their children die. Sometimes I think they would like to transfer Mexico en bloc into Paradise, or whatever lies behind the walls of death. It would be better there!”
There was a silence.
“But how sad you are!” said Kate, afraid.
Doña Isabel was giving hurried orders to the man-servant.
“Whoever knows Mexico below the surface, is sad!” said Julio Toussaint, rather sententiously, over his black cravat.
“Well,” said Owen, “it seems to me, on the contrary, a gay country. A country of gay, irresponsible children. Or rather, they would be gay, if they were properly treated. If they had comfortable homes, and a sense of real freedom. If they felt that they could control their lives and their own country. But being in the grip of outsiders, as they have been for hundreds of years, life of course seems hardly worth while to them. Naturally, they don’t care if they live or die. They don’t feel free.”
“Free for what?” asked Toussaint.
“To make Mexico their own. Not to be so poor and at the mercy of outsiders.”