wearing sandals with a simple strap across the foot. Juana touched one of the Niña’s white feet, fascinated. “Feet of the Santísima. And She, the Holy Mary is a gringita. She came over the sea, like you, Niña?”
“Yes, she came over the sea!”
“Ah! You know it?”
“Yes. We know that.”
“Think of it! The Santísima is a gringita, and She came over the Sea like the Niña, from the countries of the Niña!” Juana spoke in a wicked wonder, horrified, delighted, mocking.
“And the Lord is a Gringito—pure Gringito?” barked Concha.
“And Niña—It was the gringos who killed El Señor? It wasn’t the Mexicans? It was those other gringos who put Him on the Cross?”
“Yes!” said Kate. “It wasn’t the Mexicans.”
“The gringos?”
“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.