those little breeches of yours.”
“They say, also, that you pretend to be the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl.”
“Not at all. I only pretend that the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl is coming back to the Mexicans.”
“But, papa, it is not true.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it is impossible.”
“Why?”
“There never was any Quetzalcoatl, except idols.”
“Is there any Jesus, except images?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Where?”
“In heaven.”
“Then in heaven there is also Quetzalcoatl. And what is in heaven is capable of coming back to earth. Don’t you believe me?”
“I can’t.”
“Then go unbelieving,” said the father, laughing at them and rising to leave them.
“It is very bad that they sing songs about you, and put mama in; like about Pancho Villa,” said the younger boy. “It hurts me very much.”
“Rub it with Vapor-rub, my pet,” said Ramón. “Rub it with Vapor-rub, where it hurts you.”