THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

 

BOOK SEVEN:  CUAHTENOTL EPACT

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

 

"Look with favor on they supplicants, we beseech Thee, Mighty Lord," Padre Luis prayed, "...upon the sacrifice which we offer up to Thee on behalf of the souls of Thy servants and of Thine handmaids, and deign thereby to be appeased."

          Eliseo began tearing off portions of the topmost tortilla and handing them to Luis, who dipped them into the campaña and, when they were soaked, placed the morsels on the tongues of believers who had flocked to the rail, whispering a prayer that the Major could not fathom. Crossing herself defiantly, Consuela brushed past him, and swaggered to the end of the line.

          José sat, seething, through the cannibals' communion and, when Patricio tapped him on the shoulder, snapped at the jefe viciously.

          "Pardón, Jorgecito!" the policeman grinned. "It is my charge to always be the last of the communicants. Are you going to take the sacrament for the souls of your beloved dead?"

          And the Major saw, now, that... of the congregation... less than a quarter remained in the line before the impromptu altar, and these... including Consuela Kan... had their heads bowed in worship. Perhaps another quarter of those recently returned remained lost in their devotions but the rest, fully a hundred souls, if not more, were gazing expectantly at him.

          "I will have your soul for this," José threatened.

          "Calmáte, cafetero," whispered the jefe, but this only heightened the Major's alarm, for he misheard the gentle insult as Caballero! "What do they know?" he worried, as his suddenly boneless knees thrust him forward in a lurching gait towards the end of the queue, "...how do they know?"

          Although a very poor Christian... if the truth be told... José half-expected and wholly wished for a lightning bolt to rend the mildewed ceiling of Cuahtenotl's church and reduce Bravo's witch to ashes, then... and why not?... for a great, merciful hand to lift him up and away from this cold, wet place, depositing him somewhere warm, like Yucatan or Havana or, even, Veracruz! But Consuela took the obscene sacrament without injury and hurried past him, a glance of malevolent triumph striking him like rounds from the lost Webley. And sooner than he'd wished, he was at the altar... its stones were nothing more than painted wood, the Major noted with disgust. An old woman fidgeted to his right with, as he saw, tiny wildlife journeying from her hair to her face and back; to his left, Patricio knelt... intolerably pious of face and erect as a boy whose backside has just been slapped by one of the ushers of Juan de la Cruz.

          So numerous were the believers that the supply of tortillas quickly dwindled, with Padre Luis tearing smaller and smaller morsels away until, by the time he reached his last communicants, they were barely the width of a fingernail. But the copiousness of the heartsblood had not diminished by a spoonful; the moldy crumb that Luis fed to him was engorged with the essence of its unknown donor as wine from the table of don del Muerte, and the priest whispered into José's ear: "May the prayer of Thy supplicant people, O Lord, benefit the souls of Thy servants; that thou mayest deliver them from all their sins, and make them partakers of Thy redemption. Who livest!"

          He forced the dross down his throat, bowed and, when the Padre began mincing back towards his altar, shot a glance at the jefe, who smirked back at him with fresh blood on his teeth and dripping down his chin. Patricio helped him to his feet and ushered him back to his seat, next to Consuela, as Cuahtenotl's shepherd doffed his white robes and drew black vestments over his head... and, having done so, began to pray:

          "Enter not into judgment with Thy servant, O lord; for in Thy sight shall no man or woman be justified, save Thou grant them remission of all their sins. Therefore let not, we beseech thee, the sentence thou pronouncest in judgment fall heavily upon Thy consecrated dead, whom the faithful prayer of Thy Christian people commend to Thee, but rather, by the help of Thy grace, and Thy blood may they be found worthy to escape the judgment of condemnation, who in their lifetime were signed with the seal of the holy Trinity. Who livest and reignest, world without end…”

          And, at last, the ghoulish gathering replied... "Amen."

 

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