Turning, the man saw Modesta standing a few paces away. Celso arrived at the same moment. He came from locking the office doors after driving the pigs and dogs in. He drew close to Modesta. His face did not show the least astonishment, for he had understood. He knew that Modesta was of the same blood, the same race, as himself. He knew that she was obeying an ancestral instinct, the instinct for justice and harmony.
“Brother, little brother, do not kill that man!”
Modesta still stood motionless in the spot from which she had uttered her first cry, in the exact center of the porch that ran the length of the office. Between her and the corner in which Don Félix was pinned down, there was nobody except the young cutter ready to kill him. All the workmen had gathered behind her… . Less than twenty minutes had elapsed since Celso had given the signal. They still had half an hour of daylight left, but the sky was covered with clouds. And the night would bring another downpour.
Modesta was still wearing only the torn shirt that Celso had given her. She was barefooted. Her legs were exposed to the thighs, which were bloody and raw from the wounds she had received in the underbrush during her desperate flight through the jungle.
Her thick black hair hung in disorder around her shoulders and down her back. After the unlucky canoe trip she had lost her wooden comb and the ribbons from her braids. That morning she had intended to ask the cook’s woman to lend her a comb, but just at that moment she had fallen into the paws of Don Félix.
Modesta was very small, like most of the women of her race, but her body was well formed and harmoniously proportioned, so that she seemed to be taller than she really was. Among all those muscular men she looked a mere child, but she seemed to grow bigger when she called out for the third time to the man who was about to punish Don Félix: “Don’t kill that man! I want him alive. I must hold him alive between my hands! Only that way will I be able to go on living!”
Then the Indian who had Don Félix under his knee got up, drew away from him, and slowly went to take his place near Modesta. He looked long at her, but she did not notice his stare. Her eyes were unblinkingly fixed on Don Félix, who, apparently fearing an attack by the girl, shrank more and more, trying to hide himself in his corner, leaving visible only his head and his broad shoulders.
Modesta raised her right arm and pointed her forefinger at the face of the conquered monster, Don Félix. “Listen to me carefully, you, you who compelled my brother and the little boys to set out in the canoe with a drunken boatman, you who despite his protests made them cross the river at night, so that the child was drowned—this I forgive you.”
An anguished silence gripped the men, because they did not approve of what the girl was suggesting. Some were restless and muttered: “No! Why forgive him? We must kill him!” But those nearest Modesta imposed silence on them. From the girl’s tone they had sensed that her words were no more than the beginning of what she had to say.
Still pointing at Don Félix with her extended arm, Modesta took a deep breath and continued: “That the boy was drowned through your fault I forgive you because you are the master. You command, we obey… .”
“Finish off the masters!” some of the more excited men shouted, but others silenced them.
Modesta did not hear anything of what was happening behind her. She stared fixedly at Don Félix as if trying to hypnotize him. One could see clearly how terror little by little was contorting the man’s face. Perhaps he remembered having heard it said that the most terrible thing that could happen to a prisoner was to fall into the hands of the women of the tribe. For men usually work quickly, whereas women perform their duties without haste, with the deliberateness of work in their kitchens.
Modesta raised her voice: “That you wanted to rape me, to take me by force against my will, that you forced me to flee naked before the eyes of the men, this also I forgive you, for you are a man, and I am a woman …”
Celso, who knew more about Modesta’s misfortune than anybody else, began to understand. Something like a smile lighted his face, and within himself he felt proud that the girl had chosen him as her protector. He made a quick sign to the other men and said: “Let her speak. She knows what she’s about.”
Still rigid in her attitude, Modesta continued: “That you cut off the ears of Cándido, my beloved brother, that you mutilated him because he was lacking in respect toward you, this also I forgive you, because when he fled he broke his contract, and you, his master, had the right to punish him cruelly, horribly… .”
The men realized that Modesta’s charge had reached its culminating point.
Putting all the strength she possessed into her final words, the girl continued: “But for the boy, the little boy, the baby who could do you no harm with his tiny hands, with his innocent thoughts, for whom I implored you, kneeling on the earth, for whom I begged you in the name of the holy Mother of God with all the agony of my heart … You, Satan, savage beast, before whom the little one clasped his hands and fell on his knees, beseeching you as he might God Himself, you, Spaniard, white man, to take revenge for a mistake committed by the boy’s unfortunate father, you, lacking even a dog’s heart, cut off his little ears, leaving him mutilated for the rest of his days. And that—that I do not forgive you! If in heaven there is a just God, and if He condescends to spread a little of His grace over His forgotten children, if He hears the words that rise to Him from the bottom of my soul, I entreat Him never to forgive you, that among all sinners you be condemned for all eternity. For that I ask help of the most holy Virgin, who knows my sufferings, because she saw her own son suffer as I saw the little boy suffer who regards me as his mother. For him, to give him my protection and my love, I followed his father here. I do not spit my contempt in your face, for you have fallen too low to deserve a woman’s contempt. I do not touch you because I don’t want to make my hands filthy. I do not curse you because my curse could not bring you lower than you are. I leave you to hell, to the condemnation and just punishment of God. Because to you, such as you are, our Mother in heaven, however great her loving kindness may be, will refuse her pity.”
Modesta fell silent. She felt herself standing on the solid earth again as she came out of the ecstasy in which she had lived as she spoke. She looked around her and for the first time seemed to realize where she was. She dropped her arm and felt her strength ebbing. She shuddered. Up to that moment she had spoken in a strong, vibrant voice, agreeable to hear. But now, as she came to herself again, her words became harsh, and her mouth was distorted in an ominous grimace: “Now, men, you can do what you like with the tiger of the camps. The beast belongs to you! Take him. He has no soul, no heart. He is not a human being, he’s a wild animal. Make him pay for the little ears of my poor little boy. Make him pay for the little ears he stole! He must pay, pay, pay!”
Modesta ran around the circle formed by the men, shouting her last words as if trying to incite them to action, as if calling them to arms.
The workers were carried away. They shouted: “Bravo, girl! Long live Modesta! Long live the little Chamula! Long live the brave little Chamula! Long live the rebellion! Land and liberty!”
The wild clamor shook the girl out of her state. She tottered and had to reach for support. Hands were held out to help her. She covered her face with her hands, fell to the floor, and began to weep.
The men suddenly felt a shock. They talked and squirmed about, but stayed where they were.