The LUCK OF TEODORO MENDEZ ACUBAL

Rosario Castellanos

Walking the streets of Jobel (with his eyes lowered as befitted his humble person) Teodoro Mendez Acubal
found a coin. Half covered by the trash on the ground, filthy with mud, dulled from use, it had gone unnoticed
by the caxlanes. Because caxlanes walk with their head high out of pride, mindful even from a distance of the
important business demanding their attention.

Theodore stopped more by disbelief than by greed. Kneeling down, pretending to tie the chords of one of his
sandals, he waited until he was certain that no one was watching him before he picked up his discovery.
Quickly, he slipped it between the layers of his sash.

He returned to his feet, staggering, for he had taken a sort of dizziness: weakness in the joints, dry mouth, his
vision clouded, as if his heart were beating right in the middle of his forehead.

Staggering from one side to the other like a drunk, Teodoro began walking. On more than one occasion
passersby pushing to prevent crush him. But the mood was too embarrassed Teodoro as to care what was
happening around him. The coin, hidden in the folds of the belt, it had become another man. A man stronger
than before, it's true. But also more fearful.

He backed away somewhat from the sidewalk by returning to his place and sat "on the trunk of a tree. What if
everything had not been a dream? Pale anxiety, Theodore clutched his belt. Yes, there it was, hard, round,
coin. Teodoro unwrapped, the fog and wet with saliva, rubbed against the fabric of your clothes. About the
metal (silver must be, judging from its whiteness) lines were registered. Superb. And about letters, numbers,
punctuation. Weighing it, biting, making it tintinease, Teodoro was-at last calculate its value.

So now, by a stroke of luck, had become rich. More than if it were the owner of a flock of sheep, but if
possessed a vast expanse of cornfields. It was as rich as a horn ... caxián. And Theodore was amazed that the
warmth of his skin remained the same.

The images of the people in his family (wife, three children, aged parents) wanted to insinuate itself into the
dreams of Teodoro. But dismissed with a gesture of disgust. Did not have to involve their finding anyone let
alone share. Worked to keep the house. That's fine, usual, is required. But others, luck, was his. Exclusively
yours.

So when Theodore came to his hut and sat by the embers to eat, he said nothing. His silence caused him
embarrassment, as if silence was mocking the other. And as an immediate punishment grew, along with shame,
a sense of loneliness. Theodore was a man apart, gagged by a secret. And was overwhelmed with physical
discomfort, cramp in the stomach, a chill in the marrow. Why suffer so? A word was enough and that pain
would vanish. To force yourself to not pronounce Theodore felt through the seat belt webbing, which made the
bulk metal.

During the night, sleepless, he said: buy what? Because never, until now, had he wished to have things. He
was so convinced that not his that passed them without curiosity, without greed. And now I would not think
you need antojársele blanket machetes hats. No. It is bought with what you earn. But Mendez Acubal had not
won this coin. It was his luck, it was a gift. She got to play with it, for the lost, that they provide useless and
beautiful.
 Teodoro knew nothing about prices. From your next trip to "bel began to notice dealings between dealers.
Both seemed phlegmatic. Affecting one as lack of interest, other, and desire to complacency, talking about real,
tostones pounds of rods. Things even more, spinning rapidly around the head of Theodore without getting
caught.

Fatigued, Teodoro refused to continue arguing over and left a delicious conviction: that in exchange for the
silver coin could buy whatever I wanted.

It was months before Acubal Mendez had made its irrevocable choice. It was a figure of pasta, the statue of a
virgin. It was also a finding because the figure lay between overcrowding of objects that decorated the store
window. Since that time the Teodoro hovered like a lover. They spent hours and hours. And he always, like a
sentinel, there by glasses.

Don Agustin Velasco, the merchant, and watched with his shrewd little eyes (eyes marticuil, as I said, between
mimes, his mother) from inside the store.

Even before he acquired the habit of Teodoro wagered at the shop front, his face had caught the attention of
Don Agustin. A no lose Ladino is the face of a Chamula when seen walking on the sidewalks (reserved for
caxlanes) and less when walking slowly walking As they will. It was unusual for this to happen and do not
even Augustine considered possible. But I had to admit that things could go further: that an Indian was able to
also dare to stand before a glass case and look what there is exhibited not only with aplomb who appreciate, but
with adequacy, a little insolent buyer.

The thin, yellowish face wrinkled Agustin in a sneer. You acquire an Indian on Calle Real de Guadalupe
candles to their saints, spirits for parties, tools for your job, okay. People who deals with them no blood or
famous names, has not inherited fortunes and you must carry a vile trade. An Indian into a pharmacy to request
hoof powders of the great beast, handsome oil miraculous ointments, can be tolerated. At the end of the day
apothecaries from families of middling, who would rise up and mingle with the best and that's good to humiliate
Indians frequenting their outlets.

But an Indian can become stone in front of a jewelry ... And not just any jewelry, but Don Agustin Velasco,
one of the descendants of the conquerors, welcome in the best circles, appreciated by his colleagues, was, at
least - inexplicable. Unless ...

A suspicion began to distress him. What if the audacity of this Chamula was based on the strength of his tribe?
Not the first time, he recognized the trader bitterly. Rumors, where he had heard rumors of revolt? Agustin
quickly reviewed the sites he had visited in recent days: the Episcopal Palace, the Casino, the gathering of Mrs.
Romelia Ochoa.

What nonsense! Don Agustín smiled a condescending mockery of itself. How right he was His Grace, Manuel
Oropeza, when he said that there is no sin unpunished. And Don Agustín, who had no liking for the cup or by
the snuff, which had rigorously kept continence was a slave to a vice: the conversation.

Furtive, lurking in doorways dialogues in the market, in the same cathedral. Don Augustine was the first to
hear the gossip, scandals and guessing do enough to receive confidences, being custodian of secrets and
intrigues serve. And in the evenings, after dinner (good thick chocolate with his mother rewarded the fatigues
and daily concerns), Agustin attending promptly to any small gathering. There they chatted, stories were told.
Of dating, of litigated matters of inheritance, of sudden and unexplained fortunes of duels. For several nights
the conversation had revolved around a theme: the uprisings of the Indians. All present were witnesses, victims,
fighters and some winners. They remembered details of those who had been involved. Terrible images to
tremble Don Augustine fifteen thousand Chamula at war, besieging Ciudad Real. The looted farms, killed men,
women (no, no, we need to frighten these bad thoughts) women ... well, rape.

Victory is always leaning on the side of caxlanes (otherwise would have been inconceivable), but instead how
enormous sacrifices, how heavy losses.

Does anything the experience? Judging by the Indian standing before the window of your jewelry, Agustin
decided against it. The inhabitants of Ciudad Real, absorbed in their tasks of daily interests, forgetting the past,
which should serve as a lesson, and lived as if no danger threatened them. Don Agustin was horrified of such
unconsciousness. The security of your life was so fragile that the face was enough of a Chamula, view through
glass to make it shatter.

Don Agustín turned back to the street with the unspoken hope that the figure of the Indian was no longer there.
But Mendez Acubal still remained motionless, attentive.

Passers passed him no sign of surprise or alarm. This (and the peaceful rumors that reached the back of the
house) returned Agustin tranquility. Now his fear was not justified. Cancuc events, the siege of Pedro Diaz
Cuscat to Jobel, threats of Pajarito, could not be repeated. Times were different, safer for decent people.

And besides, who would provide weapons, who would acaudillar the rebels? The Indian who was here;
squashing his nose against the window of the jewelry was alone. And if anyone else had surpassed that coletos
guilt. None was required to respect them if they did not themselves to respect. Don Augustine disapproved of
the conduct of his countrymen as having been betrayed by them.

They say that a very few with the favor of God, come to the point of shaking hands with the Indians. The
Indians, a race of thieves!

The qualification earned in the mouth of a peculiar Agustin offensive force. Not only by the sense of
ownership, as developed in him as in any profession, but by a special circumstance.

Don Agustin did not frankly admit, but I was tormented by the suspicion that it was useless. And what's worse,
her mother's confirmed in many ways. Your attitude towards this only child (son of Santa Ana, said), born
when it was more of a hindrance than a consolation, was Christian resignation. The child, his mother and the
maids were calling him that even though he had surpassed Agustin-quarantine was very shy, very timid, very no
initiative. Many opportunities to make good business is gone from his hands! And how much of which he
regarded as such, were not ultimately more failures! The fortunes of the Velascos had been declining
significantly since Agustin held the reins of affairs. And as for the prestige of the firm, it was held just barely,
thanks to the respect that all managed to infuse the deceased mother and son who kept still mourning.

But what could be expected from a apulismado, an "old kid"? Agustin's mother shook her head, sighing. And
redoubled praise, the condescension, the pampering, as this was his way of feeling contempt.

Instinctively, the merchant knew he had before him the chance to prove to others, to yourself, your value. His
zeal, his insight, would be apparent to all. And a simple word-thief had provided the key: the man who
smashed his nose against the glass of her jewelry was a thief. No doubt about it. Otherwise the case was very
common. Don Agustín recalled countless stories of thievery larceny and even attributed to the Indians.
 Satisfied deductions Agustin apercibirse not satisfied with the defense. His sense of solidarity of race, class
and occupation forced him to communicate his suspicions to other traders and the police occurred together. The
neighborhood alert was thanks to the diligence of Mr. Augustine.

But those precautions suscitador of sight for some time. After weeks reappeared in the usual place and the
same attitude: making guard. Because Teodoro dared not enter. No Chamula had never attempted such
audacity. If he be the first venture into probably would be thrown into the street before one of their lice dirtied
the room. But getting on the off chance you did not expulsasen, if allowed to remain inside the store long
enough to talk time, Teodoro would not expose their wishes known. I did not understand, did not speak Castile.
To be unstopped the ears, so that you will drop the language, had been drinking handsome oil. The liquor had
infused him a sense of power. The blood ran hot and fast, through his veins. Ease your muscles moving,
dictated his actions. As in a dream he crossed the threshold of jewelry. But the cold and damp, the smell of
trapped, still air, made him to himself with a start of terror. From a case so glaring eye of a diamond.

- What gives you, chamulita? Can I help you?

With repetitions Agustin sought to gain time. Groping sought his gun into the top drawer of the desk. Silence
of Indian scared him more than any threat. He dared not look up until he had the gun in his hand.

He found a look that paralyzed him. A look of surprise, reproach. Why it looked like this? Don Agustin was
not guilty. It was an honest man, he had never hurt anyone. And it would be the first victim of these Indians
had suddenly become judges! This was almost the executioner, with his foot point forward, his fingers digging
into the folds of the belt, ready to draw who knows what instrument of extermination.

Don Augustine had wielded the gun, but was not able to shoot. He cried for help to the police.

When he tried to flee Teodoro could not, because the crowd had gathered at the doors of the store and cut off
his retreat. Shouts, gestures, angry faces. The gendarmes rocked the Indian, asked questions, searched him.
When the silver coin aparció the folds of his sash, a scream of triumph provoked the crowd. Don Agustin made
vehement gestures showing the coin. The shouting swelled her neck.

- Thief! Thief!

Acubal Teodoro Mendez was taken to jail. As the accusation against him was very common, none of the
officials hurried to publicize their cause. The record turned yellow on the shelves of the delegation.