Explore "The Nine Guardians" by Rosario Castellanos on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We reach Chactajal at sunset. Round the silk-cotton tree in the yard the Indians are waiting. They come near so that we can touch their foreheads with our fingers, and they give us their "tithes": hens well hobbled so they can't escape, fresh eggs, and little measures of corn and beans. It's our task to receive them gratefully. Father orders a carafe of brandy and a bolt of cloth to be shared out among them. Then we go to the chapel to give thanks for our safe arrival. They've decorated it as if for a feast-day, with garlands of ricepaper and with sedge strewn on the floor. On the altar the Virgin shows off her silk dress embroidered with seed-pearls. At her feet a large gourd filled with fruit emits a hundred mingled scents. Mother kneels and recites the mysteries of the rosary. In one, single, anonymous voice, the Indians give the responses.
After prayers we sit on the benches round the walls. One of the Indians (a chief, probably, to judge by the respect the others pay him) puts a gourd full of atole into Mother's hands. Mother just tastes the liquid and then passes it on to me. I do the same and hand it to the next, and so on till we've all put our lips to the same spot.