CHAPTER XXIII
Ramon went to the _Morada_, the chapter house of the _penitentes_, aloneand late at night, for all of the whippings and initiations of the order,except those of Holy Week, are carried on in the utmost secrecy.
The _Morada_ stood halfway up the slope north of the little town, at theelevation where the tall yellow pines of the mountains begin to replacethe scrubby juniper and _pinon_ of the _mesas_ and foothills. It was acool moonlit night of late summer. A light west wind breathed through thetrees, making the massive black shadows of the juniper bushes faintlyalive. As he toiled up the rocky path Ramon heard the faraway yap andyodel of a coyote, and the still more distant answer of another one. Fromthe valley below came the intermittent bay of a cur, inspired by the moonand his wild kin, and now and then the tiny silver tinkle of a goat bell.
The _Morada_ stood in an open space. It was an oblong block of _adobe_,and gave forth neither light nor sound. Ramon stopped a little way from itin the shadow of a tree and lit a cigarette to steady his nerves. He feltnow for the first time something of the mystery and terribleness of thisbarbaric order which he proposed to use for his purpose. All his life the_penitentes_ had been to him a well-known fact of life. For the past weekhe had spent much of his time with the _maestro de novios_ of the localchapter, a wizened old sheep herder, who had instructed him monotonouslyin the secrets of the order, almost lulling him to sleep with his endlessmumblings of the ritual that was written in a little leather book acentury old. He had learned that if he betrayed the secrets of the order,he would be buried alive with only his head sticking out of the ground, sothat the ants might eat his face. He had been informed that if he fell illhe would be taken to the _Morada_ where his brothers in Christ would prayfor him, and seek to drive the devil out of his body, and that if he died,they would send his shoes to his family as a notice of that event; andwould bury him in consecrated ground. Some of the things he had learnedhad bored him and some had made him want to laugh, but none of them hadimpressed him, as they were intended to do, with the might and dignity ofthe ancient order.
He was impressed now as he stood before this dark still house where adozen ignorant fanatics waited to take his blood for what was to them aholy purpose. He knew that this _Morada_ was a very old one. He thought ofall the true penitents who had knocked for admission at its door and hadgone through its bloody ordeal with a zeal of madness which had enabledthem to cry loudly for blows and more blows until they fell insensible. Hetried to imagine their state of mind, but he could not. He was of theirrace and a growth of the same soil, but an alien civilization had touchedhim and sundered him from them, yet without taking him for its own. Hecould only nerve himself to face this ordeal because it would serve hisone great purpose.
As he stood there, a curious half-irrelevant thought came into his mind.He knew that the marks they would make on his back would be permanent. Hehad seen the long rough scars on the backs of sheep-herders, stripped tothe waist for the hot work of shearing. And he wondered how he wouldexplain these strange scars to Julia. He imagined her discovering themwith her long dainty hands, her round white arms. A great longing surgedup in him that seemed to weaken the very tissues of his body. He shookhimself, threw away his cigarette, went to the heavy wooden door andknocked.
Now he spoke a rigamarole in Spanish which had been taught him by rote.
"God knocks at this mission's door for His clemency," he called.
From within came a deep-voiced chorus, the first sound he had heard fromthe house, seeming weirdly to be the voice of the house itself.
"Penance, penance, which seeks salvation!" it chanted.
"Saint Peter will open to me the gate, bathing me with the light, in thename of Mary, with the seal of Jesus," Ramon went on, repeating as he hadlearned. "I ask this confraternity. Who gives this house light?"
"Jesus," answered the chorus within.
"Who fills it with joy?"
"Mary."
"Who preserves it with faith?"
"Joseph!"
The door opened and Ramon entered the chapel room of the _Morada_. It waslighted by a single candle, which revealed dimly the rough earthen walls,the low roof raftered with round pine logs, the wooden benches and thealtar, covered with black cloth. This was decorated with figures of theskull and cross-bones cut from white cloth. A human skull stood on eitherside of it, and a small wooden crucifix hung on the wall above it. Thesolitary candle--an ordinary tallow one in a tin holder--stood before this.
The men were merely dark human shapes. The light did not reveal theirfaces. They said nothing to Ramon. He could scarcely believe that thesewere the same good-natured _pelados_ he had known by day. Indeed they werenot the same, but were now merely units of this organization which heldthem in bondage of fear and awe.
One of them took Ramon silently by the arm and led him through a low doorinto the other room which was the _Morada_ proper. This room was supposednever to be entered except by a member of the order or by a candidate. Itwas small and low as the other, furnished only with a few benches aboutthe wall, and lighted by a couple of candles on a small table. A very oldand tarnished oil painting of Mary with the Babe hung at one end of it.All the way around the room, hanging from pegs driven into the wall, was arow of the broad heavy braided lashes of _amole_ weed, called_disciplinas_, used in Holy Week, and of the blood-stained drawers worn onthat occasion by the flagellants.
Still in complete silence Ramon was forced to his knees by two of the men,who quickly stripped him to the waist. Beside him stood a tallpowerfully-built Mexican with his right arm bared. In his hand he held atriangular bit of white quartz, cleverly chipped to a cutting edge. Thisman was the _sangredor_, whose duty it was to place the seal of the orderupon the penitent's back. His office required no little skill, for he hadto make three cuts the whole length of the back and three the width,tearing through the skin so as to leave a permanent scar, but not deepenough to injure the muscle. Ramon, glancing up, saw the gleam of thecandle light on the white quartz, and also in the eyes of the man, whichwere bright with eagerness.
Now came the supreme struggle with himself. How could he go through withthis ugly agony? He longed to leap to his feet and fight these ignorantlouts, who were going to mangle him and beat him for their own amusement.He held himself down with all his will, striving to think of the girl, tohold his purpose before his mind, to endure.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}
He felt the hand of the _sangredor_ upon his neck, and gritted his teeth.The man's grip was heavy, hot and firm. A flash of pain shot up and downhis back with lightning speed, as though a red hot poker had been laidupon it. Again and again and again! Six times in twice as many seconds thedeft flint ripped his skin, and he fell forward upon his hands, faint andsick, as he felt his own blood welling upon his back and trickling in warmrivulets between his ribs.
But this was not all. To qualify, he knew, he must call for the lash ofhis own free will.
"For the love of God," he uttered painfully, as he had been taught, "thethree meditations of the passion of our Lord."
On his torn back a long black snake whip came down, wielded with mercilessforce. But he felt the full agony of the first blow only. The secondseemed faint, and the third sent him plunging downward through a red mistinto black nothingness.
The Blood of the Conquerors Page 23
