High up on the side of a mountain about sixty miles from Mexico City, Pablo is tending the cattle. He looks down the mountain and across the valley to the town of Tepoztlan on the opposite mountain. The leaves of the trees cover the town with a sea of green, but Pablo can see the tower of the big church in the central plaza and then the towers of seven small churches one behind the other up the side of the mountain. The rest of the town is hidden under the green, but Pablo knows it well because he has lived there all the eleven years of his life. His home is far from the central plaza in the barrio, or district of town, called San Sebastian, and the saint's statue is in the local church, which is also called San Sebastian.
Pablo starts to trudge home. In the town there are paved streets, but higher up the streets become narrow paths strewn with boulders. His own street runs across the slope of the hill and makes rough going because it crosses several streams and ravines. Sounds are coming from the houses - children laughing or crying, housewives slapping tortillas into shape. Church bells are ringing. Buses honk as they race by along the main road. A peddler cries his wares. It is busy now, but by nightfall the streets will be dark and quiet. People go to bed early in Tepoztlan.
Pablo's home, like his neighbor's, is made of sun-dried bricks and roofed with tile. At one side is a lean-to that is the kitchen. A little storehouse for corn on the cob is in front of the house. It is about six feet high, made of corn stalks tied together with rope. The door of the one-room house opens into a walled yard where there is a row of cans filled with bright flowers. The water for them comes from the nearest fountain and the family carries it home in pails, for they all love flowers.
Pablo's mother and sister Maria have been working hard all day, cooking and washing and ironing. ''You have it much easier than I did when I was young,'' his mother tells Maria. ''I had to get up at four in the morning to grind the corn. Now we take the corn to the mill to be ground.''
But of course Mama has kept her metate, or grinding stone, to use in emergencies and to grind coffee and chili peppers for the fiesta. ''No woman could set up housekeeping without a grinding stone,'' she says.
The women are cooking over a fire on a hearth of three stones set in a triangle with a griddle on top. Theirs is built on the floor, but Pablo's aunt, who is richer, has a stove set on a table-height cement platform.
Dinner is ready and Pablo, his older brother Jose, and Papa sit down on low chairs to eat. The table is used only at fiesta time. Mama serves the food in bowls or wrapped in tortillas (flat round cakes of cornmeal mush baked on a griddle). There are toasted beans and cheese, and they are lucky tonight for there is some meat and Mama has made a tasty sauce with peppers. After Papa and the older boys have eaten, Mama and the younger children sit on the floor for their meal.
When dinner is over Mama puts out the fire, for they save on fuel. It is all right now because the weather is mild. But Pablo remembers with a shiver that in the winter they had to go to bed just to keep warm.
Pablo starts to trudge home. In the town there are paved streets, but higher up the streets become narrow paths strewn with boulders. His own street runs across the slope of the hill and makes rough going because it crosses several streams and ravines. Sounds are coming from the houses - children laughing or crying, housewives slapping tortillas into shape. Church bells are ringing. Buses honk as they race by along the main road. A peddler cries his wares. It is busy now, but by nightfall the streets will be dark and quiet. People go to bed early in Tepoztlan.
Pablo's home, like his neighbor's, is made of sun-dried bricks and roofed with tile. At one side is a lean-to that is the kitchen. A little storehouse for corn on the cob is in front of the house. It is about six feet high, made of corn stalks tied together with rope. The door of the one-room house opens into a walled yard where there is a row of cans filled with bright flowers. The water for them comes from the nearest fountain and the family carries it home in pails, for they all love flowers.
Pablo's mother and sister Maria have been working hard all day, cooking and washing and ironing. ''You have it much easier than I did when I was young,'' his mother tells Maria. ''I had to get up at four in the morning to grind the corn. Now we take the corn to the mill to be ground.''
But of course Mama has kept her metate, or grinding stone, to use in emergencies and to grind coffee and chili peppers for the fiesta. ''No woman could set up housekeeping without a grinding stone,'' she says.
The women are cooking over a fire on a hearth of three stones set in a triangle with a griddle on top. Theirs is built on the floor, but Pablo's aunt, who is richer, has a stove set on a table-height cement platform.
Dinner is ready and Pablo, his older brother Jose, and Papa sit down on low chairs to eat. The table is used only at fiesta time. Mama serves the food in bowls or wrapped in tortillas (flat round cakes of cornmeal mush baked on a griddle). There are toasted beans and cheese, and they are lucky tonight for there is some meat and Mama has made a tasty sauce with peppers. After Papa and the older boys have eaten, Mama and the younger children sit on the floor for their meal.
When dinner is over Mama puts out the fire, for they save on fuel. It is all right now because the weather is mild. But Pablo remembers with a shiver that in the winter they had to go to bed just to keep warm.
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