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In this recent vision he had relived a period of time that had preceded the other by very nearly a year. It was clear now that after he had succumbed to Itzechuatl's pressure and gone through the ceremony of `Acceptance' on the Pyramid of the Sun, he had been consistently drugged, so that he should appear among the people as entirely carefree and, presumably, happy in the knowledge that when his time as a Man God was up he was to give his life so that they might prosper. In addition, the drug had served Itzechuatl by dulling his prisoner's faculties, so that he would forget the fate awaiting him and not attempt to escape. But he had escaped.

At least, so it seemed; although he could not be certain that he had got away from his pursuers. He was strongly under the

impression that he had succeeded and hoped that in another vision he would learn what had happened to him after Mirolitlit had enabled him to get away in the canoe; yet, at the same time, he dreaded a further revelation, as it might prove that he had been captured, in which case he would have to go through the horror of being ripped apart by Itzechuatl's sacrificial knife.

The thing that puzzled him most was why, in this land of brown skinned Indians, he should have seen himself as a golden haired white man and, when he prayed for help to escape across the lake, it should have been to the Norse gods.

The Pyramid was built in four stages separated by broad terraces. Its steps were not very deep and the slope comparatively gentle; so Adam found it easier going than he had expected. In a quarter of an hour he reached the summit.

When starting up the pyramid his mind had been greatly disturbed by the terrible experience that he had so recently relived. But the bright sunshine, clear air and the exertion of climbing soon brought him back to normal. It was only with curiosity that he looked at the spot where the Chac Mool, on which he had feared he would pour out his life blood, had once stood. He could visualize the scene but it was as though it had been only an act that he had seen in a play.

Unlike the Egyptian pyramids, those in Mexico do not rise to a point; they are truncated and the flat surface at the top of this, the largest of the Mexican pyramids was, perhaps, as much as a quarter of an acre in extent. But it looked very different from when Adam had been there `before'. Then the whole of the centre had been filled by a great, flat roofed temple. Only the broad terrace surrounding it remained unchanged. The temple had been destroyed by the Spaniards and was now just a tangled heap of broken stones.

Slowly he walked right round the terrace. In the clear air he could see for many miles across the Anahuac valley to the great ranges of volcanic mountains that enclosed it. Having enjoyed the wonderful panorama, he began the descent and found going down more trying than coming up, for there was no guard rail and one false step would have sent him rolling from that dizzy height to end up a bundle of broken bones, and probably dying, at the bottom.

Chela was sitting in the car reading a book and smoking a cigar. She exclaimed at his dishevelled state, then commiserated with him on his fall; but, although his wrists were still paining him badly, he assured her that he was unhurt. They drove to the restaurant near the museum where he was able to tidy himself up, and lunched there off Tacos, a very popular Mexican dish consisting of maize pancakes, called tortillas, stuffed with pork, onions and tomatoes, then rolled up and fried.

On leaving the restaurant they found that quite a strong wind had risen, creating a minor dust storm. Each gust lifted little clouds of sand from the ground and blew it most unpleasantly into their faces. As they walked towards the car park, Adam commented that they were lucky it had not been like that in the morning during their long walk round.

Chela agreed, then added, `But this is nothing to what we sometimes have to put up with in the spring. Such a great part of the land is barren and dried up that the high winds collect huge clouds of dust which blow right into Mexico City. Everyone who can afford to leaves the capital and goes down either to Cuernaaca or Acapulco. That reminds me. We usually go down to our house at Cuernavaca at week ends and father wished me to ask you if you would like to come down with us on Friday.' Adam happily accepted, then they got into the car and wound up all the windows.

When they had covered only a few miles on the way back, Chela turned off the smooth, broad motorway on to a bumpy gravel side road that was full of potholes. Ten minutes later they entered small town and, as she pulled up in the little plaza, she said: `You have been to some of our luxury restaurants in Mexico City, seen the lovely homes out at Pedregal and one of the housing states for the favoured white collar workers; now I want to show, you the wretched state in which our rotten government still leaves by far the greater part of the people to live.'

She made no move to get out of the car and they sat in it for a quarter of an hour while Adam took in the scene.

The plaster was peeling from the houses round the square, few of them had windows and the roofs of several were either broken or unskillfully patched. A few bedraggled palm trees threw patches of shade on broken paving and a rusty iron rail. Evidently it was market day, as there were many people about, some leading cows so emaciated that their ribs showed through their hides, others carrying several undersized chickens by a string tied round their legs. There were a few battered cars of ancient vintage, loaded to the roof with fruit and vegetables; but most of the traffic consisted of rickety carts drawn by painfully thin mules or, quite often, a sweating peasant. The people were scantily clad, the colour in the women's dresses long since faded, the once white cotton suits of the men grey with grime, their straw hats frayed and sometimes brimless’. Many of them were in rags and the younger children playing in the dirty gutters were naked.

In the centre of the square there was a statue that had lost an arm. Below it there was a single water faucet at which a small queue was waiting to fill battered two gallon jerry cans. It was composed mostly of children and Adam saw one little boy who could not have been more than seven stagger away with his filled can on his back, supported by a piece of rope that crossed his forehead, his eyes starting from his head.

`Poor little devil!' Adam exclaimed. `It's terrible. After seeing Mexico City I would never have believed it.'

Chela gave a bitter laugh. `I could take you to scores no, hundreds and hundreds of little towns and villages like this. And do you know what they live on? Tortillas and a few vegetables and fruits. They are lucky if they see meat once a month. It's tortillas for breakfast, tortillas for dinner and tortillas for supper. And they haven't even got mills to grind the maize. The men go out to work in the fields while the women pound the maize with a pestle and mortar; then, as they have no electricity or gas or wood, they have to blow their lungs out fanning into flame a miserable little heap of charcoal on which to cook it. Three times a day they do that, and it takes up most of their waking hours. Can you wonder that there are Communists?'

Adam gave her a questioning look. `From the way you speak, one might imagine that you are one.'

Opening the door of the car, she replied cryptically, `Christ was a Communist, wasn't He? Come on; let's go to see the church.'

They walked a short way down the dusty road on one side of which there was a line of stalls selling cheap cotton garments, luridly coloured soft drinks, piles of dangerous looking, homemade sweets and preserved fruits, upon which hordes of flies were feasting.

The church was a fairly large one. Adam was surprised to find it crowded, and that there were as many men as women in it. It was very old and the interior a strange contrast of the beautiful and ugly. The ceiling was a gem of intricate carving, although most of the gold that must once have made it dazzling had flaked away. There was a row of saints in niches, some of which were works of art; and one, he saw with interest, was black, with the features of an Indian. In contrast, grouped round the altar, there were other, smaller, modern figures of saints: cheap, gaudy and with garishly coloured robes. But before all of them were pyramids of thin, lighted candles, which were constantly being added to by the poverty stricken worshippers, paying a peso or two for them out of their hard won earnings.