EMPIRES CHILDREN: THE PEOPLE OF TZINTZUNTZAN FOSTER 



FROM THE ETHNOGRAPHER'S NOTEBOOK 



273 



A straight descriptive ethnographical account 

 almost invariably reduces the picture of a vil- 

 lage to a single plane. Yet the collective life 

 which is that of the village, is composed only 

 of the individual lives of the inhabitants. And 

 they are by no means stereotyped. Some are 

 intelligent, others are stupid, some rude and 

 bad-mannered, and others models of courtesy 

 and correctness. These human aspects of Tzin- 

 tzuntzan can be known and understood only by 

 meeting the people. Some of the characters 

 whom 1 found most interesting have already 

 been introduced to the reader, within the con- 

 text of the subject matter under discussion. In 

 this section 1 hope to convey a more intimate 

 idea of the people themselves — what they think, 

 how they react under different circumstances, 

 what are dominant group characteristics. I have 

 done this, literally, by taking random pages 

 from field notes which contain data not strictly 

 pertinent to the formal categories under which 

 the culture of Tzintzuntzan has been considered, 

 but which seem to me to throw significant light 

 on the total picture of the way of life of the 

 people. The data are spotty and of varying 

 quality. Still, 1 hope they will contribute some- 

 thing not made apparent in other parts of this 

 monograph. 



I. 



Zeferino Villagomez is presidente municipal, 

 town mayor, in 1945. He is perhaps not the 

 best mayor Tzintzuntzan has had, but there are 

 some interesting things about him. Sometime 

 after our arrival he asks, "Sefior Foster, how 

 old are you?" It was the first — and only time — 

 the question was asked. 1 tell him and he muses. 

 "And how old are you, Zeferino?" I ask. "Se- 

 fior Foster, I was born on August 28, 1917." 

 This is an astonishing reply. In a town where 

 most adults, without careful calculations, are 

 unable to give their ages within 5 or 10 years, 

 Zeferino, without hesitation, gives the date of 

 his birth. Zeferino is famed for his question 

 asking. He is known, to this day, as "the boy 

 who was curious." "How many horses would 

 be necessary to pull down the church tower?" 

 "How much salt would one have to put in the 



lake to make it salty?" "How many adobes are 

 necessary for a church?" The questions, asked 

 20 years earlier, are still commented upon. No 

 one before, no one since, has asked such ques- 

 tions. People think it is a curious but harmless 

 mental quirk. 



One day the two of us, with Zeferino's young- 

 er brother Maximino, and Primo Calderon, 

 drive to Morelia, and I ask them to lunch at 

 the Oseguera Hotel. During the meal a curious 

 individual, a dark, wiry man in his early thir- 

 ties, with a frosty blind eye, enters the dining 

 room. He is dressed in black riding pants, 

 boots, and white shirt. At each table he leaves 

 a printed sheet which proclaims him to be the 

 Andarin no. uno de la America Latino, the fore- 

 most wanderer of Latin America. Since it falls 

 at my place, I glance over it. He has been 

 driven, so it reads, by an irresistible impulse 

 to wander over Latin America, from his Bra- 

 zilian home, and only the support of friends 

 makes it possible to continue to do so. Upon 

 his return he informs me that the sheet is mine 

 for only $0.10. I start to hand it back, but Ze- 

 ferino, who has not seen it, pulls out the money 

 and hands it to him. Curiosity has gotten the 

 better of him. Two years earlier, says Zeferi- 

 no, the same man was in Morelia and sold sheets 

 with wonderful poetry which he himself had 

 written; now, it is worth $0.10 to know what 

 this sheet says. I express doubt that the man is 

 a Brazilian. Zeferino reads the tract carefully. 

 "No, he's Brazilian all right. It says so right 

 here." 



Zeferino is also genuinely concerned about 

 our welfare, and the success of the project. 

 During the early days of our stay there were 

 ugly rumors that we were Evangelistas, Protes- 

 tant missionaries working under cover, intend- 

 ing to destroy the church and saints, and to con- 

 vert en masse the population from the true faith. 

 One day a pot filled with lime is thrown at Ga- 

 briel from behind a wall, narrowly missing him. 

 Though most people do not take the rumor se- 

 riously, there are a few fanatics. I am attend- 

 ing the election of new cargueros at the home 

 of Jose Medina. It is well after midnight, and 

 the party is breaking up. I have a several min- 

 utes walk down the road to the school house, 



