{"id":26630,"date":"2026-03-15T23:40:33","date_gmt":"2026-03-16T03:40:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=26630"},"modified":"2026-03-17T23:06:50","modified_gmt":"2026-03-18T03:06:50","slug":"juan-rulfo-anacleto-morones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/juan-rulfo-anacleto-morones\/26630\/","title":{"rendered":"Juan Rulfo: Anacleto Morones"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> \u201cAnacleto Morones\u201d is a short story by the Mexican writer Juan Rulfo, published in 1953 in the book El llano en llamas<\/em>. Lucas Lucatero is at his ranch when, in the midst of heat and dust, he sees a group of devout women arriving from Amula. The unwelcome visitors come with the purpose of convincing him to return with them to the town to give testimony about the life and deeds of Anacleto Morones, whom they regard as a saint capable of performing miracles. However, they run up against Lucatero\u2019s reluctance, for he holds a very different opinion of the man who was once his father-in-law.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Juan<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Anacleto Morones<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Juan Rulfo
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old women, daughters of evil! I saw them coming all together, in a procession. Dressed in black, sweating like mules under the sheer rays of the sun. I saw them from far off, raising dust as if they were a mule train. Their faces made ashen by dust. Black, all of them. They came on the road from Amula, singing between their prayers, in the heat, with their huge, blackened escapularios<\/em> onto which the sweat from their faces fell in great drops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw them coming and I hid. I knew what they were doing there and who they were looking for. That\u2019s why I hastened to hide at the very back of the corral, running with my pants in my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But they came in anyway and confronted me. They said: \u201c\u00a1Ave Mar\u00eda Pur\u00edsima!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was squatting on a stone, not doing anything, just sitting there with my pants down around my ankles, so they could see the way I was and wouldn\u2019t come any closer. But they just said: \u201c\u00a1Ave Mar\u00eda Pur\u00edsima!\u201d And gradually they came nearer still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old Indian women! They should be ashamed of themselves! They crossed themselves and came right up to me, all together, in a tight herd, dripping sweat and with their hair smeared across their faces as if it had been drizzling on them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe came to see you, Lucas Lucatero. We came from Amula, just to see you. Not too far from here we were told you were home; but we didn\u2019t think you would be this far inside; not in this place and doing this. We thought you might be feeding the chickens, which is why we came in. We came to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Those old women! Old and ugly like donkey manure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me what you want,\u201d I said to them while I buttoned my pants and they covered their eyes so they wouldn\u2019t see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re on a mission. We\u2019ve looked for you in Santo Santiago and in Santa In\u00e9s, but we were told you no longer lived there, you had moved to this ranch. And we\u2019ve come here. We\u2019re from Amula.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I already knew where they were from and who they were; I could have even recited their names, but I pretended not to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo yes, Lucas Lucatero, we\u2019ve finally found you, thank God.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I invited them to move into the hallway and I brought some chairs so they could sit. I asked them if they were hungry or if they wanted at the very least a mug of water to wet their whistles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They sat down, drying their sweat with their escapularios<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d they said. \u201cWe didn\u2019t come to bother you. We\u2019re here with a message for you. You know me, don\u2019t you, Lucas Lucatero?\u201d one of them asked me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA bit,\u201d I replied. \u201cI think I\u2019ve seen you somewhere. Are you, by any chance, Pancha Fregoso, who let herself be carried off by Homobono Ramos?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am, yes, but no one carried me off. Those were only evil rumors. The two of us got lost looking for berries. I\u2019m a member of the congregation and I would never have allowed…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat, Pancha?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, you think evil thoughts, Lucas. You still like to go around accusing people of crimes. But since you do indeed know me, I want to take this opportunity to let you know why we came.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t even want a mug of water?\u201d I asked them again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t put yourself out. But since you insist so much, we won\u2019t disappoint you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I brought them a mug of myrtle water, which they drank. I then brought them another and they drank that one, too. Then I brought them a mug of river water. They left it alone, waiting, for some later time, because, according to them, they would be very thirsty when their digestion started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ten women, seated in a row, with their black dresses filthy with mud. Ponciano\u2019s daughters, Emiliano\u2019s, Crescenciano\u2019s, Toribio the tavern keeper\u2019s, and Anastasio the barber\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old rags! Not even one of them passable. All of them over fifty. Withered like dried, faded big flowers. Not a single one worth considering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what are you looking for around here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe came to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell you\u2019ve seen me. I\u2019m fine. Don\u2019t worry about me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve come a long way. To this hidden place. With no address or anyone to vouch for you. It took us quite a lot of effort to find you and only after a lot of inquiries.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not hiding. I live here happily, without people bothering me. What\u2019s your mission, if one may know?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s like this . . . But don\u2019t bother giving us anything to eat. We already ate at La Torcacita\u2019s house. We were all fed there. So listen carefully. Sit down here in front of us so we can see you and so you can hear us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I couldn\u2019t relax. I wanted to go back to the corral. I could hear the hens clucking and it made me want to gather the eggs before the rabbits ate them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to get the eggs,\u201d I told them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally, we\u2019ve already eaten. Don\u2019t put yourself out for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere are two wild rabbits out there who eat my eggs. I\u2019ll be right back.\u201d And I went to the corral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was thinking of not coming back. Slip out the door to the hills and leave that row of gray-haired old women stuck there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced at the pile of stones I had piled up in the corner and saw the shape of a grave. So I started to scatter them, throwing the stones in every direction, making one mess here and another one there. They were river stones, smooth, and I could fling them way far. Evil old women! They had made me work. I don\u2019t know why they decided to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I interrupted the task and went back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave them the eggs as a gift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you kill the rabbits? We saw you flinging rocks at them. We\u2019ll keep the eggs awhile. You shouldn\u2019t have bothered.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey may hatch if you put them next to your breasts, better leave them out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, you\u2019re still you, Lucas Lucatero. Ever the sweet-talker. As if we were that hot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat I don\u2019t know anything about. But it\u2019s hot outside around here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What I wanted was to get them to leave. Put them on another tack while I tried to find a way to throw them out of my house so they wouldn\u2019t want to come back. But I couldn\u2019t come up with anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew they had been looking for me since January, since just after Anacleto Morones disappeared. More than one person let me know that the old women from Amula Congregation were looking for me. They were the only ones who could have any interest in Anacleto Morones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now I had them here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could continue making conversation with them or wasting their time until night came and they had to leave. They wouldn\u2019t have risked spending it in my house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because there was a period of time when that\u2019s what it was all about: when Ponciano\u2019s daughter said that they wanted to finish their business quickly and go back to Amula early. That\u2019s when I made them see that they shouldn\u2019t worry about that, that even if they stayed on the floor there was room and enough extra straw mats for all of them. All of them said they wouldn\u2019t think of it, because what would people think when they found out they had spent the night alone in my house and with me in it. They wouldn\u2019t think of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thing, then, was to stretch out the conversation until night fell, making them give up the idea buzzing in their heads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I asked one of them:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what does your husband say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have a husband, Lucas. Don\u2019t you remember I was your girlfriend? I waited and waited for you and I kept on waiting. Then I found out you had gotten married. At that point nobody wanted me anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what about me? What happened is that I had other things to do that keep me very busy; but there\u2019s still time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re married, Lucas, and to the Santo Ni\u00f1o\u2019s daughter no less. Why get me all excited again? I\u2019d just about forgotten you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut me no. What was your name again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNieves . . . My name is still Nieves. Nieves Garc\u00eda. And don\u2019t make me cry, Lucas Lucatero. Just remembering how sweetly smooth your promises were makes me mad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNieves . . . Nieves. Of course I remember you. As if anyone could forget you . . . You had such smooth skin. I remember. I still feel you here in my arms. Very smooth. Soft. The smell of the dress in which you came over to see me, it smelled like camphor. And you would snuggle up close to me. You pressed so hard against me I could feel you in my bones. I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop saying those things, Lucas. Yesterday I went to confession and now you\u2019re stirring up evil thoughts and throwing sin on top of me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI remember kissing you on the backs of your knees. And you would say not there because it tickled. Do you still have dimples on the backs of your knees?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBetter stop talking, Lucas Lucatero. God won\u2019t forgive you for what you did with me. You\u2019ll pay dearly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid I do something wrong with you? Did I treat you badly?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had to get rid of it. And don\u2019t make me say that here in front of people. But just so you know: I had to get rid of it. It was something like a piece of jerky. And why was I going to want it, if its father was nothing more than a jerk?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo that\u2019s what happened? I didn\u2019t know that. Don\u2019t you all want a bit more myrtle water? It won\u2019t take me long to make it. Just wait a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so I went again back to the corral to cut myrtle. I loitered there as long as I could while that woman\u2019s bad mood lessened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I came back, she had already left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe left?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, she left. You made her cry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI only wanted to talk to her, just to pass the time. Have you noticed how late the rains are? In Amula it must have rained already, no?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, there was a rainstorm the day before yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no doubt that\u2019s a good spot. It rains a lot and people live well. Here not even a hint of clouds. Is Rogaciano still the mayor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, still.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRogaciano is a good man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. He\u2019s evil.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe you\u2019re right. And what can you tell me about Edelmiro, does he still have his pharmacy closed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEdelmiro died. He did well in dying, though I shouldn\u2019t say that; but he was another evil man. He was one of the people who sullied the Ni\u00f1o Anacleto\u2019s reputation. He accused him of taking advantage of people and being a sorcerer and a swindler. He used to say that all over. But people didn\u2019t pay any attention to him and God punished him. He died of rabies like a dog.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod willing he\u2019s in Hell.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd may the devil not tire of piling firewood on him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd let the same thing happen to Lirio L\u00f3pez, the judge, who took Edelmiro\u2019s side and sent the Santo Ni\u00f1o to jail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now they were doing the talking. I let them say everything they wanted. As long as they left me alone, everything would be fine. But suddenly they decided to ask me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you want to come with us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTo Amula. That\u2019s why we came. To bring you back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a moment I wanted to go back to the corral. Leave through the door to the mountains and disappear. Old hags!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what the heck am I going to do in Amula?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe want you to accompany us in our prayers. We have begun, all the members of the congregation of Ni\u00f1o Anacleto, a novena to ask that he be canonized. You are his son-in-law and we need you to give testimony. The priest charged us to bring someone who was close to him and who knew him a while back, before he became famous through his miracles. And who better than you, who lived at his side and can say better than anyone the charitable works he performed. That\u2019s why we need you, to accompany us in this campaign.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Old rags! Should have said it before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t go,\u201d I told them. \u201cI don\u2019t have anyone to take care of my house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo girls will stay behind to do that, we anticipated that. Besides, your wife is here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have a wife anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo what happened to her? Ni\u00f1o Anacleto\u2019s daughter?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe left. I threw her out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut that can\u2019t be, Lucas Lucatero. The poor girl must be suffering. She was so good. And so young. And beautiful. Where did you send her, Lucas? We\u2019ll be satisfied if at least you put her in the convent of the Repentant Women.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t put her anywhere. I threw her out. And I\u2019m sure she\u2019s not with the Repentant Women; she liked to carouse and to kick up her heels. She must be on the same tack, undoing pants.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t believe you, Lucas, not even a little bit do we believe you. She\u2019s probably around here, shut up in some room of this very house saying her prayers. You were always quite a liar and even a false witness. Remember, Lucas, the poor daughters of Hermelindo, who had to go to El Grullo because people would whistle the song \u2018The Pigeons\u2019 every time they would show their faces on the street, and only because you made up some gossip. No one can believe anything you say, Lucas Lucatero.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen there\u2019s no reason for me to go to Amula.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFirst you confess and then everything will be all right. When was the last time you confessed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUh! about fifteen years ago. Since the Cristeros were about to shoot me. They put a rifle in my back and made me kneel before the priest and I said things there I had never even done. I even confessed to things I might do in the future.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf it weren\u2019t because you\u2019re the Santo Ni\u00f1o\u2019s son-in-law, we wouldn\u2019t have come looking for you, let alone ask you for anything. You\u2019ve always been a real devil, Lucas Lucatero.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot for anything was I Anacleto Morones\u2019s helper. He was the devil incarnate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t blaspheme.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just that you didn\u2019t know him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe knew him as a saint.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut not as a santero<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you saying, Lucas?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t know that; but he used to sell saints before. In the fairs. At the church doors. And I would carry his pack for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere we went, the two of us, one after another, from one town to another. He in front and I carrying the pack with the novenas of San Pante\u00f3n, of San Ambrosio, and of San Pascual, which weighed at least thirty pounds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne day we ran into some pilgrims. Anacleto was on his knees on top of an ant colony, showing how if you bite your tongue, the ants won\u2019t sting you. That\u2019s when the pilgrims passed by. They saw him. They stopped to see that curious scene. They asked: \u2018How can you be on top of the ant colony without being stung?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen he crossed his arms and started to say he had just arrived from Rome, from where he was bringing a message and was carrying a splinter of wood from the Holy Cross where Christ was crucified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey lifted him up in their arms. They took him as far as Amula on a litter. And there was the apotheosis; people prostrated themselves before him and asked him for miracles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat was the beginning. All I could do was watch with my mouth open, watching him fool the masses of pilgrims coming to see him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a big talker and even worse, you\u2019re a blasphemer. Who were you before you knew him? A swineherd. And he made you rich. He gave you what you have. And not even then do you speak well of him. Ungrateful soul.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs to that, I thank him for ending my hunger, but that doesn\u2019t change the fact that he was the real devil. He still is, wherever he is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s in Heaven. Among the angels. That\u2019s where he is, even if you can\u2019t stand it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI knew he was in jail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat was a long time ago. He escaped from there. He disappeared without leaving a trace. Now he\u2019s in Heaven in body and soul. And from there he blesses us. Girls: kneel! Let us pray \u2018We\u2019re penitents, Lord,\u2019 so the Santo Ni\u00f1o can intercede for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And those old women knelt, kissing at every Our Father the escapulario<\/em> where the portrait of Anacleto Morones was embroidered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was three in the afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took advantage of the time to get into the kitchen and eat some bean tacos. When I came back, only five women were left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s become of the others?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Pancha, brushing aside the four hairs she had in her mustache, said to me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey left. They don\u2019t want anything to do with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll the better. Fewer donkeys, more corn. Would you like more myrtle water?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of them, Filomena, who had been quiet the whole time and whose bad reputation gave her the nickname of \u201cLa Muerta,\u201d the Dead One, was leaning on one of my flowerpots, and with her finger in her mouth, threw up all the myrtle water she had swallowed, mixed with pieces of chicharr\u00f3n<\/em> and huam\u00fachile<\/em> grains:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t even want your myrtle water, you blasphemous thing. I don\u2019t want anything from you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she put the egg I had given her on the chair:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t even want your eggs! I better leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now only four were left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI feel like puking, too,\u201d Pancha said to me. \u201cBut I won\u2019t. We have to take you to Amula no matter what.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the only one who can bear faith to the Santo Ni\u00f1o\u2019s saintliness. He shall soften your soul. We\u2019ve already placed his image in the church and it wouldn\u2019t be fair to throw it onto the street because of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook for someone else. I don\u2019t want anything to do with all of this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were almost his child. You inherited the fruit of his saintliness. He put his eyes on you in order to live in perpetuity. He gave you his daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, but when I got her, she was already perpetuated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, the things you say, Lucas Lucatero.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the way it was, when he gave her to me, she had already been loaded for at least four months.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut smelling of sainthood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSmelling of nothing but pestilence. She liked showing her belly to whoever was in front of her, only so they could see it was made of flesh. She would show them her swollen belly, purple from the swelling of the child it carried inside. And they would laugh. They found it funny. It was shameless. That was Anacleto Morones\u2019s daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cImpure thing. You shouldn\u2019t say those things. We\u2019ll give you an escapulario<\/em> as a gift so you can chase the devil out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c…She left with one of them. Supposedly he loved her. He only said to her: \u2018I\u2019ll take a risk and be the father of your child.\u2019 And she left with him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe was the issue of the Santo Ni\u00f1o. A girl. And you got her as a gift. You were the owner of that treasure born from saintliness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNonsense!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you saying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cInside Anacleto Morones\u2019s daughter was the child of Anacleto Morones.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou made that up to accuse him of evil things. You\u2019ve always been a liar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReally? And what can you tell me about all the rest. He left this part of the world without virgins, always pretending to be looking for a maiden to watch over his sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe did that out of purity. So he wouldn\u2019t sully himself with sin. He wanted to surround himself with innocence so as not to stain his soul.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what you think because he never called you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe did call me,\u201d said one known as Melquiades. \u201cI watched over his sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing. Only his miraculous hands wrapped themselves around me in that hour when one begins to feel the cold. I thanked him for his body\u2019s warmth; but nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s because you were old. He liked the tender girls; for their bones to break, to hear them crack as if they were peanut shells.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a condemned atheist, Lucas Lucatero. One of the worst.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now it was \u201cLa Hu\u00e9rfana\u201d talking, the Orphan, the eternal crier. The oldest of all of them. She had tears in her eyes and her hand was shaking:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m an orphan and he relieved me of my orphanhood; I was able to find my father and mother in him. He spent the night caressing me to lessen my sorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And she shed tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen there\u2019s no reason to cry,\u201d I said to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just that my parents are dead. And they have left me alone. When you\u2019re an orphan at this age, it\u2019s so difficult to find support. The only happy night I ever spent was with Ni\u00f1o Anacleto, in his consoling arms. And now you speak badly of him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe was a saint.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA good man of good will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe were hoping you would continue his work. You inherited everything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI inherited a bag full of vices of all the devils. A crazy woman. Not as old as you; but pretty crazy. It\u2019s a good thing she left. I opened the door for her myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHeretic! You invent pure heresy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At that point, only two old women were left. The others had left one after another, making the sign of the cross over me and furious and promising to come back with exorcisms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t deny the Ni\u00f1o Anacleto was a miracle worker,\u201d said Anastasio\u2019s daughter. \u201cYou just can\u2019t deny that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLeaving women pregnant is no miracle. That was his forte.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe cured my husband of syphilis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know you had a husband. Aren\u2019t you Anastasio the barber\u2019s daughter? Tacho\u2019s daughter is single, as far as I know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m single, but I have a husband. It\u2019s one thing to be a se\u00f1orita and another to be single. You know that. I\u2019m not a se\u00f1orita, but I\u2019m single.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoing such things at your age, Micaela.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI had to do it. What was I getting out of life as a se\u00f1orita? I\u2019m a woman. And we\u2019re born to give what is given to us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re using the same words as Anacleto Morones.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, he advised me to do it to get rid of my liver problems. And I got together with someone. Being fifty and a virgin is a sin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what Anacleto Morones told you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what he told me, yes. But we\u2019ve come for something else; so you can come with us and certify he was a saint.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd why not me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t performed any miracles. He cured my husband. I can testify to it. Have you cured anyone of syphilis?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, nor do I know anything about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s something similar to gangrene. He got purple and his body was full of chilblains. He couldn\u2019t sleep. He said everything looked red as if he were looking through the doorway of Hell. And then he felt a burning that made him wince from the pain. So we went to see the Ni\u00f1o Anacleto and he cured him. He burned him with a flaming reed and rubbed his own saliva on the wounds, and, lo and behold, all his suffering was gone. Tell me if that wasn\u2019t a miracle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe must have had measles. I, too, was cured of that with saliva when I was little.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust as I said it before. You\u2019re a damn atheist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAt least I have the consolation that Anacleto Morones was worse than me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe treated you as if you were his son. And now you dare . . . All right, I\u2019d better not listen to you anymore. I\u2019m leaving. Are you staying, Pancha?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll stay awhile longer. I\u2019ll fight the last battle alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\u201cListen, Francisca, now that all the others are gone, you\u2019ll stay and sleep with me, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod forbid. What would people think? What I want is to convince you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo let\u2019s convince each other. After all, what can you lose? You\u2019re already very old, to the point that nobody will take care of you, or do you the favor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut then come people talking in whispers. Then they think evil thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet them think what they want. Who cares! Your name is Pancha anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right, I\u2019ll stay with you; but just until sunrise. And only if you promise me we\u2019ll go to Amula together, so I can tell everyone I spent the night begging you and begging you. If not, what can I say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right. But first cut off those hairs you have in your mustache. I\u2019ll bring you the scissors.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re making fun of me, Lucas Lucatero. You spend your life looking for people\u2019s defects. Leave my mustache alone. That way they won\u2019t suspect anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right, as you wish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When it was dark, she helped me put the chickens in the coop and gather all the stones I had thrown around the corral, putting them in the corner where they had been before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didn\u2019t even suspect that Anacleto Morones was buried there. Nor that he had died the very day he had escaped from jail and come back to demand that I return all his property. When he got here, he said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSell everything and give me the money, because I need to take a trip to El Norte. I\u2019ll write you from there and we\u2019ll do business again together.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you take your daughter with you?\u201d I told him. \u201cThat\u2019s all I have left of everything I had and you say is yours. You even involved me in your dirty tricks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou two will go later, when I tell you where I am. We\u2019ll settle our accounts there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt would be far better if we settled them right now. So we\u2019re even.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t feel like playing with you right now,\u201d he said. \u201cGive me what\u2019s mine. How much money do you have saved?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have some, but I\u2019m not going to give it to you. It\u2019s been hell for me with your shameless daughter. You should consider yourself well paid by my supporting her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He got angry. He stamped his feet on the floor and was anxious to go…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRest in peace, Anacleto Morones!\u201d I said when I buried him, and every time I went to the river to bring stones to throw on top of him: \u201cYou won\u2019t get out of here even if you use all your tricks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now Pancha was helping me put the weight of the stones back on top of him, without suspecting that Anacleto was right there underneath and I had done that for fear of him coming out of his grave and coming back to cause trouble for me. As resourceful as he was, I didn\u2019t doubt he could find a way to come back to life and get out of there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThrow more stones on it, Pancha. Pile them up in this corner, I don\u2019t like to see my corral full of stones.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Later she said to me, when dawn had broken:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a calamity, Lucas Lucatero. You aren\u2019t affectionate in the least. Do you know who was really a loving man?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Ni\u00f1o Anacleto. He really knew how to make love.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cAnacleto Morones\u201d is a short story by the Mexican writer Juan Rulfo, published in 1953 in the book El llano en llamas. Lucas Lucatero is at his ranch when, in the midst of heat and dust, he sees a group of devout women arriving from Amula. The unwelcome visitors come with the purpose of convincing him to return with them to the town to give testimony about the life and deeds of Anacleto Morones, whom they regard as a saint capable of performing miracles. However, they run up against Lucatero\u2019s reluctance, for he holds a very different opinion of the man who was once his father-in-law.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26629,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[717,612,630],"class_list":["post-26630","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-juan-rulfo-en","tag-mexico-en","tag-realism","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":717,"label":"Juan Rulfo"},{"value":612,"label":"Mexico"},{"value":630,"label":"Realism"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Juan-Rulfo-Anacleto-Morones.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":413,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":413,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":717,"name":"Juan Rulfo","slug":"juan-rulfo-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":717,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":11,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":612,"name":"Mexico","slug":"mexico-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":612,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":16,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":630,"name":"Realism","slug":"realism","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":630,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":52,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26630","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26630"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26630\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26629"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26630"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26630"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26630"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}