Free The Good Conscience by Carlos Fuentes

get to Guadalajara. I’ve friends there. You run along now. In the morning, bring me some breakfast.”
    â€œWhen will you leave?”
    â€œTomorrow night. I’ll rest here one day, and then push on.”
    â€œLet me help you,” said the boy, taking the miner’s hands.
    â€œYou’ve helped me already.”
    â€œJaime! Jaime!”
    â€œNow run on before they suspect something.”
    â€œI’ll see you in the morning before I go to school.”
    â€œSure. Thank’s for everything. Run now.”
    Ezequiel Zuno stretched his legs again. He crossed his arms behind his head and breathed the stables’ accumulated decay. That’s my kid. And just a few hours ago he thought he was alone in the world too.
    Jaime climbed the lordly stairs with a new step. The things of the world would not escape him again, they were fixed now. He saw Christ very close, hanging upon nails. Ezequiel Zuno still closer, and not mute like the crucified figure. The Easter candle which was lit in order to be consumed. His own adolescent body, half-boy, half-man, the body he had discovered today, which joined them all, Christ, Ezequiel, and the candle. As he went up the stairs he touched his face, his shoulders, and his thighs. On the landing, the varnished colors of the Crucifixion opened like a fan. And above, at the head of the stairs, waited the impatient dark-clad woman.
    â€œLook at your face! What have you been doing, rolling in the dust? May Jesus save me! Your uncle is coming. Go change your clothes. Hurry.”
    *   *   *
    There is something uneasy about this boy, Licenciado Jorge Balcárcel reflected as he finished breakfast and wiped his lips with his napkin. He is trying to fool us. He may fool the others, but not me.
    Jaime had not been listening to the conversation and when Balcárcel addressed him, he flushed.
    â€œYou are decidedly absent-minded. Don’t you have to go to school today? Holidays seem merely to weaken your will. Come, come, boy!”
    His face has changed, the uncle thought on. He is beginning to be a man. A pimple on his forehead. An adolescent now, who will be like all the others, undisciplined, insolent to his elders, obsessed with women. Well, I’ll handle him! He’ll want to smoke, drink, go to whore houses. Naturally he will be rebellious. Pimples. Shaving. Then disobedience, but we’ll see about that.
    â€œQuick! I’m not joking.”
    Drowsily Jaime rose and pushed his chair back and excused himself. He finished his glass of café con leche standing in front of his uncle’s frown. He picked up his school knapsack and walked toward the kitchen.
    â€œHere there! What business do you have in the kitchen?”
    â€œA glass of water.”
    â€œIsn’t there water on the table?”
    He believes that he has me fooled. That knapsack is stuffed with something. He is taking food to the parish beggars. When did this generosity begin?
    â€œExcuse me. I didn’t notice.”
    â€œYou didn’t notice. Someday you won’t notice the hole you fall into. Get along now, and watch the way you answer back to me.”
    â€œI said excuse me.”
    â€œAnd I said off to school! Insolent! You’ll have no allowance this week, and that may not be the worst.”
    Jaime crossed the drawing room and went down the stairs. At the stable door he rapped softly. There was no reply. He held his breath and opened the door. He ran, nervously, to the far end.
    â€œSo it’s you, kid!”
    â€œEzequiel! I thought you had gone! How do you feel?”
    â€œBetter. I’m leaving tonight. Did you bring me something to eat?”
    â€œHere, take it. They nearly caught me.”
    â€œThey don’t suspect anything?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWill you be back at noon?”
    â€œYes. I’ll see you again.”
    â€œNo, they may catch you. Better say goodbye now.”
    â€œNo! Let me