Not long ago in Corazón de María there lived a father and a son known as the hermits, maybe because they were both named Emeterio, one Emeterio Cedillo and the other Emeterio Cedillo, but there was no trouble telling them apart since one had a twenty-five year advantage over the other.
The advantage also came from the fact that God in His benevolence had made Cedillo the father tall and brawny, but He didn’t do as well for the son. Everything about Emeterio, the son, was weak, and some people thought this included his mind. But if he looked limp and disjointed and probably still does if he’s alive, it was because he was crushed under a hate as heavy as a millstone. I think his misfortune was to have been born.
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