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499 pages, Hardcover
First published May 17, 2005


"On that long westward morning, all Mexicans still dreamed the same dream. They dreamed of being Mexican. There was no greater mystery."
"Every Mexican was a diluted Indian, invaded by milk, like the coffee in Cayetana's cup. Afraid, after the Conquest and the Inquisition, of their own brown wrappers, they colored their faces with powder, covered their skins in perfumes and European silks and American habits. Yet for all their beaver hats and their lace veils, the fine citizens of the great cities knew they had nothing that would ever match the ancient feathers of the quetzal. No cacique stood atop any temple clad in jaguar skins. Crinolines, waistcoats, Operas, High Mass, cafe au lait in demitasse cups in sidewalk patisseries."
"Death is alive, they whispered. Death lives inside life, as bones dance within the body. Yesterday is within today. Yesterday never dies. Mexico. Mexico."