come? Who is the
Chinaman?"

"The Chinaman, or Uncle Chinaman, as you like; I am."

"My dear man!"

"Yes, we all have nicknames here. They called my father that, and they
call me that. Psh! It makes no difference. Because if a person is cross
about it, it's all the worse. A few days ago a muleteer from a town
in the district arrived here, and went to the inn, and as he had no
nickname and they are very fond here in Cidones of giving one to every
living creature, they said to him: 'No matter how short a while you stay
here, you will be given a nickname'; and he answered contemptuously:
'Bah! Little fear.' Soon after, as he was crossing the square, a girl
said to him: 'Good-bye, Little Fear!' and Little Fear it remained."

As Uncle Chinaman seemed very communicative, Caesar asked him some
questions about life in the town.

Uncle Chinaman talked a great deal and with great clearness. According
to him, the cause of all trouble in the town was cowardice. The two or
three bosses of Castro and Father Martin ruled their party arbitrarily,
and the rest of the people didn't dare breathe.

The poor didn't understand that by being united they could offset the
influence of the rich, and even succeed in dominating them. Besides,
fear didn't permit them to move.

"But fear of what?" said Caesar.

"Fear of everything; fear that they will levy a tax, that they won't
provide work, that they will take your son for a soldier, that they will
put you in jail for something or other, that the two or three bullies
who are in the bosses' service might beat you."

"Does their tyranny go as far as that?"

"They do whatever they choose."

The Chinaman, who looked more like a Tartar, could make himself quite
clear. If it had not been that he used the wrong words and had an itch
for unusual ones, he would have given the impression of being a most
intelligent man.

He said he was anti-clerical, declared himself a pantheist, and spoke of
the "controversories" he maintained with different persons.

"A relative of mine who is a monk," he said, "is always reprehending me,
and saying: 'Lucas, you are a Free-Thinker.'... 'And it's greatly to
my credit,' I tell him."

Then, apropos of his monkish relative, he told a scandalous story. A
niece of the Chinaman's, who had served for some while in the cafe, had
gone to live with this monk.

Uncle Chinaman's account of it was rather grotesque.

"I had a niece," he said, "in the house, you know