By LISA J. ADAMS
Associated Press Writer
SANTIAGO XALITZINTLA, Mexico (AP)--Villagers near Popocatepetl
volcano abandoned their homes for shelters, soldiers patrolled
deserted streets to ward off looters, and radio stations broadcast
warnings to stay far away from the shower of fire and debris.
In short,
Mexicans were doing just about everything humanly possible to
avoid the wrath of what the Aztecs called ``the Smoking Mountain.''
Now, they
say, it's up to the volcano.
``Everything
depends on the volcano,'' said 56-year-old Maria del Carmen Sanchez,
one of more than 1,000 residents who evacuated San Nicolas de
los Ranchos, a small town in the shadow of the volcano, to take
up temporary shelter at a school in nearby Cholula.
``Who doesn't
want to return home? But we will stay until they tell us that
there is nothing more happening.''
Officials
in Santiago Xalitzintla, one of the closest villages to the crater,
were eager themselves to leave as they anxiously watched the red-glowing
rocks and miles-high plumes of ash spout from the peak four miles
away.
``I'm leaving
now,'' said Resino Merino, a justice of the peace who stayed behind
until only about 50 of the town's 3,000 residents remained. ``I
can't take responsibility for the stragglers.''
Just blocks
away, four laughing men leaned against a cement wall and shared
an open liquor bottle--showing no signs of leaving their corner,
never mind the village.
A convenience
store owner, 45-year-old Miguel de la Cruz, left his family in
a shelter in Cholula to check on his chickens and burro--and decided
to sell a few oranges and sausages while he was at it.
``But I'm
leaving soon,'' he insisted as the sun began to set behind the
colonial church's clocktower and the hour of the previous day's
eruption approached.
With thousands
in shelters, and authorities talking about expanding the evacuation
area, attitudes have changed from earlier days when evacuation
alerts went largely unheeded.
``We wanted
to save the children from the trauma. And it's better to be safe
than sorry,'' said Hilda Tlanipa, 31, of San Nicolas, who was
holed up in a classroom-turned-shelter in Cholula with 44 other
relatives.
Tlanipa says
Monday's dramatic shower of red-hot rocks and ash _ Popocatepetl's
largest eruption in 1,200 years--convinced the die-hard residents
who stayed behind. ``They were like Doubting Thomases: not believing
until they saw. But now they've seen it and they believe it's
really happening.''
San Nicolas
resident Silvia Medina, 22, remembers how few people took the
government's warnings seriously in 1994, when the 17,886-foot
volcano sputtered back to life for the first time in 70 years
with plumes of ash and vapor.
Because there
was no major eruption, ``no one believed the authorities,'' she
said. ``But now I think people realize that they mean what they
say.''
Lending his
presidential weight to the matter, Vicente Fox toured shelters
Tuesday, telling residents to stay put until their government
determined it was safe to go home.
From the streets
of the hemisphere's largest metropolis, to scientific monitoring
stations, corporate headquarters and government offices, people
looked with new concern to the colossus that rises just 40 miles
southeast of Mexico City.
The huge columns
of ash were blowing south, away from Mexico City, whose 20 million
residents were deluged with instructions on how to handle the
gritty, gray dust if it fell. Some drugstores in neighboring Puebla
state sold out of paper dust masks.
The Volkswagen
auto plant in Puebla moved finished cars out of open lots, the
state oil company Pemex covered up machinery and plant drains,
and vulcanologists awaited the mountain's next move.
Scientists
say the eruption was provoked by a dome of lava that is causing
pressure to build inside the mountain, and that further eruptions
are possible.
But Tuesday's
exhalations were smaller than Monday's fireworks, and scientists
downplayed fears that the volcano's walls might be cracking, or
that glaciers that cover part of the peak might melt and start
a massive mudslide.
Even so, residents
weren't taking any chances.
``If they
tell us we can leave then we'll leave. If not, then here we will
stay,'' said Igenia Cantero, 65, holding the hand of her 9-year-old
grandson.
``It's sad
that everything in the village has been left behind. But thank
God we are safe. If not for that, we would be sadder still.''
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