Such a sad face, he thought. "Couldn't you and Gabriel do something with some of the children?" he suggested. "Perhaps we could. I ... I'll talk to Gabriel." He gulped his food: eggs and bread. "Bring my coffee," he said to Chavela. His chewing annoyed her and she wanted to leave the table. "Why do we change so?" she asked. "Many things are changing," he said, not following her. "I don't mean that." She poured herself water. He got up and drank his coffee standing. "Have to go," he mumbled. "I hear the cattle in the court. Goodbye." Raul overtook the cattle outside the hacienda gate: Esteban had the group in front, Manuel worked the rear, and other cowboys covered the sides, to pick up strays and keep them moving. Raul and Manuel rode side by side a while. "Have we got them all?" "So far, so good. A fine bunch," said Manuel. "Are we sure of railroad cars?" "General Matanzas promised cars. He gets a cut." "Engines too?" joked Manuel. "Well, they're going through to Guadalajara." The cattle followed a narrow road through palmera, fronds roofing the trail, dumping dust and dirt on the riders. The hoofs drummed a hollow insistence, hollower in rocky places, where boulders towered. Between houselike rocks lay the ruins of a temple, ancient limestone walls in stubble, weeds and bushes, a circular platform partially terraced. Years ago, Raul had planned to dig there. What for? he asked himself as he rode by. Bones, old pots, an idol? Let the temple keep its secrets.... A young doe, crouched among stones, eyes shifting, ears up. Raul liked this route to Colima, seldom used because it was too rough for carriages and wagons. In Colima, the promised cars lay on a siding and, after checking the cattle into the loading pen, Raul and Manuel rode to the Hotel Ruiz, a shabby white stucco building overlooking the plaza. The town heat was oppressive, and when Raul had eaten in the flyspecked dining room, where not a breath stirred, he sought the square. There, the iron swans spewed water through misshapen beaks into a mossy fountain; dried bougainvillaea flowers blew about from little piles left by the gardener. The clock--pasted in the Presidencia wall--bonged the hour. On a bench, Raul smoked and listened to Colimans argue: a bearded fellow was peeved over domino rules. He clacked a domino up and down at his rustic playing table under a laurel tree. His fat partner scowled and talked back. Across the plaza, in the house of Doña Camila, somebody struggled with a guitar. Colima--he had been here so many times! Colima--narrow streets, simple one- and two-story homes, red-tiled roofs, whitewashed fronts, patios with banana, breadfruit, coco palms, bamboo and mango. A little town that fought earthquakes and hurricanes, a sugar-cane town with a few coffee plantations nearby. He smoked and listened to the badly strummed guitar (the domino players had gone); he thought of Angelina.... Kindness, could that help?