The waiter brought menus and filled goblets with ice, chatting a one-sided chatter. While he fussed around the table, Lucienne thought of Raul, his fatigue, his sadness. She thought of Angelina's illness: she could see her yellow dress; she could sense some of the fear that had closed in around her. "It seemed such a long trip, coming back," he said. The train windows had been open on cornfields, on low rolling hills, on sunny villages. A child had cried for hours, her head in her mother's lap. "What does she do all the time?" Lucienne asked. She did not have to use her name. "She stays in her room most of the day. She goes into the patio sometimes. The doctors say she's afraid at night." "Of the dog?" "Yes." "But what does she do?" "She sits alone ... or talks to the Sisters. They try to favor her." He lit his pipe but let the smoke curl up, with the bowl between his fingers. "I wish I could help her," Lucienne said. Yes, he thought, we'd like to help. He wanted to tell her he had bought the Sicre house, transacting the business while in Guadalajara, concluding the sale in Colima. I'll bring the furniture from Petaca, he thought, probably next week. A moment ago, I was speaking of my wife's insanity; now, now I must talk about the house I've bought in Colima. Life cheats us of time to adjust. He gazed at her with a sad, hurt expression. "I bought the Sicre house. You know where it is, out beyond the hospital, on the right, set back in that old garden." She smiled reminiscently. "I'm glad," she said. They ordered chilled _cayumito_ fruit; rum, lime and ice--the waiter standing close to Lucienne, admiring her. A young man, new to Colima, he had already heard of her and her interest in plants. "I've been told that the Sicre house needs many changes," Raul said, as they waited. "I haven't been inside it for years. Shall we go and see it in a day or two?" "I remember the garden, as a girl. There's a fountain at the back ... somewhere." She looked at him lovingly, fingering her water glass, recalling those days, so long ago. Her mother had taken her to parties then, and introduced her to young men, wanting her to be popular. She bent forward and said gently: "I remember some of the trees in the garden, an old carob, an almond.... One had a split trunk and we used to hide messages inside, love notes too. I remember seeing you there, in the garden...." Taking her hand away from the glass, he felt the cool of her fingers. He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting her mouth. She gripped his hand, her eyes serious. After all these years, no words were necessary. * * * * *