Fernando attempted to see Farias walk to the door, but his eyes had shifted out of focus; he saw a brownish blur; he shook himself and waited. The click of spurs faded. He raised his cigarette and inhaled deeply. Slowly, his sight cleared. The window and its barred landscape returned. He welcomed the sight now, thinking of death with a throb of panic: death would remove all landscapes, however blurred. His shaky hand carried the cigarette to his mouth and then let it fall. He slept. He dreamed of a fracas over the impounding of a stream on the lower slope of the volcano; that quarrel had taken place thirty or more years ago; yet now, in the dream, the angry voices of workers rose; his _administrador_ drew a revolver; a peasant yanked away the gun.... Waking, Fernando clattered his copper bell, and this time his son appeared. "Yes, Father," said Raul, near the bed. "A drink of water." "Yes." Raul poured a glass of water from a bed-table water bottle; a great green fly buzzed about the mouth of the bottle; his father reached for the glass; the hand shook and drops spilled. The room had been papered in egg-white paper with brown aviaries triangled on it; from every aviary a flock of birds--all resembling swallows--cascaded. A black wooden wardrobe that weighed half a ton filled one wall. Its double doors, sides, and corners were ornamented with carved eagles and brass gewgaws. Some of the eagles had conch-shell eyes. The eyes peered into a full-length mirror, framed in carved wood. Above a washstand hung a Swiss etching of the Matterhorn, a sketchy rendering. Fernando's bed was four-posted and canopied with a dingy white cloth. Raul glimpsed himself in the mirror as he held his father's glass, and the reflection startled him. Catching the resemblance, he set down the glass with a jerk and began to walk out of the room. "Raul," said his father. "What is it, Father?" said Raul, compelling himself to speak politely. "I sent Farias to check the corn fences." "He'll check them carefully," said Raul. "Will Velasco come this afternoon?" "He'll come unless he has a sick person to take care of." "I feel bad. I feel as if ... Raul, it's bad." "But you've felt that way before." "Yes, I have. Still, I feel...." He said no more. "Velasco usually comes about seven." "Very well," said Fernando.