"Queer," said Raul and took the money and went inside the house. In the bedroom, Angelina sat beside the patio window, barefooted, in her white dressing gown, a cat in her lap. She was embroidering a pillowcase. "I had a letter from María," she said, without glancing up. "Yes," he said, hoping she would not read it, since her sister's letters were garrulous and about people he scarcely knew. "I got it this morning. Father Gabriel just came back from Colima, and brought it to me." She attempted to sound sprightly. "How is she?" Raul asked, getting his boots for the ride to the pond. The cat jumped down and Angelina turned toward Raul, her legs showing under the robe. A boy's legs, he thought, annoyed. A girl's body, with boy's legs. She's never grown up. She loves children but hates the sex act. What is it that fills her with fear? I used to try so hard to please her ... and she tried to please me. He struggled with his left boot. What are the bubbles of fear behind her eyes? As if the pigment had broken loose and was swimming to the surface. The smile smiles and the eyes hide something. We've lived too many years together to disentangle our emotions. The boot hurts, at the heel ... it used to fit fine. I don't want to wear my new ones. María wants her to come to Guadalajara, but she doesn't need an excuse to go to Guadalajara, or anywhere. Fifteen years ago she wouldn't have left me for anything in the world--or I her. Blinking at his right boot, he began to yank it on.... "María wants me to come to Guadalajara soon. She's worried about me, after the quakes." "I think you should visit her," he said. "Has she finished remodeling her house?" "The remodeling's done.... I need some mourning clothes," she said. "Have them made in Guadalajara." "But you know how long that takes? That takes forever." The way she hit the last word piqued him, but he said nothing. "I'll be glad to get away from that new cook. She puts oil in all our food. Look how she prepared the chayotes last week! Did you ever taste the like!" She turned back to her embroidery, but thought: He's putting on boots to go somewhere, he's always going somewhere. Maybe I did say I wouldn't leave. Maybe I did say that Caterina needed me. He never speaks of her ... he doesn't miss her. Suddenly, she asked: "Why didn't you come here when you were wounded?" "I was closer to Palma Sola." "I think you're always closer," she said. Astonished, he stopped dressing, stopped buttoning his shirt. With a great effort, he made himself continue, his fingers working uncertainly. "Give her up, Raul. Get her out of our lives. You owe it to me and Vicente." Somehow he managed the last button and thought: I've got to think clearly. He crossed the room to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Would it help us now, Angelina? There's Estelle, you know...." She lowered her eyes. "Estelle," she said, wanting to keep the word to herself.