Slipping off his poncho, spreading it over the back of a chair, he kissed her hand and brought a chair close to the desk. Because of the damp, he limped heavily. His robe smelled of dried straw; noticing the smell, she held up her handkerchief and said: "The coffee's just right. I'll ring for a cup." "Hot coffee--on an evening like this! Where's Raul?" He was naïvely captivated by her perfume and her old-fashioned dress. "Raul's gone to see about a dam that cracked in the quake." "We'll need all the water we can save, before our dry season ends," he said. She hid her feet under her skirt and played with the diamond cross at her throat. "I'm leaving for Guadalajara ... María's house is done. Gabriel, it'll be so good to get away. I'll have Vicente come when school is out in Colima." "I know how you feel," Gabriel adjusted his glasses. "I'd like to get away myself, if there weren't so much to do here at Petaca." "Why has Don Fernando taken another bad turn?" she asked. "Money," he said. "Whose money?" "Hacienda money," said Gabriel. "You see, Raul canceled certain accounts. He wants to do away with the indebtedness on the tienda de raya books. A matter of hacienda funds." "Raul goes too far," she said, putting her cup down hard. He began to defend Raul's actions and she tried to listen politely, filling his cup, giving him sugar, handing him a napkin. She felt that the sound of the rain was all that kept her in the room--without it everything would disappear. "Oh, Caterina's photo has fallen over," he said, and set it up. "I laid it down." "Why did you do that, Angelina?" "To help me forget her." "Forget her ... we mustn't forget her." "Don't you understand that I miss her ... I miss her all the time ... I don't need her photograph. Can't you see that things can be so bitter ... can't you accept how I feel?" She spoke without rebuke, as though to herself. They lapsed into silence; the rain beat across the veranda, across the tiles; somewhere a shutter thudded; somewhere children babbled. "We should have saved her," said Gabriel, stirring his coffee. "How could we have saved her?" "The Indians know many ways of curing dysentery." "Then why don't they cure their own little ones? We see them die every year. Gabriel, the haciendas are littered with their graves." She remembered playing with Concepción, Miguelito, Trinita, Pepe--dear faces, Petaca's dead children! Her love for them choked her. Forget Petaca! Forget Raul!