"I hope so, Mateo. But I hope you don't have to go. Are you very tired?"
"I could stand an hour's sleep before dinner."
"We'll go to the house. Dr. Gonzales might join us for dinner. And Lavandero is going to try to join us after dinner."
They went to Duarte's house in one of the Embassy's cars. Hall stretched out on the couch under the mural of Madrid and fell asleep in a few minutes. It was some while before he was rested enough to dream, and then the figures in the mural above the couch began to move through his sleep in a macabre procession.
Duarte woke him in an hour. "Twice you yelled in your sleep," he said. "And then you started to twist like a chained snake. Bad dreams, Mateo?"
"I guess so," Hall said, his fingers working the muscles at the back of his neck. "I always dream about the bombardments when I feel bad."
"Gonzales and Lavandero can't meet us tonight. They're both at the Presidencia. I think Tabio is getting weaker."
"Is that what they told you?"
"No. They just said they couldn't meet us."
"Too bad. What have you got cooking?"