"I doubt if it will be revolution. It won't get that bad. If it gets that bad, we'll be put back a hundred years. A revolution will cost us that much."
"You sound prophetic," laughed Fernando.
"I'm going to help," Raul said.
"I don't want to lose Petaca, whatever happens," said Fernando, feeling the land to be his only friend.
Raul shoved his hands in his pockets and rose to leave. It took all his will power to look at his father briefly.
"I'll send Arrillo to shave you," he said. "I'm going to Colima. I hear the quake damage has been serious ... I want to see what I can do to help."
The room quiet, Fernando feared death: he wanted his son's new boots, trousers and shirt; he wanted to strap on a gun. Through his bloodshot eyes, as he gazed at the sunny patio, he saw himself at twenty-five or thirty, in new clothes, stalking off to Colima. His arm refused to stop shaking; he groaned; death would not let him alone. He tried to make out the serpentine fountain. Was that a woman dipping water? A girl dipping water? The dim figure reminded him of Caterina, and he heard her reading to him, as she had sat beside his bed. But he put Caterina out of his mind and groped for his copper bell and rang.
When Chavela came, he said: "Pedro's at the mill. I want him here.... Oh, Christ, stop looking like a scared calf! Pedro won't hurt you. Get out there and tell him I want him. And bring me another cigarette when you come back."
Fernando enjoyed the prospect of seeing his renegade; it amused him, too, that Pedro had gotten himself into trouble. Like an old cat, Fernando drowsed till Pedro appeared.
"What took you so long?" he began, instinctively aware that considerable time had elapsed since Chavela had left.