"I can tell by your voice that you're worried," she said.
"I suppose I am," he admitted, thinking of the hacienda.
"What is it, then?"
"The usual problems." Then he realized how much more weighed on him, and said, speaking tersely: "It's the way things are headed. Time is bursting around us. I feel things are going badly; it's the people, our hacienda people; I detect undercurrents; it's something hard to describe. Petaca means so much to me, the lagoon, the horses, cattle, the house ... I feel undermined." His words rushed out of him.
"Nothing is so wrong we can't remedy it," she said, annoyed.
"But that's not true, Angelina," he said, his voice cutting across hers. "Petaca can't go on as it has in the past. You must understand. It's more than a conflict with my father and his ideas." His tongue slowed down. "He lies in his room, arm and leg useless. He has always hated the peasants; they've never been his workers—only chattel. My idea of improving their lot is a joke to him. And now there's increasing disapproval at other haciendas; men are sick of the way they have been managed; they want to breathe ... it's freedom they're after."
"Don't be worried, Raul. Perhaps the craving for freedom is not so widespread as you think."
Raul sighed. Angelina never grasped hacienda problems; she cared little at heart about any serious matters. Something seemed to shut her off. She had never loved Petaca, never known what it was to feel the bite of wind, the power of seeds sprouting, the rasp of the mill wheel, or the breadth of sky.
Somewhere in the garden a mockingbird burst into song, evoking its Toltec past. The outburst lasted half a minute and then the lowing of cattle followed and then silence settled over the place. Raul drew away from the wall and at Angelina's suggestion they walked together, following a path to the upper terrace. Leaves glistened in the moonlight. A frog chugged into the nearby swimming pool. The path led under a rose arbor, to a sandstone figure of Christ, a seventeenth century carving, carefully, deeply chiseled, suspended on a huge granite block twisted with stone leaves. The cross marked a curve in the path where ribs of light pushed at vine shadows, and sliced the upper part of the life-sized figure, making the calm face seem awake.
Angelina crossed herself before the statue.