"You wait on the veranda. No, go round to the kitchen. Get along, wait in the kitchen."
"I'll wait right here," said Alberto, and turned away, to sit on the steps.
Raul overheard, came outside, and accepted the cages. Together they hung them in the patio. Alberto had ideas as to what kinds of birds should be put inside. Raul understood how much the old man prized his gift. He led him into the kitchen for something to eat. His bearded face, through the closing door, brought to mind the man decorating the hill cross and his own resolve to assume the hacienda responsibilities.
On the veranda, Raul talked with the stonecutters. In a short time the house would be repaired. This afternoon, he had to ride to the pond in Sector 17; the quake had cracked the dam and released most of the water. A group of workers was already there, but the job had to be pushed before the dry season.
Oxcarts creaked across the court, each loaded with stone for the veranda. One cart was new, made by Salvador, and pulled by his garbanza-colored oxen. Salvador drove his cart and young Esteban rode another, his goad over his shoulder, spear-like, his team black and white. Pigeons fluttered about the carts, as if they hoped for grain.
Salvador greeted Raul with a friendly grin.
"It's hot this morning."
"It's hot to haul stone," Raul said.
"These loads will give us enough to finish the veranda."
"Who supervised the cutting?"