"Time is for getting; get what you can before it gets you. You don't find it on a dial." With his good hand, he pushed angrily at the arm of his chair; each man heard the tick of the marble clock.
"While you were away last week," said Fernando, "I sold the horses in Sector 9." The Clarín stared at Raul maliciously. "Señor Filar paid me sixty pesos per head. We've never done better. I stopped the corn planting in 21.... That sector must be kept for pasture." He beat the side of his chair. "Sitting right here, I can manage Petaca. My people understand me." His voice shrilled, broke.
Raul walked over to the piano. Someone had placed Caterina's picture there, and her face comforted him.
"'A house divided against itself...'" Gabriel began.
"God, don't spout at me!" cried Fernando. "Have some sense. Life is cruel."
"Life is what we make of it," said Gabriel, very gently.
Raul accepted the truism, knowing it was one thing in his father's mind, another in Gabriel's, and another in his own. He tried to remain silent.
"I don't like the bronze figure you had put on Caterina's grave," Fernando objected.
"I haven't seen it yet," said Raul.
"You're ostentatious," said Fernando.