The ticking of the clock came into being again.
Fernando's thoughts faded backward into time: he heard his father speak. His head throbbed. Everything had grown indistinct. What was the purpose of death? Was death talking to someone who never listened? Was death shoving something inside something already black?
"I want to go to bed," Fernando said. "Push me. Help me to bed, Gabriel."
Raul tried to say good night but could not utter a word and neither could Fernando. A rubber tire on the wheel chair squeaked; the wind and the clock continued. His feet toward the fire, he thought of Lucienne and their mountain trip; then he got up and got his jacket and went outside, the wind whipping his hair. So the little figurine had been placed beside the grave.
He found the statue just as he had hoped it would be, the right size, the right pose. True to the artist's sketches, a young girl carried a bouquet of roses and contemplated them lovingly. The bronze had many lights and shadows. A gust of wind blew Raul's jacket, as he stood there, looking.
Manuel, carrying a large box of sea shells, found him testing the statue's base, for balance and security.
"I like it very much," Raul said.
"It's beautiful," Manuel said, setting down the box. "I had them place it for you. Is it all right?"
"It's just the way I wanted it."
Manuel began laying down shells, one by one, in a design around the base of the figure, white shells, most of them identical in size, about as big as the hand.