"We're ready now, Angelina," he called presently.
Tears trickled down Fernando's face as Angelina said goodbye; he could not see her; it was goodbye to a voice, to a memory.... After she had gone—he listened carefully to her footsteps, the banging of carriage doors, clatter of horses—he struggled to sit up: If I can sit up, I can still help Petaca. Petaca needs me, with people leaving, Raul away, Manuel ... I must help out.
In his gray world, he puttered with his nervous hands and tugged at his sheet but he could not sit up. Calling weakly to Chavela, he begged a cigarette; she had to put it in his mouth, take it out, put it back; she was still afraid of him, afraid of his closeness to death now. She shuffled uneasily by his bed, sat down, got up.
Raul and Angelina tried to make themselves comfortable, with a valise between them. The luggage on top rolled and thumped. Angelina clutched her mother's jewel case in her lap, a box covered with pink leather.
"Raul, I don't see how I can make it. The rain has made the road so much rougher."
"It is worse on such a bad day. But the train's running again."
"Won't all my luggage get soaked?"
"The tarpaulin's new," he said. "Try to rest against the cushions."
"There's no room. Will I ever get there?"
"I'll take off my poncho. That will make more room."