"Darling, write to me, by Sofía. She is a palmera woman and knows every trail and I trust her. I love you."
Raul read, sitting on a chair, while Sofía stood behind staring at her feet. She was a lanky woman, with loosely combed hair.
"Go to the kitchen and eat. Wait for me there," he said, folding the letter. "Have anything you want." He drew a sheet of stationery out of the desk drawer, and sat down and wet his pen in the inkwell.
He felt troubled and could not concentrate for he had just left Gabriel: he and Velasco had cupped pus from his wound, dousing it with peroxide and iodine.
"Feel it burning?" he had asked.
"It's burning."
"Good," Velasco had said. "That means live tissue. Your leg will get all right."
Only a few days ago, Gabriel had spoken in chapel of the revolution, warning everyone of its insanities. He had pleaded for sanity....
On that very day Captain Cerro had been hanged by a mob on a tree less than two miles away.
Raul bit the top of his penholder and began to write. Before he had written five lines, he crumpled the sheet and strode to the kitchen, where Sofía was eating.