"It's no time for an old woman to be about alone," laughed Manuel.
"I'm not going far."
"I brought this," said Manuel, tapping his revolver.
"For the frogs," said Raul.
"Not tonight," Manuel said.
Raul walked on, across clumps of grass that had wiry tops.
"I think we're overdoing this gun business ... too much precaution."
Raul was touched by Manuel's solicitude. Who else, beside his children, cared so much at Petaca? Even if there was no danger, it amounted to the same thing. Their walk took them through cane, and a snake slid toward the lagoon, its gray-white body sparkling, as if carrying dew or pieces of spider web. He and Manuel had routed many a snake along this shore. Ash, eucalyptus, pepper, jacaranda, primavera, tabachin and palm grew here. His grandfather and father had planted them. Close to the shore some of the trees had not done well, but on higher ground all were superb. Paths wound among them. Where moonlight scraped a circle on the ground, Angelina had placed a rustic table and chairs.
Raul sat on a log, and Manuel crouched on his heels, his back against an ash tree.
"Were the men having tortillas in the court?" Raul asked.