When the Owl Cries

by Paul Alexander Bartlett

"You're not that stupid, Raul! After all these years! Christ ..."

Swiftly, he had gripped Raul's hand with cold fingers.

"It's my father ... I often see him. I thought you knew."

In Fernando's eyes, in the cantina, there had been the glaze of fear. Fear and regret had cut him with their termites. Nobody cared for him, unless it was little Caterina. She had not seen Flores dragged behind a horse, across a field and back again, across a field and back again ... she had been in school in Guadalajara.

Chavela brought a tray of breakfast things, and Raul left the room as Angelina began to wash the old man's face, saying: "Come now, you're all right. Come now."

In the patio, Vicente ran up to Raul and asked, "Is Grandpa dead?"

"No, son, he fell on the floor."

"Shall I go in?"

"If you want to. Mama's there. You don't have to go inside."

With a frightened face, he dashed off.