"Has Doctor come?"
"He'll come shortly, with new medicines. Let me call Carmela. It's time for you to eat. Then I'll come back and read to you."
"I'm not hungry."
He hoped food might strengthen her; her anguish filled him with pity and love. Such a sweet child. The small face had darkness working from within—around the eyes, inside them; their own personal magic had dimmed. Her lips moved stiffly.
What was it his mother had said? When the sight darkens, the shadow of the cross is beckoning. He shook his head, sorely troubled. His fingers drummed on his knees. He wished Dr. Velasco could arrive, by some miracle, before nightfall.
Gabriel got up, determined to help. "Carmela, Carmela," he called from the window.
"Yes."
"Can you bring the child something to eat? I think she should have something."
"Right away, Padre. I'll heat something, some atole. I'll be right along."
Sitting on the foot of her bed, he began to talk to her: