Raul's wax taper flared and dropped among the fronds and and grass.
"Caterina was no fool," Fernando retracted. "But you shouldn't have buried her in her scarlet dress."
"What would you have liked?"
"That doesn't matter."
"Your men have come to carry you."
"Let them wait. I came to sit and think. I'm old enough to sit and think. Over there is Pepe. He called himself 'The Tiger.' Under that crooked palm is Mama; I was glad to see her go because she never had a well day. There's Papa—the man I murdered. He'll be glad to see me go." The old man's voice was blown by the wind. "I counted them one day last year ... quite a lot of them buried there. The jungle has us under its vines and lianas and rot...."
"I'll have this place cleaned next week."
Fernando guffawed.
"You'll have it cleaned. What for? Can you keep back the jungle? Are you thinking of Caterina? The jungle has her already. This palmera stretches all the way to the Pacific. You can't stop it, boy.... Neither can you change the hacienda."
"I can try."