"Can't you stay on a day or two?"
"Can't we meet in Colima soon?" he asked.
"Of course we can."
"But it's never like here--or in the mountains."
"It's such a closed feeling, people, too many people. Maybe we can
meet before I go to Guanajuato. When I wrote you about the mine it
didn't seem so serious. The manager thinks the mine is giving out."
"So serious ... I hope not."
"Without that income, what shall I do?"
Breaking open a crisp roll, he studied her and considered the problem.
He had descended the mine's moldy ladders. He had checked the ore, had
had it assayed, had estimated the output. Few mines had less to offer,
for both gold and silver ran low. The copper percentage might pay, but
no copper smelter existed in Guanajuato.
"I hope I can help. I'll send Señor Rul around to check for you.
Maybe it's a case of mismanagement."
"I trust my man.... He can't produce ore if there isn't any ore."
"Let's not let it worry us, Lucienne."
"I hear that the peons are quitting, are in revolt," she said, when
they were alone in the dining room. "My people whisper. I pick up
remarks."
"What do you hear? Is it about Palma Sola?"
"Other haciendas ... threats, anger, disobedience. It's as you've
said: they're turning against us. I'm afraid."
"There won't be trouble here," he said. "Father has so many enemies,
we'll have trouble at Petaca, if it comes anywhere. Three-quarters of
our land was Indian property years ago."
"So was mine," she said.
"If the peasants revolt, we must give in or fight. We have no choice."
"Not a pleasant prospect," she said.
"It hasn't been pleasant, sweating it out in the mines, sweating it out
in the sugar-cane fields, up at dawn, down at dark, always in debt...."
He reached for his pipe but did not fill it.
"I don't defend myself against father's accusation of political
idealism, weakness, call it whatever you want. I'm groping. But I can
see how the people suffer ... in almost every hacienda. Díaz wasn't
right for us!"
"I hear of your changes at Petaca. People are amazed at what you've
accomplished."
"I like to help. I feed my people. If they're sick they get care. I
let them go to Colima to buy things. I've canceled debts in the tienda
de raya books. I talk over problems. Many places could do that ...
but we have so much to live down at Petaca. I'm glad there never were
beatings and killings here."
When he returned to Petaca he found a letter from Angelina, gay and
trivial. It heartened him until he reached the final paragraph: "I
think Mona is really my dog, not Lucienne's. I think she won't always
stay at Palma Sola but will come to me, changing so prettily, her glass
bones shining...."