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decided to stop living.”
    As soon as
Fidel heard himself say the words, he realized they were the wrong ones.
Santiago’s face was ripped with pain and the tears that cane were not ones of
anger but of sorrow and deep-felt hurt.
    “Yes, she stopped
living. That was fine with her! Didn’t she know she had an other son? How
little I mattered to her!”
    “You know that
is not true, Santiago. Remember the love that would show in her eyes when she would recognize you?”
    “Not enough to
stay with me!” Santiago bowed his head and his shoulders hung in despair. “But
I loved her so much..., so much. Mamacita..., mamacita…, why did you
leave us?”
    In the
distance Fidel saw the familiar tile roof of the Cali house. Only part of it
still stood. Half the structure had fallen into the courtyard. Don Emilio’s
workshop, located at the rear of the house, had also been demolished. Two
people were working in the rubble, carrying rocks and timbers to a small cart.
One of them was Don Emilio and the other, a woman he had brought in to care for
his wife. Both stopped what they were doing and looked up the road when they
heard the approaching wagon. Don Emilio came to meet them. Santiago sat
upright, his back rigid, his face set, hands clenched. Don Emilio noticed his
son’s unfamiliar expression and was alarmed.
    “You’ve heard,
then?”  Assuming the boys had been told what had happened in the village.
    Santiago
looked down at him, his eyes ablaze with hate. “I heard she was killed because
she was left alone!”
    The words cut
through DonEmelio like knives, wounding him deeply.
    “What have you
heard? What were you told?” Don Emilio took the reins from Fidel’s hands and
led the wagon and mule back to what was left of the stable.
    “Come, tell
me, son. What is it that you heard that has made you so angry?”
    Fidel felt
himself an intruder and knew Don Emilio was restraining himself from saying
much.
    “Santi, I will
leave now. This is not the place for me. Perhaps I should return to my mother.
She will need my help.”
    Don Emilio
nodded in agreement.
    “Fidel, take
the horse. You have been on him before and he knows you. You may ride him back
tomorrow.”
    “No!” Santiago
stepped between them. He had said the word with such force that all were
surprised.
    “No, I want
Fidel to stay with me.”
    Fidel came
closer to him. “Be reasonable! He wants to talk to you. He can not do that with
me here. I will return tomorrow.”
    Santiago’s
eyes flashed cold as stone. The set of his jaw told Fidel that he would not be
moved and was close to eruption, so he thought it best to obey.
    “Then stay,”
Don Emilio said. “But give us some time alone.”
    “I will go
help the Señora.” He bowed and left.
    Don Emilio
approached his son and tried to lay a hand on his shoulder. The boy pulled
away.
    “Please,
Santiago, come with me. Come…, let us talk together..., please?”
    Santiago
followed his father several paces behind as the man began to climb the
foothills behind the house. The path was well worn and had been walked often by
the two boys in recent months, as it led to the promontory that offered a
spectacular view of the countryside. And it had become Santiago’s place to
think.
    They walked
slowly for a long time. Reaching the crest of the hill, they saw the steeper
hills of the Andes where the range began. Neither said a word. Santiago made sure
to stay far enough behind his father that it would be an inconvenience should
he want to speak. It was late afternoon and the sun had gone behind a bank of
clouds so that the air was chilled. All around, they saw evidence of the quake.
Trees were toppled and parts of the hillside had fallen to the valley, below.
There were indentations in the ground where large boulders had once stood and
had been dislodged. They followed the paths made by the boulders that had
crashed downward, barely missing the Cali house, and saw that any of them could
have plowed through the