his brow. He looked from side to side, as if for some issue. Then he gathered himself together.
“Listen, my sons,” he said. “You also will be men; it will not be long. While you are little boys, you are neither men nor women. But soon, the change will come, and you will have to be men. And then you will know that a man must be a man. When his soul tells him to do a thing, he must do it. When you are men, you must listen carefully to your own souls, and be sure to be true. Be true to your own souls; there is nothing else for a man to do.”
“Je m’en fiche de ton âme, mon perè!” said Cyprian, with one of his flashes into French. It was a language he often spoke with his mother.
“That you may, my boy,” said Ramón. “But I may not.”
“Papa!” put in the elder boy. “Is your soul different from mama’s soul?”
“Who knows?” said Ramón. “I understand it differently.”
“Because mama always prayed for your soul.”
“And I, in my way, pray for hers, child. If her soul comes back to me, I will take it into my heart.”
“Mama’s soul,” said Cyprian, “will go straight into Paradise.”
“Who knows, child! Perhaps the Paradise for the souls of the dead is the hearts of the living.”
“I don’t understand what you say.”
“It is possible,” said Ramón, “that even now the only Paradise for the soul of your mother is