“Go back to sleep, hija,” the soft voice says. “Go to sleep. It's still dark!” It takes a while for sleep to return, and in the meantime she cannot really hear or see straight, and everything is confused, impalpable, except for a physical well-being so intense that it totally immobilizes her. She perceives that above, on the roof, the doves are fanning their tails and cooing, that the pig is grunting outside, and that in the next room Esteban and Fabián are out of bed, pouring water in the washbasin. They cough and strike matches to light a cigarette or the stove for breakfast. Santa is going back to sleep now, losing a sense of the passage of time between noises that she hears, and she barely registers the entrance of her brothers into the bedroom, on tiptoes so as not awaken her, for which she smiles in somnolent gratitude. They have come to say goodbye, to receive the daily blessing that will protect them and give them, the family breadwinners, strength to continue as workers at the Contreras textile mill miles away from their house. The brothers remove their hats, kneel, and bow their heads very low so that their mother will not need to sit up and can stay under the blanket, and, following the ancient custom, they reverently implore:

“Your hand, mother …”

Agustina's outstretched hand blesses each of them, and feeling blindly, she pulls them to her together and embraces them together, confusing the two heads that she loves equally, and the two big men softly kiss the old hand that makes the sign of the cross in the air. They leave, on tiptoe again, and in the yard Coyote barks at them jubilantly. They close the front gate, and in the silence that covers the sleeping village, the sound of their footsteps, loud at first, disappears little by little, like the rhythm of a distant pendulum. Santa's mother sighs and raises her voice as though to be better heard by the Almighty:

“Lord, take care of my sons!”

Rays of pallid light begin to poke their way in the cracks around doors and windows, the noises get louder, and the bells of dawn begin to ring at the old Carmelite convent, and ding dong, ding dong, their music flies down the roads, by houses, orchards, and newly sown fields. Agustina rises and tucks the blanket carefully around Santa, who, reconquered by slumber, sleeps for another hour and dreams that life is good and that happiness exists.

Overflowing with health and tranquility, Santa rises and sings in the early morning as she cleans the cages of her birds, draws chilly water from the well, and washes her face, neck, arms, and hands with soap suds that caress her skin as they slowly slide off it, making her smile with contentment. Her young blood races through her veins, colors her cheeks, and fills her red lips, as if kissing them gluttonously. Soon she is dressed for the day and has fed the chickens and doves, who crowd around her and follow her gently like devoted subjects. The pig, grunting with satisfaction, has buried his snout in the little pile of corn that she carried to him in her apron, and Coyote has greeted her, bounding and barking. The store owner's young helper has come to take their old horse out to pasture with the animals belonging to his master, don Samuel: melancholic cows, recently milked, their calves ravenous, turbulent, and protesting. Cows and calves depart down the lane in a slow procession, sticking their faces into the leaves and flowers on the walls, examining the maguey plants, even swirling into the always-open cemetery, where graves thick with green offer them a delicious breakfast.