The village was quiet in the gray calm of dawn. The house was dark, the kitchen, cold and damp. Rosa emptied the bucket into a tub on top of the stove and added more wood to the fire until it burned brightly enough to light the room. Then she went out to the pens behind the house and fed the chickens. She had slept poorly that night. She had slept poorly every night since the death of her husband. Emerging from the shadows of her dreams, he came to her in the early hours of morning and stood beside her bed. She knew what he wanted. But what more could she do? She lit candles in the church. She prayed day and night. Still, his soul could not rest.

Clearing the summit of Peña Santa, the sun moved into a cloudless sky. Rosa carried a second bucket of water back to the house and placed it beside the stove. By that time the water in the tub was hot. She washed and rinsed her clothes, and then she hung them in the yard to dry. The sun was bright and the air was fresh, but nothing could dispel the shadows in her mind. Hearing the sound of hooves in the lane, she turned to see her neighbor Paloma leading a cow to pasture. Rosa nodded.

"Good morning," said Paloma.

"Good morning," said Rosa.

"You have washed your clothes already. You must have been up before dawn."

"I couldn't sleep. It's Ernesto."

"If you pray to God, He will answer you."

"I think God has grown tired of my prayers."

"You must be patient."

Paloma continued her slow climb up the lane. Rosa lingered for a moment, peering intently at the woman and her cow. Then she went inside and took a small roll of bank notes from a cabinet in the kitchen. She counted out four thousand pesetas and pinned the money into the lining of her dress. Preparing as she would for any journey, she wrapped a stick of chorizo and a wedge of cheese in a dish towel with a piece of bread. Then she put the food in a large handbag with a bottle of Ribeiro and walked up to the cemetery behind the church. When she reached the vault containing the body of her husband, she made the sign of the cross and touched the plastic casing over his photograph.

"I'm taking you to Portolua," she said. "That's all I can do. On the coast you'll be closer to God. And the way is straight. Come along now. Don't fall behind or you won't be able to hear what I'm saying, and then you'll be lost. What would people think if I lost my husband's soul? Do you hear me? Come along."

Chastising and cajoling Ernesto to keep his errant soul on track, Rosa walked down the hillside through the unpaved streets of Estrada to the bus shelter on the main highway. Two other women were already there. One was holding a pair of chickens by the feet. The other was carrying a small suitcase.

"Good morning," Rosa said.

"Good morning," the women answered.

"I'm taking the bus to Portolua."

"That's a long way," said the woman with the chickens.

"It's the will of God," said Rosa.

The bus arrived a few minutes later and the women boarded. Rosa bought two tickets. One for her and one for Ernesto. Then she made her way to the back of the bus, where there were fewer people, and sat down.

"I brought a bottle of your Ribeiro," she said to the seat beside her. "You left so many behind and I'll never drink them. Why did you buy so much wine when we have our own grapes? It seems so extravagant. And who can I give it to? Who will not suspect that I want something in return? No, Ernesto, now that you're gone, I feel the solitude of my own death upon me. Apart from Paloma and Father Constante, I have no one to talk to. The other women are such gossips. If you'd lived a hundred years, you couldn't have done all the things they claim you did. But what can I say? How can I defend you? They will say, 'ah, but she was his wife,' and wink at each other. Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes I wish you'd died a long time ago to spare me such humiliation."

The bus crossed a flat stretch of countryside, narrowly avoiding the hay carts and pedestrians that shared its path. Rosa closed her eyes. She was exhausted. One sleepless night she could endure. But night after night was too much for her. Despite the pride she took in her submission to God's will, sometimes she felt her burden was too great. Not that she was in the habit of questioning Him. There are plenty of others to do that, she told herself. She slept for almost an hour, and then, puzzled and alarmed, she opened her eyes and looked around.

"What is that smell?" she asked. "It that you Ernesto? For the love of God, how death has changed you. You used to be so fond of your baths. You used to be so concerned with the impression you made on people. Everything had to be just right for you. Your clothes neatly pressed and your collars as white as fresh camellias. And now this. Have you become so indifferent to the world around you?"

A young woman in the seat in front of them placed her hand on her thigh to hold the hem of her dress in place. Then the chickens belonging to the woman from the bus shelter began to fret and cackle. Rosa warned Ernesto to be still.

"This trouble getting to heaven is your own fault and you're not going to win God's favor by misbehaving on the bus. If I were you I would spend my time praying and leave these antics and jokes behind you. They are the work of the devil. Sometimes I think God took you early because He was afraid you would make a bigger fool of yourself if He left you in this world any longer. And then there would be no hope of heaven. And what about me? How do you expect the grapes to grow and the chickens to lay their eggs if you keep haunting the night?"

Rosa cradled her head in her hands and gazed at the floor beneath her feet. She reminded herself that you can't expect the blessings of God without accepting His trials. It wouldn't be the same, she thought. God's plan. His test of faith. Trailing a cloud of black smoke, the bus slowed to a crawl as it climbed a steep ascent to the crest of a granite ridge. A man in a flannel suit sitting over the back wheels was overcome by the morning heat and began to vomit from the window. Rosa looked up briefly to see where they were, but the wild, uninhabited terrain of gorse and bracken made her uneasy. She looked down again and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. As the bus began its descent through a series of sharp curves, she took a rosary from her pocket and clutched it tightly in her hand.

They reached the station in the center of the capital just before eleven o'clock. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, Rosa wandered among the buses in the parking lot looking for the one to Portolua. When she couldn't find it, she asked a driver for help and he directed her to a chalkboard listing the departures and arrivals. The bus she wanted was not scheduled to leave until one o'clock, so she decided they had time to walk around the city. She kept up her conversation with Ernesto as they left the station for fear of losing him among the press of strangers. She had never seen so many people. Men and women of all sorts, dressed in such strange ways. And everyone walking so quickly. She was confused by the traffic lights, the arrows and blinking figures, and stood on a corner for several minutes before venturing to cross. She was afraid to ask anyone on the street for directions and was relieved when she finally found the market because there were women there like herself, with the same sun-darkened skin and black clothes. They were selling chickens and kale and baskets of fruit. And some had come all the way from the coast with crates of fish packed in ice.

Although it seemed wrong to pay for fruit, Rosa thought it would be nice to have something sweet to go with the lunch she had brought from home. She stopped in front of a stall and picked up several peaches, inspecting them with ritual disdain. The woman selling the fruit told her this was the first batch of the season and the best in years, and urged her to try one. But before she could, several rows of plums tumbled over the edge of the table and rolled across the paving stones. Rosa put the peach back on the pile, and then called to Ernesto and hurried away.

"It's scandalous," she said. "How do you expect me to buy fruit from someone when you cause so much trouble? Even now, dead and buried, you make a mockery of decency. Come along. Come along. Or else you'll be lost. Must I take care of you even now? Come along. Why do you hesitate? Do you not want to go to Portolua? Do you want to wander the earth forever? If we are to catch the bus, we must eat now, and if we have time, we'll go to the cathedral to pray to God to take your soul."

An empty bench in the corner of the alameda beckoned like an oasis in the alien city. As soon as Rosa sat down, a flock of pigeons descended from the dusty chestnut trees to scavenge at her feet. She spread the dish towel out on the bench and then poured a cup of wine for Ernesto and prepared sandwiches with the cheese and chorizo. When she had made herself at home, she took off her shoes and refreshed herself with a sip of wine.

"You know, Ernesto," she said, "you shouldn't have bought so much of this stuff. I would have told you if you'd asked me. I would have said, 'Don't buy so much. You never know what might happen.' And now look what's happened. You're dead. You should have known you were tempting God. The way you were carrying on. At your age. It wasn't healthy. Who was all this wine for anyway? That girl at the bar? As if it matters now. You're dead and she's gone. I expect she's found someone else."

Rosa filled the cup again. "I don't mean to hurt you Ernesto, but did you ever consider how I felt? And before her, it was the widow at church. In the house of God, Ernesto. What were you thinking?"

A boy walked past and asked her if she would like to buy a newspaper.

"How much?" she asked.

"Five pesetas," he said.

She took a coin from her purse and gave it to the boy. It was yesterday's paper, not that she noticed.

"Your football team won," she said. "That should make you happy. You know they won't have sports in heaven. You'll have to find some other interest. If I were you, I'd pay more attention to God. You were never really a very good guest. But this will be different. I doubt you'll have so many distractions. I almost wish I were going with you. If it were God's will, I'd be happy to go, but I won't try to second guess Him. He has His plan for everyone. Everyone in their own time. In their own way."

Rosa filled the cup with wine a third time.

"Father Constante told me the church makes allowances for your kinds of sin. He expects you'll have no trouble getting into heaven once you've done your penance. After all, you didn't kill anybody. But it would have been better if you had died slowly. That's what he said. Then you could have received last rites before you were cold."

She paused for a moment as she chewed her sandwich.

"When we arrive in Portolua, it will be mid-afternoon," she continued. "People will be at home, so you should have no trouble following me. We won't have much time because the bus will leave again in half an hour. Eat now if you're hungry, and have some of your wine. Otherwise, you know, I may drink what's left."

Rosa glanced at the paper again and then watched a group of children playing in the shadows of the trees. When the church bells rang for twelve o'clock, she slipped on her shoes and put what was left of their lunch back in her handbag, shaking the crumbs out for the birds and finishing off the cup of wine before wiping it dry.

The towers of the cathedral were visible from the alameda. Rosa took her bearings and crossed the street warily, advising Ernesto of the hazards. As they walked down the narrow lanes and alleys of the old city, she described the faces of people and the features of houses along the way to help him follow her. "There's a man in a window," she said, "who looks just like Alfonso XIII, and on the other side of the street a woman with a blonde wig is walking a dog. At the corner is a large house that's been boarded up, but behind the gate you can see roses and jasmine."

When they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the portal of the church, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. The wine and the brisk walk in the midday sun left her a little unsteady. She took her time climbing the long series of steps to the great bronze doors and thanked God when she had completed this act of penance. The black scarf she wore on her head was moist along the edges and her red face shone brightly with perspiration. Inside, the air was cool, the temperature of heaven, she thought. She dipped her fingers in the holy water font and made the sign of the cross, and then she repeated the gesture for Ernesto.

The great vault overhead echoed with each step Rosa took as she walked down a side aisle. She entered a pew and fumbled with the heavy kneeler, dropping it on the stone floor. At the same time, the bottle in her bag knocked loudly against the seat. She knelt down, clasped her hands tightly, and rested her head against them. She told God that life had been hard for them. But she wasn't complaining. She had never complained because she knew hard work was a gift from God to keep His people from torpor. Ernesto, she believed, was not a bad man. He had tamed ill-tempered fields and had the touch with their milking cows. He knew which songs to sing to the hens and when to bend a sapling to make a plow beam. If God could overlook his little faults, He would not be disappointed.

Yellow rays of sunlight angled across the upper regions of the nave. Rosa could hear the murmur of other people praying and the hushed voice of someone speaking behind the wide columns. Then she heard a woman off to one side say that the devil himself had followed her into church. She listened attentively as the woman described the foul breath and lewd caresses of her assailant. With each word the woman spoke, Rosa became more upset. When she could bear it no longer, she struggled to rise from her aching knees and shouted, "Ernesto, that's enough. Leave that woman alone!"

Her voice resonated among the stone walls.

A young priest opened the door of a confessional in the aisle and looked out. He saw Rosa standing alone and bewildered in the middle of the church, and waved at her to come over. She picked up her bag and walked to the end of the pew.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's my husband," she said.

The priest, smelling the wine on her breath, told her to explain what had happened.

"I've come here to pray for the soul of my husband," she said with tears in her eyes. "We're on our way to Portolua. I'm trying to help him get to heaven. But every time I turn around, he's up to his old tricks with the women."

"Have you tried talking to him?" the priest asked.

"Yes, yes. I tried talking to him when he was alive and I've been talking to him since he's been dead, but he won't listen to me. The grapes are small and the hens won't lay their eggs because he keeps coming around at night hoping I'll help him get to heaven, and when I do, he shames himself in the house of God. Well, I won't help him anymore. I'm through talking to him. Let his soul wander wherever it will. I'm not taking him anywhere."

She didn't say another word. The priest studied the weary face before him and thought of his own mother. He asked her where she was from and she showed him her ticket home. He asked her if she had eaten and she nodded. Then he invited her to come to a little office in the cathedral where he gave her a holy card blessed by the bishop. He gave her his own blessing and told her she was a good woman and that God would take care of her. When he was convinced she would be all right on her own, he led her to the door in the north transept and told her how to get to the bus station.

She felt more at ease when she returned to the street, walking with greater assurance among the unfamiliar faces. She knew it was a sin to lose her patience, but the priest in the cathedral had told her she was a good woman. She also knew Ernesto would never find his way to Portolua without her. He would not even be able to find his way home. He would have to remain in the capital forever. But that was his own fault. That was because of the life he had lived.

Having no desire to see any more of the city, Rosa spent the rest of the afternoon standing in a corner of the bus station, waiting patiently to depart. On the trip back, she thought briefly of Ernesto. It was as if he had died again, she told herself. But this time he was really gone. Her thoughts did not linger on her husband for long. There was too much to worry about at home. Now she had to do the work of two. There was kindling to gather for the stove and hay to cut in the high pasture.

The evening bus only went as far as the crossroads outside Carrelo, leaving Rosa to walk the last six miles to Estrada. The air was heavy with summer haze and the sky was full of moths rising from the fields, fluttering toward the low sun. When she arrived home, she collected her laundry and went to bed. She slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

That autumn the grapes grew large. The kale was tall and the hens laid plenty of eggs. When Paloma asked her the cause of her good fortune, Rosa shrugged her shoulders.

"It's the will of God," she said.