Juan knew how lucky his family had been.

     He crossed himself, put the prepared invoice back on the corner of the mahogany desk and reached for the bottle of brandy.  Pouring slowly so he'd enjoy the rich aroma of the liquor, he sat back and drew a thin black cigar from his humidor.

     When the antique clock struck 11:00, he clicked the TV over to the local news channel, propped his feet up on the desk corner, and steeled himself for the latest reports of the quake.

     On the T.V. screen, a video showed the shattered buildings of a broken town while an announcer commented on the images in a sombre voice.

     "Authorities here in the town of Armenia report at least a thousand confirmed dead in the earthquake, but those on the scene estimate the toll will be at least double that when the missing have been added.  While Armenia was the hardest hit of the towns and villages in the area, most population centres have suffered serious damage and heavy losses."

     The picture panned to workers removing rubble to get to survivors and bodies.  Then the camera froze and the news anchor stopped speaking in mid sentence as the crushed body of a girl about four was placed onto a sheet.  Blood was still running from the slim fingers locked around a bent crucifix.

     After a hush of almost a minute, the shaken announcer went on.

     "Civil protection spokesmen are now saying that the biggest worry . . . excuse me please, is water and food for the survivors. Victims here have been left with virtually no suppl . . ."

     Juan clicked the T.V. off, placed the brandy back on the desk and ground out his cigar.

     Muttering to himself, he left his house office and padded upstairs to the children's bedrooms.  Walking softly so as not to wake Maria, the youngest, he moved to the side of the bed, leaned down and kissed the three- year old girl on the forehead.

     "Sleep well, my little angel.  Papa loves you."

     The twin boys in the adjoining room were next.

     Little Pedro didn't even stir as Juan bent over to kiss him, but Pepe rolled over and looked up through sleepy eyes.

     "Papa, we'll be all right, won't we?"

     "Yes Pepe. Yes, we will. It's all over. You go to sleep now."

     Juan reached out to take Pepe's hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then he smiled to himself and left the boys' room.

     Back in his office, Juan relit his cigar and took a sip of brandy.  Then he tore up the invoice his secretary had prepared, and took a fresh one out of his desk drawer.

     Hesitating only a second, he filled in the new invoice, doubling the cost of the 200 coffins his company was shipping to the town of Armenia.