Pages: 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 [1-41] [41-72] |
sigh. Johnny dropped on his elbow, wiping his face and
neck and hands with his handkerchief. "SENORITA," he
panted, "if you sing like that once in the City of Mexico,
they just-a go crazy. In the City of Mexico they ain't-a
sit like stumps when they hear that, not-a much! When
they like, they just-a give you the town."
Thea laughed. She, too, was excited. "Think so,
Johnny? Come, sing something with me. EL PARRENO; I
haven't sung that for a long time."
Johnny laughed and hugged his guitar. "You not-a
forget him?" He began teasing his strings. "Come!" He
threw back his head, "ANOCHE-E-E--"
"ANOCHE ME CONFESSE
CON UN PADRE CARMELITE,
Y ME DIO PENITENCIA
QUE BESARAS TU BOQUITA."
(Last night I made confession
With a Carmelite father,
And he gave me absolution
For the kisses you imprinted.)
Johnny had almost every fault that a tenor can have.
His voice was thin, unsteady, husky in the middle tones.
But it was distinctly a voice, and sometimes he managed
to get something very sweet out of it. Certainly it made
him happy to sing. Thea kept glancing down at him as he
lay there on his elbow. His eyes seemed twice as large as
usual and had lights in them like those the moonlight
makes on black, running water. Thea remembered the
old stories about his "spells." She had never seen him
when his madness was on him, but she felt something to-
night at her elbow that gave her an idea of what it might
be like. For the first time she fully understood the cryptic
explanation that Mrs. Tellamantez had made to Dr.
Archie, long ago. There were the same shells along the
walk; she believed she could pick out the very one. There
was the same moon up yonder, and panting at her elbow
was the same Johnny--fooled by the same old things!
When they had finished, Famos, the barytone, mur-
mured something to Johnny; who replied, "Sure we can
sing `Trovatore.' We have no alto, but all the girls can
sing alto and make some noise."
The women laughed. Mexican women of the poorer
class do not sing like the men. Perhaps they are too in-
dolent. In the evening, when the men are singing their
throats dry on the doorstep, or around the camp-fire be-
side the work-train, the women usually sit and comb their
hair.
While Johnny was gesticulating and telling everybody
what to sing and how to sing it, Thea put out her foot and
touched the corpse of Silvo with the toe of her slipper.
"Aren't you going to sing, Silvo?" she asked teasingly.
The boy turned on his side and raised himself on his
elbow for a moment. "Not this night, SENORITA," he pleaded
softly, "not this night!" He dropped back again, and lay
with his cheek on his right arm, the hand lying passive
on the sand above his head.
"How does he flatten himself into the ground like that?"
Thea asked herself. "I wish I knew. It's very effective,
somehow."
Across the gulch the Kohlers' little house slept among
its trees, a dark spot on the white face of the desert. The
windows of their upstairs bedroom were open, and Paulina
had listened to the dance music for a long while before she
drowsed off. She was a light sleeper, and when she woke
again, after midnight, Johnny's concert was at its height.
She lay still until she could bear it no longer. Then she
wakened Fritz and they went over to the window and
leaned out. They could hear clearly there.
"DIE THEA," whispered Mrs. Kohler; "it must be. ACH,
WUNDERSCHON!"
Fritz was not so wide awake as his wife. He grunted and
scratched on the floor with his bare foot. They were lis-
tening to a Mexican part-song; the tenor, then the soprano,
then both together; the barytone joins them, rages, is
extinguished; the tenor expires in sobs, and the soprano
finishes alone. When the soprano's last note died away,
Fritz nodded to his wife. "JA," he said; "SCHON."
There was silence for a few moments. Then the guitar
sounded fiercely, and several male voices began the sextette
from "Lucia." Johnny's reedy tenor they knew well, and
the bricklayer's big, opaque barytone; the others might be
anybody over there--just Mexican voices. Then at the
appointed, at the acute, moment, the soprano voice, like
a fountain jet, shot up into the light. "HORCH! HORCH!" the
old people whispered, both at once. How it leaped from
among those dusky male voices! How it played in and
about and around and over them, like a goldfish darting
among creek minnows, like a yellow butterfly soaring above
a swarm of dark ones. "Ah," said Mrs. Kohler softly, "the
dear man; if he could hear her now!"
XI
MRS. KRONBORG had said that Thea was not to be
disturbed on Sunday morning, and she slept until
noon. When she came downstairs the family were just
sitting down to dinner, Mr. Kronborg at one end of the
long table, Mrs. Kronborg at the other. Anna, stiff and
ceremonious, in her summer silk, sat at her father's right,
and the boys were strung along on either side of the table.
There was a place left for Thea between her mother and
Thor. During the silence which preceded the blessing,
Thea felt something uncomfortable in the air. Anna and
her older brothers had lowered their eyes when she came
in. Mrs. Kronborg nodded cheerfully, and after the bless-
ing, as she began to pour the coffee, turned to her.
"I expect you had a good time at that dance, Thea. I
hope you got your sleep out."
"High society, that," remarked Charley, giving the
mashed potatoes a vicious swat. Anna's mouth and eye-
brows became half-moons.
Thea looked across the table at the uncompromising
countenances of her older brothers. "Why, what's the
matter with the Mexicans?" she asked, flushing. "They
don't trouble anybody, and they are kind to their families
and have good manners."
"Nice clean people; got some style about them. Do
you really like that kind, Thea, or do you just pretend to?
That's what I'd like to know." Gus looked at her with
pained inquiry. But he at least looked at her.
"They're just as clean as white people, and they have
a perfect right to their own ways. Of course I like 'em.
I don't pretend things."
"Everybody according to their own taste," remarked
Charley bitterly. "Quit crumbing your bread up, Thor.
Ain't you learned how to eat yet?"
"Children, children!" said Mr. Kronborg nervously,
looking up from the chicken he was dismembering. He
glanced at his wife, whom he expected to maintain har-
mony in the family.
"That's all right, Charley. Drop it there," said Mrs.
Kronborg. "No use spoiling your Sunday dinner with
race prejudices. The Mexicans suit me and Thea very
well. They are a useful people. Now you can just talk
about something else."
Conversation, however, did not flourish at that dinner.
Everybody ate as fast as possible. Charley and Gus said
they had engagements and left the table as soon as they
finished their apple pie. Anna sat primly and ate with
great elegance. When she spoke at all she spoke to her
father, about church matters, and always in a commiserat-
ing tone, as if he had met with some misfortune. Mr.
Kronborg, quite innocent of her intentions, replied kindly
and absent-mindedly. After the dessert he went to take his
usual Sunday afternoon nap, and Mrs. Kronborg carried
some dinner to a sick neighbor. Thea and Anna began to
clear the table.
"I should think you would show more consideration for
father's position, Thea," Anna began as soon as she and her
sister were alone.
Thea gave her a sidelong glance. "Why, what have I
done to father?"
"Everybody at Sunday-School was talking about you
going over there and singing with the Mexicans all night,
when you won't sing for the church. Somebody heard you,
and told it all over town. Of course, we all get the blame
for it."
"Anything disgraceful about singing?" Thea asked with
a provoking yawn.
"I must say you choose your company! You always
had that streak in you, Thea. We all hoped that going
away would improve you. Of course, it reflects on father
when you are scarcely polite to the nice people here and
make up to the rowdies."
"Oh, it's my singing with the Mexicans you object to?"
Thea put down a tray full of dishes. "Well, I like to sing
over there, and I don't like to over here. I'll sing for them
any time they ask me to. They know something about
what I'm doing. They're a talented people."
"Talented!" Anna made the word sound like escaping
steam. "I suppose you think it's smart to come home and
throw that at your family!"
Thea picked up the tray. By this time she was as white
as the Sunday tablecloth. "Well," she replied in a cold,
even tone, "I'll have to throw it at them sooner or later.
It's just a question of when, and it might as well be now
as any time." She carried the tray blindly into the kitchen.
Tillie, who was always listening and looking out for her,
took the dishes from her with a furtive, frightened glance
at her stony face. Thea went slowly up the back stairs to
her loft. Her legs seemed as heavy as lead as she climbed
the stairs, and she felt as if everything inside her had solidi-
fied and grown hard.
After shutting her door and locking it, she sat down on
the edge of her bed. This place had always been her refuge,
but there was a hostility in the house now which this door
could not shut out. This would be her last summer in that
room. Its services were over; its time was done. She rose
and put her hand on the low ceiling. Two tears ran down
her cheeks, as if they came from ice that melted slowly.
She was not ready to leave her little shell. She was being
pulled out too soon. She would never be able to think
anywhere else as well as here. She would never sleep so
well or have such dreams in any other bed; even last night,
such sweet, breathless dreams-- Thea hid her face in the
pillow. Wherever she went she would like to take that little
bed with her. When she went away from it for good, she
would leave something that she could never recover; mem-
ories of pleasant excitement, of happy adventures in her
mind; of warm sleep on howling winter nights, and joyous
awakenings on summer mornings. There were certain
dreams that might refuse to come to her at all except in a
little morning cave, facing the sun--where they came to
her so po...
[Next page]