THE WOMAN FROM MEXICO
33
cold, sad face. They took their instruments out of their cases
and began strumming an old song. "That Mexican woman
over there," remarked Albina loudly, "she oughtn't to be sing–
ing in a theatre. She ought to be going round like these two
musicians, holding out a plate . . .
If
you only knew how out
of tune she sings."
Sergio asked casually: "Does she sing in Spanish?"
"Yes, of course. I told you she doesn't know anything but
Spanish."
The two musicians finished their song and Luciano beck–
oned to them. They went across to his table; the old man took
off
his
cap; Luciano spoke to them and then to the Mexican.
The latter tried to protest, but in the end she agreed. The two
musicians,
standing beside Luciano's table, settled their instru–
ments in position and struck up a well-known Spanish song.
The Mexican woman remained seated and, gazing into the
void with her strange, wide-open black eyes, waited for a mo–
ment, motionless. Then she began to sing. Her voice was harsh,
warm, rich in inflections that were at the same time melancholy,
disdainful and sensual. In its higher ranges it acquired a tone of .
wildness, of greater profundity, of a sadness that seemed to be
rendered discordant and angry by the abrupt falls in the re–
frain. Sergio at first was surprised, then admiring, and finally,
in spite of himself, moved. This was due, perhaps, to the disas–
ters of the evening, he thought, or perhaps to the momentary
inclination of a mind which for too long had been drawn into
trivial
habits that afforded little place for affection. The Mexi–
can, as she sang, held the musicians with her eye and every
now and then gave them a sign with her hand, approving or
asking them to heighten their tone. A few customers of the
restaurant had appeared in the doorway and were listening in
silence. Luciano did not appear to be conscious of the beauty
of the singing; he was smoking with an air of combined un-
