"
"Who said I was going to punish her?" my father questioned. And I could see
that his anger had cooled. "Come here!"
Taking me by the hand, we went back together to my sister's room.
"Would it tire you, Catalina, to hear Paula sing again?" he asked.
"Why, no, father," Catalina answered, surprised.
"Then, Paula," said my father, "sing again that same song."
And once more we heard, "There's no night there."
"Who taught you to sing?" my father asked.
"I think it was my father. But in our valley, everybody sings. On the
roads, climbing the hills, caring for the animals, in the meetings; in
fact, everywhere."
Catalina looked at my father furtively, and noticed that his face remained
serene, almost tender, and so she hastened to profit by the occasion.
"Dear father," she said in a low voice, "Let her sing to us once in a
while; will you? It's such a joy to hear her."
"Doesn't it tire you?"
"On the contrary, I think it does me good." And Catalina looked at her
father appealingly.
"Let her sing," he said, "but leave it to the nightingales to sing alone.
There are so few of them."
"And won't you let the crows sing along with her too, if we care to?"
"There are too many crows," said my father, shaking his head.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123