gestures. Suddenly she stopped and looked at him, anxiously awaiting his opinion.
He drew a last long stroke. Then, still holding the fiddle pressed against his breast above his heart (which is where every Indian musician holds his violin), he turned his head, and with his great, sad, dreamy eyes stared at his woman.
Suddenly his whole body grew tense. An Indian, considerably older in life and experience than she, he saw in her eyes far more than she wanted to let him see. She did not want to appear ridiculous before her man. It would be against the nature of an Indian woman. But he knew now what she could not and would not say. He opened his mouth and his lower jaw dropped as a dying man's does. Slowly, apparently without knowing what he was doing, he took the fiddle from his breast and let it rest on his left knee. And while he was putting down his fiddle he saw the Great Music-Master come and take it out of his hand. Garcia knew there would be music now, more music than he could stand.
The kid had been missing less than one hour. Many times he had been away from home for half a day, and for hours and hours nobody would know where he was roaming during that time. Yet never before had Garcia seen his woman with so much fear in her eyes.
'Manuel!' the woman called out.
Manuel came right away, shouting a few jolly remarks back to his laughing girl.
With laughter still in his voice he asked: 'What is it, mother dear?'
'We can't find Carlos,' she said with trembling lips. She looked sternly into his eyes, hoping to hear from him the only word that could relieve her of the growing pain in her heart.
The big smile on Manuel's face became a few degrees brighter when he said: 'Why, mother, I saw him only a short while ago.'
'Where?' the mother cried out, her face immediately lighting up as if a wreath of a hundred thousand sun-rays had fallen upon it.
'Where?' Manuel repeated. 'Where? Why, right here. He wanted to blow his nose in my silk handker. He did it all right. Then he pushed it back into the hip pocket of my pants. Here, it's still there. Then he beat my legs with his fists, jumped with his new shoes on my toes to make me angry and make me box with him, and right then he was off again swift as a young coyote.'
'You said only a short while ago, Manuelito.'
'Of course, mother. Just now — only a few — I mean — just — wait. Or -'
'Or what? Or what? Speak up, muchacho.' The woman shook him violently by his arm. He was half a head taller than she.
'Or — wait — well, come to think of it, it might have been ten minutes, I should say, or fifteen.'
The woman fixed her eyes on his lips to catch every word quicker than her ears would get them.
'Let me think, mother. I was talking all the time to Joaquina. And considering how much we talked in the meanwhile, well, it might be half an hour since I've seen the kid. Perhaps even longer. I believe, yes, I do believe it is longer still. Even an hour. Since then I haven't seen him. Not around here anywhere. That's right, mother, it may well be almost a full hour.'
The face of the woman darkened. Then it seemed to shrink as if it were about to wither. Now her words tumbled out of her trembling lips: After he had been here with you he came over once more. He gave me the thread I asked him for to tie up this little bunch of flowers on my dress. This happened after you had seen him.'
In her growing fear she forced herself to think clearly and sum up every little detail she could remember and she tried to fit each into its proper minute, believing perhaps that by so doing she might find the exact minute when the kid had slipped away, as if knowing that exact minute might make it possible to find him. 'Yes, yes, yes, this was afterwards. I know for sure it was later. Because he told me that he had pulled your handker out of your pocket and that he would have liked very much to steal it from you because it is such a beautiful silk handker and that he surely would have
He drew a last long stroke. Then, still holding the fiddle pressed against his breast above his heart (which is where every Indian musician holds his violin), he turned his head, and with his great, sad, dreamy eyes stared at his woman.
Suddenly his whole body grew tense. An Indian, considerably older in life and experience than she, he saw in her eyes far more than she wanted to let him see. She did not want to appear ridiculous before her man. It would be against the nature of an Indian woman. But he knew now what she could not and would not say. He opened his mouth and his lower jaw dropped as a dying man's does. Slowly, apparently without knowing what he was doing, he took the fiddle from his breast and let it rest on his left knee. And while he was putting down his fiddle he saw the Great Music-Master come and take it out of his hand. Garcia knew there would be music now, more music than he could stand.
The kid had been missing less than one hour. Many times he had been away from home for half a day, and for hours and hours nobody would know where he was roaming during that time. Yet never before had Garcia seen his woman with so much fear in her eyes.
'Manuel!' the woman called out.
Manuel came right away, shouting a few jolly remarks back to his laughing girl.
With laughter still in his voice he asked: 'What is it, mother dear?'
'We can't find Carlos,' she said with trembling lips. She looked sternly into his eyes, hoping to hear from him the only word that could relieve her of the growing pain in her heart.
The big smile on Manuel's face became a few degrees brighter when he said: 'Why, mother, I saw him only a short while ago.'
'Where?' the mother cried out, her face immediately lighting up as if a wreath of a hundred thousand sun-rays had fallen upon it.
'Where?' Manuel repeated. 'Where? Why, right here. He wanted to blow his nose in my silk handker. He did it all right. Then he pushed it back into the hip pocket of my pants. Here, it's still there. Then he beat my legs with his fists, jumped with his new shoes on my toes to make me angry and make me box with him, and right then he was off again swift as a young coyote.'
'You said only a short while ago, Manuelito.'
'Of course, mother. Just now — only a few — I mean — just — wait. Or -'
'Or what? Or what? Speak up, muchacho.' The woman shook him violently by his arm. He was half a head taller than she.
'Or — wait — well, come to think of it, it might have been ten minutes, I should say, or fifteen.'
The woman fixed her eyes on his lips to catch every word quicker than her ears would get them.
'Let me think, mother. I was talking all the time to Joaquina. And considering how much we talked in the meanwhile, well, it might be half an hour since I've seen the kid. Perhaps even longer. I believe, yes, I do believe it is longer still. Even an hour. Since then I haven't seen him. Not around here anywhere. That's right, mother, it may well be almost a full hour.'
The face of the woman darkened. Then it seemed to shrink as if it were about to wither. Now her words tumbled out of her trembling lips: After he had been here with you he came over once more. He gave me the thread I asked him for to tie up this little bunch of flowers on my dress. This happened after you had seen him.'
In her growing fear she forced herself to think clearly and sum up every little detail she could remember and she tried to fit each into its proper minute, believing perhaps that by so doing she might find the exact minute when the kid had slipped away, as if knowing that exact minute might make it possible to find him. 'Yes, yes, yes, this was afterwards. I know for sure it was later. Because he told me that he had pulled your handker out of your pocket and that he would have liked very much to steal it from you because it is such a beautiful silk handker and that he surely would have
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