‘I don’t understand, should I punish Antonio or not?’ the Lieutenant Colonel asked, impressed by the ladies’ silence.
III
On the walls of the city, posters had been put up announcing the forthcoming season of opera at the Berenice Cinema, an exceptional event in the colony, and one on which the administration counted to augment the golden aura of their prestige. It was a symbolic gesture, a kind of consecration for that distant land: what could be further removed from the boundless, deserted Africa, devoid of social artifices, than an opera? The playbill included Andrea Chénier, Rigoletto, Madama Butterfly, Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci. The piece which had been picked to open the season was Lucia di Lamermoor, starring Mercedes Capsir,xxi a soprano whose glory was fading, and whose
