WE TROOPED BACK in silence to the cabin. A meal was prepared for us. We ate wordlessly, even Fil whose eyes darted constantly about. Until suddenly the boy broke into song again, phrasing lilting questions in the dialect, which Don Julio answered in Spanish.
The boy shifted to Spanish himself, then lapsed into a charming, twittering patois that included a few words in English. He turned to me and asked, in a melody that approximated the first bar of The Star-Spangled Banner, whether I was from America. I smiled and said yes. He munched briefly on a corncob, then sputtered into “Oh so proudly we hailed, at the twilight’s last gleaming …”
Don Julio smiled appreciatively as the boy burst into full song, ranging lyrically through half of the anthem before breaking into a different melody wit
