"But do you not know who his companions were? Are none of them here?"
"I do not know, señora. They come and go; one cannot tell where they go or where they come from. He played the violin, yes, he played. He was a very quiet lad, and sad, not merry like some. He played, he worked in a factory. He has gone." She made a large gesture as if to dismiss the subject. She could tell no more.
But Mrs. Beltrán was insistent. "Can you not tell me how long ago it was that he left?" she asked.
The woman tried to think. "I cannot say exactly. So much goes on. One cannot keep track of time."
"One year? Was he here one year ago?"
Faquita shook her head. "No, not then."
"Two? Three?"
"Three years, yes, but not two, for two years ago, my man was hurt and he was not here then, for if he had been I should have asked him to come and play his violin to ease my man. So impatient he was and always hard to amuse. Yes, I would have had José and his violin." And this was the last word, so after thanking the two women and leaving them staring curiously, the mother and daughter wound their way back to where the cathedral invited an entrance. They went in and sat down on a bench near the door, both thoughtful and subdued.
"We didn't gain much, did we mother?" said Anita.
"Not much, but still something. We know he worked in a factory."