There was an instant of terrible silence like a calm before the storm.
"You—don't—know," my father slowly repeated. "You dare to look at me and say you don't know when you have just this moment come out of your sister's room?"
"Oh, father, please forgive me," I exclaimed penitently. "It was indeed Paula that sang. But don't punish her. She didn't know that you had forbidden our singing hymns."
"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.