She was one of the best dancers in her group. And why not? Her mother had been a dancer; her grandmother, too, yes, and her great-grandmother and her great-great—oh, ever so many great-grandmothers! They had all been dancers.
Pilar's parents had died when she was a baby. She lived alone with her grandfather, and they struggled to keep the wolf named Hunger from their door. Her grandfather was a shoemaker, but he worked slowly these days because his hands were old.
| DANCING IN A PUBLIC SQUARE, SEVILLE |
Once when Pilar was very little, someone had asked her what pleasures she enjoyed most. She had answered, "The pleasures I enjoy most are—dancing!"
Now this could easily be the answer of every little girl in southern Spain. For while Italy sings, France designs, and Switzerland skates, Spain dances. Why, it is even possible that little girls in Seville would rather dance than go to moving picture shows!
Yet everyone in Seville does not feel that way, for the many open air theaters all over the city are crowded. And what the people seem to like best are the American comedies.
It was growing late, but Pilar seldom went to bed before midnight. She would have told you that evening was the time to live and to laugh and to dance. Then it was cool, while during the day the sun beat down cruelly and people slept for hours.
Through the narrow streets Pilar made her way home at last. She heard little snatches of song from the throats of strollers.
Everyone strolls in Seville; there is no hurry. Nearly everyone sings; there is no worry. Hurry and worry are as much out of place in this city as a woman's hat shop. For white flowers and black lace shawls take the place of hats in Seville.