Demetrio left him and returned to the hotel, singing to himself:
"Someone plunged a knife
Deep in my side.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew,
I never knew."
XIV
Stale cigarette smoke, the acrid odors of sweaty clothing, the vapors of alcohol, the breathing of a crowded multitude, worse by far than a trainful of pigs.
Texas hats, adorned with gold braid, and khaki predominate. "Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase in the station. My life's savings! I haven't enough to feed my little boy now!"
The shrill voice, rising to a shriek or trailing off into a sob, is drowned out by the tumult within the train.
"What the hell is the old woman talking about?" Blondie asks, entering in search of a seat.
"Something about a suitcase ... and a well-dressed man," Pancracio replies. He has already the laps of two civilians to sit on.
Demetrio and the others elbow their way in. Since those on whom Pancracio had sat preferred to stand up, Demetrio and Luis Cervantes quickly seize the vacant seats.