The leader lifted his violin. He was a man of gray hair and tremorous shoulders. His back was to David. The three boys rose again. Two of them very dark with hot tender eyes and glowing hair. The third was light, all his skin and hair was golden. David knew they were foreigners.
There was laughter in the song. Sunlight aglisten on tears. Laughter of longing beyond hope, laughter of proud submission. The women’s voices welled like a sudden sea. Their liquid accents spoke of the softness of hands and the roundness of breasts, of the defiant promise of loyal children. Laughter of love and blood. They sat half lost in the gloom—wistful maidens, battered women—breeders of the defiance of loyal children. Their eyes glowed as they sang, their lips were round and wet with their song. The music rippled and foamed and raced. The men joined in—hard, staccato lancings of laughter—the music of men who had such mothers. The car was caught and was quick in their ecstasy. The car laughed on, raced on, under a song of low fields and mounting conquering laughter.
David was lifted up. His veins were eager with melody, his eyes were dim. Never had he heard such music.
“Who are they?”
“Little Russians, I think. Ukrainians. Landless folk whose song is their land.”
Tom also was moved. Differently. He listened to the music—thinking of the silent passengers about this little group of immigrants—the voiceless Anglo-Saxons, himself.
“If I had songs like that ... if I could sing such songs!” David wanted to say. He said nothing. His own violin seemed a mute thing.
They were singing. An almost silent song, a song without words, a song so wide and deep alone the cries of women and men could compass it. Voices rose and rolled, faintly, wavering. The song was flame: it smoldered in the car: it glowed there, a little flame in a black cold hearth.
The song leaped up. Darts of burning, flashes of spark: a man’s voice crackled against the women. The song was a blaze. It roared; it danced and consumed.
David and Tom saw the rapt eyes of women—stronger suddenly than the gloom. Saw the sway of the men, singing and playing together.