His singing voice was inexpressibly harsh, like
that, for example, of the carrion crow when that bird is most vocal in
its love season and makes the woods resound with its prolonged grating
metallic calls. The interesting point was that his songs were his own
composition and were recitals of his strange adventures, mixed with
his thoughts and feelings about things in general--his philosophy of
life. Probably if I had these compositions before me now in manuscript
they would strike me as dreadfully crude stuff; nevertheless I am
sorry I did not write some of them down and that I can only recall a
few lines.
The _decima_ he now started to sing related to his early experiences,
and swaying his body from side to side and bending forward until his
beard was all over his knees he began in his raucous voice:
En el ano mil ochocientos y quarenta,
Quando citaron todos los enrolados,
which, roughly translated, means:
Eighteen hundred and forty was the year
When all the enrolled were cited to appear.
Thus far he had got when the guitarist, smiting angrily on the strings
with his palm, leaped to his feet, shouting, "No, no--no more of that!
What! do you sing to me of 1840--that cursed year! I refuse to play to
you! Nor will I listen to you, nor will I allow any person to sing of
that year and that event in my presence.
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