You have the Madonna smile."
"I am happy," she said, and her eyes turned to Oliver, who held the
look and gave it back with deeper meaning.
When later Martigues asked her to sing, she glanced again at Oliver,
who nodded and smiled.
"If David will accompany me," she said then. David left sandwiches
and beer but without enthusiasm. He crossed over to the piano, and
peered up at her with a kind of sombre malice.
"So you will sing now," he said. "Will this do?" He played a few
notes softly, and she nodded with a little smile.
It was a song about the love of a white-throated sparrow for a
birch-tree of the North. All summer long the bird lived on the
topmost branch and sang most beautifully. The season of southward
journey came, but the white throated sparrow would not leave her tree.
She stayed on alone, singing while the leaves turned gold and fell.
She sang more faintly as the land grew white with the first snows
and when she could sing no longer for the cold, she nestled down in
a bare hollow of the white tree and let the driving flakes of the
North cover her.
Oliver stood near the piano. Myra sang to and for him. She stood
very tall and straight, her hair, loosened from its tight bands,
soft around her face.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403