‘Now for the danze! ’ cried Artur. Night had fallen already, and the boys had a job at the local dance-hall. …As we went down the narrow cobble-stepped streets, Rudi struck up on his accordion, playing wild banshee scales designed to advertise the dance and to summon the youth of the town… The dance-hall was a kind of brokendown warehouse propped up on the river bank, just a bare wooden shack dressed with a few old chairs and some primitive decorations… The band tuned up noisily, then Artur swayed to his feet and announced a pasodoble. The barriers fell at once, and the dancing began and the noise it made was soon as loud as the band. The boys stamped like bulls, the girls twirled and shuffled, dust rose, and the floorboards jumped. Caught face to face, away from their neutral corners, the dancers grappled in passionate strife - but as soon as the music ended, the girls turned chastely away, leaving the boys flatfooted. For an hour or so I sat on the platform with the band sharing their gifts of bottled beer. It was warm, scummy, and rather sour, but it had a lively effect on Artur. Soon his fiddle was soaring above the sounds of the flute, departing on a life of its own, playing thin little tunes of Bavarian extraction which only he and I could hear. For a while, eyes closed, he was no longer with us, he was away in the forest snows. << less