Cristóbal picked up his guitar, and his fingers rippled across the strings, the notes conjuring a poignant sense of longing. Then, as Lola started to move, he began to sing. It was the strangest sound: anguished and yet utterly compelling. As if he were leaving a little piece of his soul in each line. Rose couldn’t discern the words, but it didn’t matter. The song transcended language. It spoke of some primeval pain that drew an echo from the hearts of all who heard it. And Lola gave life to all that emotion. The way she held her head, arched her body, snatched her shawl from her shoulders and
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