* * *
Δ The men were still standing pressed against each other when I moved forward from the stairs to where you stood just inside the gallery. I took your hand, Isabel, so that you would know I was there. Javier did not notice me. Neither did Elizabeth. Only Franz saw me and asked who I was. But immediately the Monks arrived with their insane noise, the music of the electric guitars they had prepared earlier, during the afternoon, their singing voices as they moved toward the frieze from both ends of the gallery, and Javier suddenly collapsed in the dust and did not understand and Elizabeth knelt to hold him while Franz stared and the music pounded its defiance and challenge
Now the day has come
That day has come, oh, oh, oh
Judgment day, judgment daaaaay
They came in from the two ends of the gallery preceded by their two minstrels, the Negro wearing the charro sombrero and holding the guitar away from his chest, the tall youth with the long unkempt hair and the tight rose-colored pants and the leather jacket, carrying the other guitar tight in his arms, one from the left, the other from the right