Tijuana Gringo |
Michael Thomas |
Thursday, 21 December 2000. |
Daniel's landlord Carlos has a big basement room in his building on Third Avenue -- Tercera -- in front of the park. Tonight a group of artists are putting on a Pastorela -- a traditional shepherd play. Let's see if I can remember their names... um yes, Raquel Presa and Giancarlo Ruiz and Oscar Cota and Patti and... oh I'm forgetting them now.... rats.
Dumbkopf Michael to forget so quickly, Daniel just now told me their names. I'm sitting in his apartment remarkably like mine, same kind of walls, paint, windows, and looking toward the park, too, except from Third instead of Fourth. Maria's going to meet us here. I asked Augustín but he just rolled his eyes and said no thank you. Then he stopped, and said something I found rather jealous in nature, something in Spanish which I think means, "I know people too, you know," -- Sabes que ya conozco gente también -- I think that's what he said with an icy tone and an ironic twitch of his lip. Yee gods. I don't know what Agustín's problem is. Carlos seems such a gentleman. Daniel tells me he's got a temper, but who doesn't? I....
Back off, Michael.
Later...
Oh yes, what a splendid event! Your traditional Mexican pastorella, with the devil trying to waylay shepherds and keep them from getting to the nativity, but....
The devil Luzbel played by a woman, and stunningly beautiful.
The shepherds staggering around drunk with almost Chilango accents... or maybe just something I remember from old Mexican movies... yes, I think that was it.
And music music music... that Oscar Cota never stopped playing, sliding effortlessly (it seemed but we know how hard it is to play good music seamlessly from one set into another) from song to song to background to foreground from highlight to subtle backup to shining crescendo....
Raquel Presa said when I talked with her later (Daniel introduced us) that she had written many of the songs herself to the tunes of well-known musical hits. All singing, all dancing, devils and angels and shepherds and Mary and Joseph.... We laughed and laughed and applauded and applauded.
Maria and I left afterwards. I'm going to escort her to the airport tomorrow. Yeh, that's right. She'll be gone for almost two weeks. I said that already, didn't I. I walked her to her Red & Black taxi, and as the line was short we let three taxis go without her, kissing her goodnight. Then I came back to the basement (el sotano) where Dano and Carlos and a bunch of latenighters were still hanging on.
"You see that piano, gringo?" he asked me.
"Yes."
"That was my grandmother's piano." He sighed and waved a hand, "One day I will tell you more about that...."