It was raining last Sunday in central California. Tuesday it finally reached the border. Showered on and off since then, sometimes heavy, sometimes light. The water system was going to be shut down for two days (they said) to repair the aqueduct valves, and the entire city (or most of it) left without water service, but they cancelled it -- game called on account of rain.
Tonight the gringo will go to a poetry reading in the library lecture hall in the park across the street from his little apartment above the restaurant. A panel of six women poets gathers and their reading begins only half an hour or forty minutes late. Pretty much on time for Mexico.
Maria arrives shortly thereafter and she and Michael sit together listening to the women read their verses, one by one by one. A good variety of styles and themes. The gringo actually understands some of the verses. But not all, of course. He's still a child, learning his new language. Swimming in the other, and being the other to the other.
Afterwards the director of libraries -- whom the gringo already knows -- will tell him that she's heard he won that binational poetry award. Would he care to organize a reading here in the sala? Yes, of course he would! Coordinate with Noe, then, a poet who works in this branch and runs workshops. Noe (whom Michael also already knows from this library and various art events) smiles and hands Michael and Maria a flyer for a reading he will give next week up on the hill at the Casa de la Cultura with one of tonight's women.
"Oye, Noe," the gringo asks, "was that your article I read a couple months ago in (local paper)?"
"Yes. You read it?"
"Yeah. A lot of new words for me!"
Laughs, then says, "We'll be talking then about your reading, yes?"
"Yes!"
The rain begins to patter on the library roof. Elizabeth C., one of the women who has read tonight, comes over to speak to the gringo. They met a few months ago at a party where he admired her dancing. He mentions how disappointed he is he couldn't get to her performance last week. Then shows her a copy of Vivencias Monumentales.
"¿Escribiste este?" she asks him.
"Sí, but this beloved licenciada helped me translate it." He proudly introduces Maria.
"Ah..." Elizabeth shakes hands with Maria, then hands back the page.
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Copyright 2001 Daniel Charles Thomas; email = thomas@masinternet.zzn.com
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