Tijuana Gringo |
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Ah, the music. Splendid raptures of tone and rhythm swell and unfold around them as the chamber orchestra works (what divine labors) its way through the Four Seasons of Vivaldi. Between each season intersperses a Mozart spinet duet.
Acoustics in the downtown cathedral at the corner of 2nd & Ninos are rather good, suprisingly good, in fact, considering it's a big church -- you would suspect there'd be echo troubles, but no. The problem is rather the roaring street outside -- trucks and occasional police sirens pierce one or two delicate passages of music. Sometimes the church tower begins to chime, but immediately stops. Michael smiles. It's worth it, this strange train of interuptions, just to experience the unique setting, which is acoustically rather enchanting. Purists can go next week to the (a href="cecutlink.htm")CECUT theater, where only the audience coughing will interrupt.
Afterwards, Maria and the gringo squeeze outside with the festive crowd, greeting people they know. He puts his arm around her but she still seems withdrawn.
"Are you all right?" he asks as they wait for the growling street to change its light.
"Yes, yes," she sighs, then trembles, and suddenly pulls closer against him. "My mother called me at work today. From San Luis Potosi."
"Ah? How is she?"
"Well, well. She told me she'd received my last letter -- where I'd written about our conversation with your mother, at your father's grave."
"Oh?"
"Yes." The light changes to pedestrian only. The crowd moves forward, streaming across the intersection in every direction. "First she asked me again about your birthday being the same week as mine. Then she begged me not... not to think about managing you, or... or living with you until she can come here and meet you."
Michael tenses, then relaxes. "Well, so she's just worrying about meeting me...?"
Maria lightens, "You want to meet her?"
"Of course, mi amor."
Her arm pulls a little tighter around his body, "She said she'll be coming to Tijuana in July."