Tuesday, October 27, 2020

Cuento del dia de los muertos

 


La Piedra Del Muerto

         Era invierno. Los huesos de los invitados rechinaban al compás del sonido de la puerta que se abría cuando llegaban a la  cena. Todos, incluyendo Jacinto,  se saludaban con placer y comentarios sobre la saga de la neblina. La cena estaba servida, cada quien escogió el sitio de la mesa más confortable a  su visita, en aquella casa de color calizo, de un pueblo polvoriento, lleno de luciernagas y de arañas tejiendo las veintitrés horas de aquel sábado. A la hora de las velas a medio consumir, el abuelo Juan empezó a contar sus andanzas a lujo de detalle y como respuesta a los halagos que recibió, las soltó una tras otra, hasta que se adueñó del silencio al dar inicio a la  narración de un muerto. Todo empezó a ponerse  espeluznante, los sonidos de las ventanas, el aire entrando por la puerta de atrás del  comedor, con unos cuantos cuadros y adornos en la pared. El  contaba aquel suceso del camino hacia el pozo de agua, de donde decían aparecía  una sombra alta del tamaño del cedro, pidiendo el atributo de los mortales para su descanso eterno. Su deseo era que le aventaran una roca al montón de piedras de su tumba, antes de pasar por el camino, el que no lo hiciera, se vería condenado por la maldición del muerto por toda su vida.

Mientras aquel rostro de arrugas y experiencia seguía narrando el acontecimiento, los ojos se le habrían del tamaño de la luna llena, y murmuraba con gestos y ademanes aquel camino obscuro y  misterioso  donde hacia un tiempo una querella amorosa  terminó en sangre y un cadáver jamás reclamado.

    Jacinto debilitado por el miedo y la palidez al oír aquella historia, hasta el hambre se le quitó. Ya llegando las doce se despidió de los invitados y se dirigió a su casa; llevándose aquella historia un poco abajo del sombrero, con tanta claridad que su  piel se erizaba como pellejo de gallina.

Al crujir de hojas secas  con sus pasos, le salieron ojos brillantes a los arbustos del camino, que hasta los pelos de su espalda lo percibieron. Se dio prisa y cuando iba pasando por aquel camino que se refería la historia, se encontró de frente a un bulto negro y alto, muy alto. Se quedó petrificado sin poder hablar y como pudo lanzó  un alarido animal.

-¿Qué es lo que quiere?. . . .  –le brotaba sudor hasta humedecer la tierra.

-Ando penando- .

 En sus veintiséis años a Jacinto sus ojos se le abrieron más que nunca. Con dificultad se agachó en busca de una piedra, deseando ser un pulpo para encontrarla más pronto. Por suerte se topó con una piedra grande y la lanzó con toda su fuerza, corrió hasta desaparecer con los ladridos de los perros.

 

Al otro día en aquel punto del mundo, todos comentaban la noticia, de que a Jacinto lo hallaron muerto de una pedrada  mientras regresaba a su casa.

 Obra de teatro





Friday, October 16, 2020

Short story about Pacoima

 


Nothing to Do!

            Roberto dully said to himself while driving to a colorful Mexican restaurant for his hot menudo “Nothing interesting happens in Pacoima” Before he interred it, he looked indifferently to the pale sky like camera panning. Then, he looked around grumpily and noticed that people in cars go rapidly to different places like if they were desperately escaping from themselves too. The door’s bell did not withdraw his mood. Little attention he put to people, decoration, and the loud music in it. With his monotonous voice, he made his order to a mustached man who was too busy preparing food to start a friendly conversation with him: “A big spicy menudo” Then, he sat at on an elegant table chewing the Sunday that has nothing to offer too.  People who came to order breakfast appear to be just sounds to him. Some of them ordered and left as soon they got their tasted burritos with scrambled eggs to go. Roberto ate the menudo slowly as if he imitated the pace of his thought while he swallowed the tortilla and meat from his menudo.  He ate, but sat on his state of mind, yet he paned a bull fighting mural on the wall, festive menu signs, and hanging plants, but the unsettled feeling refused to leave him. “There is nothing to do here? I am going to drive around” He sourly said that after he left not menudo traces. He did not pick up the used utensils, and plate. He only took an empty glass bottle because he strongly felt that since he paid for it, he could take it and made his recycle pile bigger, so one day, he would make extra greens.  His internal dialogue elongated while he dragged his body to his truck: “It seems that the only economic resource left here is recycling. It is not a lot, but it helps little to keep our lives moving. One extra penny or two is better than nothing.  White people really invest in their communities.  I think; Latinos should own more business, so we can invest more in our community, but where are the entrepreneurs willing to make the changes? If theatres, museums were here…” He arrived to his ugly truck dreary and started it.  Then, he turned left on Foothill blv.  And looked to the distance, but the dialogue did not mute. “There are business and restaurants, but where are the places to have fun? I am getting tired of going places and same stores everyday just because I need to go out” He repeated it until he had to slow down because a huge accident ahead just happened.  The Department of Water was changing the main pipes on the street and put detour signals for drives to slow down. However, even with all the orange signals; the accident occurred.  Six or seven cars clashed; it seems like a war zone. A black truck went through a strong metal fence and ended up tangled and twisted at a fast food restaurant’s wall. “Scrap metal.” –he concluded thinking nobody was hurt. Shocked and surprised people on the site of the accident contemplate the terrible scene. Some of them stood close to the totally destroyed truck like if they were helping the police to reconstruct the accident. It happened with no explanation since the whole block has traffic signals to slow down and two links merged into one.  An accident involving so many cars seems to be less likely to happen with all the construction signs. The people, police, and he could not come out from their soap opera face while reconstructing the scene. The traffic went extremely slow where Roberto is going too, so he has time to put together the clues; scared drives outside of their cars tried to figure it out how they got into this mess too. “They are crazy. An accident in the road where drivers go ten to fifteen miles per hour? Que bueno que no injured people.” He had time to decide where to go after too.  Therefore, he came out with another idea, go to other restaurant where he could drink a coffee and read a short story.  He turned left at Vun Nuys blv. Leaving the horrifying incident behind. He encountered more cars than usual on the street. The only explanation could be that people go to do their shopping. Just to get four blocks took Robert more time than usual.  When he got to the parking lot, there was no way to enter because a line of cars tried to get in too, so he went around, but it was the same thing, cars coming and leaving the place. After patiently dealing with the traffic, Roberto arrived to the coffee house which was packed of people having breakfast, but not empty place reading project. Some families were at the tables and few tables have one or two individuals.  Robert tried to focus on his objective to read a short story, so it helped him to bare the fact that he had to wait longer in line for his hot coffee. Even though that in the place people came and go, and move from the tables, he kept thinking what to do after he finishes the story. Some thoughts of been in a cultural center in Pacoima landed in to his mind; a writing circle where he can discuss poetry; or a community place where he can get together and talk about life and how art transforms communities.  The bells, the express pot and the soda dispenser noises did not pull him from their thoughts. Only a soft feminine voice did: “Good morning; how I can help you today?” “I want a small coffee with three and three. I don’t understand why the lady is making strange faces as she did not understand me,” “Un café mediano, con azucar y crema.” - He nodded – Para aqui o llevar? “For here.”  He paid and went to a table thinking about the lady and the reasons why spoke in Spanish to him since he made the order in English.  “If I don’t practice my English I will forget it; she speaks English; she should speak in the languages she is spoken to.  Yes, there are many people who don’t speak English, so the cashier has to speak in their language; however, I think the cashier has to comply with the customer choice to speak English or Spanish. It has nothing to do with cultural clash or preservation of the native language. Not even being a sell out; I speak Spanish with no problem, but in a business it should be a customer choice. I am not going to trash my school year learning the language.” He even remembered some advices: “You future will be better if you speak English. Be proud who you are and Speak English; just don’t forget where you come from and your people.”   The whole ideas were stirring up in his head like steering up coffee and see the waves expanding. After a while he saw himself in Pacoima no finding a recreational place to go. It drilled his mind and he felt like having a remainder tattoo. Suddenly a scream from a scared child disturbed the ambient as if somebody were beating another person, as if a child is taken against his or her will and as somebody trying to escape from death.  All activity in the restaurant stopped for a moment. People turned their heads to the area where the scream came out. Some people thought that someone was stabbing a person. The good thing is that nobody was killed or kidnapped. A teenager did a distasteful jock to his friends.  He wanted to scare the group of friends but ended up scaring all.  Roberto said: “Pinche, I almost saw blood.” After people digested the real situation, they continued what they were doing and the dense ambient left with the minutes. Robert stopped thinking in barbaric teen and red a whole story. After closing the last page, he observed the place again. People never stopped coming and going.  “I can win to these noises; I going out of here. I don’t want the manager to come and kick me out since I spent a lot time here drinking just one small coffee, but what I going to do? If were a theatre around here, I would had gone to watch a play. Well, I been seating down for long time, so I am going to go to Vun Nuys and San Fernando. There, I will park and take a walk down the street and see what happens. Maybe an idea to write a story or poem would arrive.  I have almost an empty gas tank; here it goes again more traffic.” When Roberto got to San Fernando Blv., he noticed the street was closed to traffic, so he remembered that Ciclavia was scheduled for today. Therefore, he only thought to drive a little faster, so he can be in the action quickly.  When he got on the street, he felt a deferent energy from what he witnessed before getting here.  Families, kids, men, women were happily bicycling up and down the street. Therefore, he motivated decided to walk for several blocks to join the fun.   He run a cross with the Monalisa a la Mexicana, well that’s how he calls it, but it is "Pacoima's Art Revolution" by Levi Ponce; it is a beautiful mural on a building wall in Pacoima. He could not continue because the mural got all his attention. The very vivid colors made contrast with the image of the revolutionary Monalisa. It seems that the women passion and power are nursed by the nature that surrounds the figure. It was interesting for Roberto to hear all the happy expression from the cyclists on the street in contrast with the big meditative state imanating from the mural; jet the well done mural projects women’s power capable of a revolution.   “It is a great experience since when I am driving I don’t get the same impression that when I see it. It is as if the figure is talking to me now. It is mine too. It moves me and my imagination. It is interesting to have a day where the families can have fun on the street.” Breathing deeply, Robert continues the journey down the street where the sound of drums invaded his ears. He sped up feeling that he is doing two things at the same time: exercise and discovering. He did not want to follow the bicyclist, so he went directly to an area were artist are painting other mural, so he got spell bounded in looking artist in action making murals. Jose Ponce the artist of the mural was detailing the wheels of a bicycle in the mural and at the same time, he was joking around with other people looking his mural. The mural has three dominant figures. Three men ridding their bicycle, and one of them carries a basket of hot bread on his head while a brown playful dog follows him.  Ponce tells Robert: “I paint murals all over Pacoima because I want it to look beautiful. I do it as volunteer basis. You can go all the area and find several mural I painted” He has a long history of doing murals for many years.  Robert enthusiastically takes a video with his phone interviewing Ponce, so he will upload on his mimo molina YouTube channel. When he finished it, he gave thanks to Jose and his helper Rey and started walking across the street where a young lady was designing another mural on wood board as told as a metal fence where it hanged. Since he did not want to stop the spirit of been a reporter, he asked the artist if it is fine to record an interview explaining her objectives as an artist and community member. She happily accepted the interview and explained her art         “This is pregnant woman; she is carrying the earth; she represents mother earth, and her hair falling on her body will be willow branches. I want to send a powerful message that we need to take care our mother earth and that the women have the power to do much more to take care our mother earth.” The figure of a pregnant woman has her hands on the stomach as if she is tenderly nursing the world represented as the globe on her stomach. Robert ended up the interview and gave her thanks for the art she is doing and her work as an artist. Even though the sketch only has lines, Robert spent some minutes imagining the colors, the lighting design and the structural harmony that the piece will have. He could imagine a flying dove in a blue sky. After that, he continued down the street thinking in the colors that the mural might have once is finished. After that, he went to see what kind of threes he can plant at his house; plants that are local and utilize less water, he got new water head for his shower in order to save more, and he stopped to hear a drum circle playing on the street. After several minutes, he went on and walked two rounds from San Fernando st. to Pacoima City Hall; after that he felt tired and decided to leave, but when he crossed the street near to San Fernando, he recognized a man walking on the side walk. He only could remember that his name was Jesus, but he remembered well that Jesus sings opera and plays guitar. He called him to say hi; both recognized each other and started talking about music and Mexican songs that are not remember anymore. “I am a soldier defending Mexican folklore in this city. I sing only songs that are not well known. I want to rescue them from oblivion.  Singing these songs is not easy; the singer has to know all the vocal strains to give the proper projection level and pronunciation of each letter. I am expert in diction. I know all the vocal cords and the proper use of the body to produce the sound. Do you know Mantras? There are few people in the planet that really can sing them. People think that they are just songs, but no, their energy connects men with the divide; so the singer has to know very well with which vocal cord is singing in each letter.” Jesus continued telling passionately to Robert everything he knew about Mexican culture, opera, and music and expressed his frustration because in Pacoima there is not place where high art can be performed. Also, he mentioned that he is willing to go anyplace to teach the truth knowledge of opera singing which he possesses; but he feels frustrated because artists are not being paid as they should. Therefore, he felt frustrated because having such an important knowledge and no having the opportunity to share it do to funding, kills the tradition. For him was a deserter. He also, spoke about families and the preservation of Spanish language among the new generations in Pacoima. They hugged and say goodbye, hopping to get together again in some point in the future and continue taking about art that lift the spirit not like the noises that youngsters here now days listen. Jesus, with wear out cloths and with more white hear than the last time they run across with each other, got lost between people and cyclist on Van Nuys blv. Roberto, thought that Jesus cloths seemed to be the same as the last time he met Jesus, and it is not because he does not have other, but since all his energy and life he spends in studying opera, diction, vocalization, Mexican folklore, and Spanish, the condition of the cloths he was wearing is irrelevant; he did not care having new cloths, but knowledge. Robert decided to leave too. Therefore, walking toward his car, he reviewed the movie in his mind about what he witnessed whole day. When he started his car, he thought, in what he would do in Pacoima next. He felt grateful that at least had pleasant moments meeting artists, old friends and all kind of interesting people bicycling on Van Nuys bvl. in Pacoima.