Last Sunday I was honored by an invitation from Lidia and Waldo, my two excellent friends who make my life in Mexico easier and sweeter and with whom I share the responsibility of caring for Casa Luz de Luna. They and their three children are a precious piece of my world. I feel always that we are family, so to be invited to a very special event at the home of Lidia's parents tickled me no end.
Miguel Ponce Beltran, Lidia's papa, was having a birthday. Every week for the five previous months, each of his six children had contributed one hundred pesos (about $8 U.S. dollars) into a secret kitty. They had a surprise planned for their dad, the gardener at entreamigos, a kind and unassuming man who is cherished by his always-growing familia.
On the night in question, a storm hovered to the northeast for hours, lightning flickering once the sun set, punctuated by long rumbles of thunder. I got ready to go, watching the sky from my upstairs windows. I packed up a warm loaf of banana bread fresh from the oven and tied a ribbon around a bottle of rompope, a spirited Mexican eggnog concoction and Miguel's gift. Their home is over the hill directly behind mine. I walked the half block to the panteon, the town cemetery, and began my descent by dim streetlight down the steep cobbled hill. Suddenly the sky lit with a nearby flash of lightning and all the lights went out.
It was pitch black. I had no flashlight. What to do? Feel my way down the lumpy street in my dressy flipflops, or turn back for a light? No sooner had I completed the thought than the power came back on, so I eased my way down the cobbled hill. As I turned the corner, I could see long tables set up in the tiny dirt street, all filled by now with neighbors and country cousins.
I felt kind of shy, being the only norteamericana in attendance, but that ended with the embraces of Lidia's children and her four sisters and brother, an enormous hug from her mama and an enthusiastic reception by Miguel to both me and the rompope. I was quickly seated and served a warm homemade tamale with a plastic fork.
It was exactly ten p.m., the time appointed for the surprise. I noticed some whispering among the sisters, all dressed beautifully and tending their guests, and saw Lidia's mama hustle her husband into the house on some pretense.
I put down my tamale and stood to watch. Down the little road, from the opposite direction from which I'd approached, lit by a single streetlight, filed fifteen glittering mariachis in full costume.
Santiago, Lidia's four year old and one of the lights of my life, wasted no time. He removed a few items from the chair beside mine, handed them to me unceremoniously, and toted the chair out to the street to watch.
The music began: horns and violins and guitars, an explosion of sound. Out from the house came the guest of honor, his face a study in sheer amazement. His wife turned to him, spoke a few words, and they began to dance.
These mariachis are the real thing, from Compostela, an old country capitol about an hour and a half away in the mountains. The kids did it right.
At the end of that first dance, Miguel went inside for some fortification, as only soft drinks and cervezas were served outside. I asked him when he came out if he'd suspected anything at all. He hadn't: his six kids had managed to keep the secret from him all these months. His face was filled with tenderness and humility, simply awed by it all. He would sit down now, drink a goodly number of Pacificos in the half bottles that seem to be at every Mexican party, and watch the action with a beaming smile.
His wife, on the other hand, was ready to party down. Maria de Jesús Gil Bernal, adored mother and grandmother to this healthy clan, is more of a party girl than I'd imagined. Chuy, as she is known, had a head start on me and was determined that I catch up. I just had time to finish my tamale when she swooped down upon me and pulled me out to dance. I was her chosen partner for the following hours, fortified in my case by the icy little beers which were placed in my hand by Chuy and by attentive Ramón, Chuy's only son, nearly before I had drained the last. Oh, how we danced.
Within ten minutes of the arrival of the mariachis, the skies opened up over us and the rain began. The band, covering their beautiful wood instruments, scooted up onto the narrow front porch of the house.
Immediately, Ramón and the other young men went into action, carrying rented chairs into an unfinished part of the house and showing the mariachis into a safe dry performance hall. There we spent the rest of the night, sheltered by tile roof and tarps.
The extended cousin network departed early, leaving the close family and friends to continue the celebration.
In the photo above are Amalia, a neighbor; Licho, one of Chuy's five daughters; Mitsuri, Licho's daughter; and Lidia with her daughter Valentina.
Amalia and Licho sang with the band to much applause.
Granddaughter Fernanda wore her prettiest party dress.
Every now and then, Chuy would take a brief rest, viewing photos here with her granddaughter Jaky.
But most of the time, if she didn't have me out dancing, she sat and drank another Pacificito, carrying on a lively interaction with the mariachis.
By now it was well after midnight. I had tried a few times to make my escape, only to be captured by Chuy and Ramón and returned to the dance floor, another cervezita in hand. Finally Miguel felt loose enough to join us, dancing with the group to the delight of his daughters. I don't have a photo of that because I was out there, too. At one point, as I began dancing backward toward the exit, he spotted me, raising his eyebrows and motioning me back into the group with a flick of the head. He and I doubled over laughing at both my attempt and his vigilance.
I'm glad I stayed, though, to catch family portrait time, as the beautiful youngest daughter Glenda in blue tries to organize the crew.
And I got my shot.
Ramón, Glenda, Mayra, Maria de Jesús, Miguel, Lidia, Teresa, Licho...and the venerable Tigre, one of the best dogs in the world.
And so, between downpours, I walked back up that cobbled hill, smiling from ear to ear until I fell asleep to the laughter of the family dancing in the mud and to the music of the mariachis, whom Chuy had persuaded to stay on another hour as she just wasn't yet finished celebrating the birthday of the man she loves.
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