La MÚsica

Shane Rhodes
from tengo sed

Two young men play guitar. They play in a small house where bare light bulbs hang from the concrete ceiling. Outside it rains and between breaks in the rain you can hear waves roaring to shore. We are on the Gulf of Mexico and with each wave you can smell the rancid breath of a mouth that has tasted and eaten everything. One man has a cell phone clipped to his belt and behind him, on the wall, is a small shrine to the Virgin of Guadalupe, her brown eyes lowered with all the beatific adoration of an overdose. The men sing traditional songs — pura yucateca — to an old man who sits on a blue stool before them. It is his birthday and one of the boys playing guitar is his son who sings with a clear, low voice and wears eyeglasses to look like John Lennon. The old man has eyes that move with the semblance of sight. He has been blind for 27 years and has never seen the son who plays before him. The walls of the house are worn at the level of his hands. He sits before the singers and around him are the people who have gathered to celebrate his birthday. Somebody begins to dance and they sing louder. There is food. There is beer. He is dying. They sing old songs not to please the old man but because everybody sings old songs. He mouths the words he knows and teaches the singers new songs they don’t know. He is another year older. He is crying. He moves a handkerchief to where he feels the tears.

^back to top