a song they like, one they heard on the radio, the latest hit from their idol José Alfredo.
I’m Gonna Catch the First Thing Smoking
Ramón and Cornelio lying on the floor. They look at the ceiling, the light bulb, the water stains. Empty bottles of beer scattered here and there. Flies go around and around in circles.
“…”
“Hey, you wanna start a duet?”
“A duet?”
“A band.”
“A band?”
“For music.”
“Music?”
“What, you don’t wanna play an instrument?”
“What for?”
“Just because. Because we like music so much…I don’t know. It’s logical, isn’t it?”
“Logical?”
“I don’t know.”
“You talking about a rock band?”
“You like rock bands?”
“Fuck no.”
“Well, then?”
“You talking about a norteño duet?”
“Yeaaaah.”
“To serenade the ladies?”
“For whatever you want.”
“To play from bar to bar and maybe make a record and maybe get to be as famous as José Alfredo?”
“For whatever you want.”
“…”
“What do you think of the idea?”
“The truth, the honest truth?”
“The truth.”
“I couldn’t be bothered.”
That Was My Greatest Adventure
Luck would have to decide it. They both wanted to play the accordion, but it was impossible. Whoever heard of a norteño duet with two accordions and no bajo sexto?
They flipped a coin.
Cornelio was a quick study and learned to play instruments with ease. Paying careful attention to the lessons in his book—Mel Bay’s Method for Modern Bajo Sexto, Volume 1—he learned his first songs quickly.
The accordion gave Ramón a hard time. It had too many buttons—every one of them gave a different sound when he pressed them. He would pull the accordion open and it would produce one series of notes; he would push it closed and hear different notes, very distinct from the earlier ones. Weird.
Days and nights they rehearsed until their fingers hurt and their eyes closed from exhaustion. Little by little the noises became music, became transformed. Then, way back then, songs started to appear: at first timidly, then with certainty and bravado:
“Wildwood Flower”
“Storms Are on the Ocean”
“The Long Black Veil.”
His mother was very straightforward. I don’t want you hanging out with that boy. What’s his name? He’s bad company. He can only drag you down roads of perdition and dishonor. I don’t have to remind you, my love, that your destiny is to fly above the mediocre. Maybe you don’t understand it now, but your mother offers you this advice because she knows that life is full of misfortune. It boils down to this: you should choose your friends wisely. I don’t want you to see him again, do you hear me? Enough of hanging out with those kind of people.
The son promised his mother that he would follow her advice to the letter of the law. He gave her a kiss on her left check and rubbed the nape of her neck, just like she liked it.
From then on rehearsal would be at his friend’s house.
You and the Clouds Drive Me Crazy
José Alfredo standing on a corner, dark sunglasses. He looks towards the clouds. Men, women, boys and girls come up to say hello, they want to slap him on the back, they want to chat with him.
José Alfredo is obliging: I owe it all to you, my fans. Your applause motivates me.
Thank you, he says to the people that gather around him. Thank you for your songs and your music, they respond.
He waves, smiles, gives hugs, hands out coins to the kids.
Several people ask him for autographs: Warm greetings for Hayde, Cordial thanks to Tico, Eternal gratitude for Denny, With affection for Blondie, To Gaby with care, Respectfully for Lilia.
A graceful signature for the dashing lawyer Pancho, another for the elegant Senator Felipe. An attentive flourish for the beloved Nena, for the gallant Armando, for the heroic Alfredo; inscription for the gentleman Poncho, Sandy the godmother and Andres the baseball player.
José Alfredo goes away.
People are happy for having found him: tired laborers, servants running to the market, bored professionals, enthusiastic bricklayers will have a better day, they all have an anecdote to tell: José Alfredo, José Alfredo. I saw him today, it was an accident. I was in the bar. I saw him pass by. He said hello to me. I talked to him. He liked my eyes. He is taller than I pictured. He’s shorter. He is very manly. He seems gay. He said to me. He talked to me. He was smiling.
José Alfredo goes away.
The bodies scatter, the mouths smile, the hands wave a goodbye, the feet continue their paths down the city sidewalks.
And only stories remain.
And the music.
The music that stays in the street for days.
Their First Gig
They made their debut at Aunt Yadira’s birthday party. The family was very kind and enthusiastically applauded their versions of “Wildwood Flower,” “Storms Are On the Ocean,” “The Long Black Veil.” Ramón and Cornelio promised to come back and play at their next party.
Later, Aunt Yadira came up, and in a maternal tone, explained to them that in reality they were very bad musicians and their arrangements were like massive train wrecks. Not just any train wrecks. No. Train wrecks with passengers. Nightmare, pain, irreversible tragedy.
“Why don’t you guys try another line of work?”
With great seriousness, they reflected on the suggestion of Aunt Yadira and were on the verge of abandoning music. Ramón could be an architect, his mother would like that, and Cornelio could make little plaster statues.
But something unexpected happened: one day Cornelio was walking down the street when he noticed a blue space was opening in the cloudy sky and from it emerged a delicate and brilliant light that reached down to his feet.
“Hey, what’s up? Come a little closer, I have something to tell you,” God said to him.
The First Cowboy Hat
Ramón has just bought a cowboy hat, his first hat. Perfect, superlative. It was there, in the store. First he tried on others, he didn’t want to inflate its ego. Some were too big on him, others too small. He didn’t want this perfect hat to feel that it was the only one in the world, he didn’t want to make it conceited and vain before its time. It’s like when you are attracted