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Just a Dream
Hot... it's hot, a dry heat, the kind that mercilessly dries the body and mind. The sun reflects off the desert stones, the trembling horizon is blurred. This is a time suitable for cacti, iguanas, locusts, and rattlesnakes, certainly not for men. By day there's no remedy, wandering aimlessly exposed to the relentless sun is madness. No, there's no escape, and night is far away. The sound of church bells reveals the presence of man, an unexpected oasis named Santa Maria Asunciòn. "La Cantina" is pointed out as the best shelter. No sign, the entrance is narrow, a creaky battered door, and a rusty knocker are not the best introduction. I cautiously step through the entrance, pause, feel the rays of the sun on the back of my neck like thin daggers, I have no choice, I continue. In the small entrance corridor, I hear the echo of people singing, clapping, and an unfamiliar, foreign, beautiful cheer that blends with the clinking of glasses. I open a curtain: the room is not large, but wrapping in shadows and humidity is an immense pleasure. I make my way through the people. I choose my table not far from the counter behind which stands a huge mirror worn by time. The "menu" is certainly not among the richest and most sophisticated I've seen, the choice is between cold beer and tequila with salt and lemon, I choose the latter and look around.
The company is truly priceless: bold smiles, noise, confused chatter, parole rotonde y sensual, like the waitress. They say her name is Lila. She moves among the tables, smiles at everyone, and everyone smiles at her. I smile too. Someone suddenly shouts at her: "Canta Lila", someone else starts drumming a compelling rhythm on the table, everyone follows, and "La Cantina" starts to vibrate. Another one starts plucking the strings of a guitar that appeared out of nowhere. Lila gives a mischievous look, loosens her hair tied with a ribbon, and begins to sing:
Cuentan que en Oaxaca se toma el mezcal con café, dicen que la hierba le cura la mala fé a mi gusta el mole que soledad me va a moler . . .
Time freezes, and a frenetic hypnosis immobilizes the audience for a moment, just enough for other instruments to gradually join in, and in no time at all, the cantina is crowded with an orchestra of percussion, bass, guitars, violins, choirs, winds, keyboards, and even strange electronic effects that innovate popular sounds just enough to make them a bit more current. For our wonder, Lila's voice climbs high into the sky and then suddenly plunges to the ground, tracing a journey mixing Mexican past and present between dances, shamans, legends, mysteries, magic, so that the music can refresh the mind leaving only one solitary warmth to the body, the only one that matters, that of feminine sensuality. Thus, it is possible to get drunk on life by forgetting it.
The tequila in the glass to the sound of Lila's voice transforms into "Agua de Rosas" that dispels sadness and no longer burns the throat, reaching in a flash from the stomach to the brain to help capture every fiery note of an electric guitar galloping in the background of the other instruments fused together.
Then, for a second, it seems I see her eyes shine like two stars as she poignantly intones a melody about "penas en el alma" that no licor can kill, and I think that the whole world is the same in the face of love. With "La Tequilera" instead, we dance on the tables and notice that only the sound of an accordion is missing, but here it comes to strengthen the sense of festivity that now pervades every heart.
The frenzy, however, is only a brief illusion because the rhythm changes, becoming the trough on which to lie down and savor in music a sweet and soft caress before falling asleep, as from the half-open windows comes the light of sunset and the scent of the first night. In our hearts, the desire to see it bounces, so we all go out for the last song with our glasses in hand, sweaty, exhilarated, drunk, tired, but happy to watch the stars.
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