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Author: Subject: The Singer
Osprey
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Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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[*] posted on 8-3-2010 at 07:23 AM
The Singer

Machaca, El Cantador


I remember the first time I heard him, saw him. I was on the beach with Enrique, drunk, at Mexican sundown (I was still awake but unable to stand up). He was close to shore walking among the boats high on the sand. It was a small parade; Jesus and six or seven dogs. Some of the locals call him Machaca, like he has scrambled brains.

I don’t know about that. He could be smarter than they think. Jesus is a fisherman and a damned good one. It is probably that pride he takes in his work that is the cause for celebrations involving cerveza. When he drinks he feels the need to walk to the beach, usually late at night or in the early hours of the morning, trailed by a passel of dogs and showing off his other skill as a singer of songs.

My house just happens to be on his route to the beach so at times our dogs would announce his arrival and I might wander through our open front door just to watch the small parade, hear the song he has chosen for this particular venture. People on this end of town have all grown used to this small, late intrusion and consider it a part of the charm of this small, quiet place.

One night that all changed. For reasons he has kept to himself, he took some hooks and line from one of the boats on the beach. Somebody down there in the darkness saw him do the deed and called the police. They drove their truck to the beach, turned on the lights and caught him with the goods. He was very drunk so they put the gear back in the boat, took him to the tiny jail, put him in cell #l to sleep it off – the rule in this village is to keep all drunks for a minimum of 8 hours while they, hopefully, sober up.

Jesus sang all the way back to the commandancia and continued his concert in the lockup. All the threats and pleading in the world by the cops could not put an end to the singing. After a couple of hours one of the rookies called the big estacion in San Jose del Cabo, 40 miles south, reported they were holding a dangerous criminal and needed assistance. An hour later two officers from San Jose arrived and with no one available to give them better instructions, they took Jesus into custody and blasted off for the San Jose calabozo.

The cagy officers in San Isabel were high fiving and laughing at their clever ploy but it was short lived. Jesus continued his performance during the ride and in the San Jose jail and there, with a larger and more impressive audience, was even more troublesome to his captors than at home. The officers drove him back to San Isabel, let the police there know they did not appreciate the joke. The local cops tired of the play and sent Jesus on his way a couple of hours shy of the minimum 8.

I wonder how many locals are smart enough to sing their way out of two jails in one night.

That whole episode was a while back. Jesus still walks but rarely at night, no dogs and no songs. I do see him sometimes challenge cars that pass him as he walks to and from the beach. It is a strange looking move; he turns to face the approaching car, with a flourish he crouches and flings his arms to the side like a baseball umpire signifying the runner is safe.

He’s done it to me a few times and I don’t feel menaced as he always has a smile on his grizzled old face. A month ago I gave him a ride to the beach and he seemed to me to be of a sane and sound demeanor. When I mentioned him and his move to one of the locals he explained the umpire move.

“Machaca has seen some surfer movies. That whole move is a surfer on his board. It’s his way of saying ‘How bout a ride to California. I’m a surfer.’ If you’re going slow enough when you pass him you would hear it but the way he puts it, it hardly translates.”
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