Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the twentyfifteen domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /chroot/home/a6f7779a/9d7429a5d9.nxcli.io/html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6170 {"id":283,"date":"2014-05-21T09:52:44","date_gmt":"2014-05-21T14:52:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=283"},"modified":"2014-05-21T18:47:13","modified_gmt":"2014-05-21T23:47:13","slug":"down-the-rabbit-hole","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=283","title":{"rendered":"Down The Rabbit Hole"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

Robert Gets Me Interested<\/strong><\/p>\n

As it turned out, the little Pentecostal church that Robert and his grandparents took me to on that sunny Sunday morning was not at all what I had imagined it would be.\u00a0 The night before I had chased away waves of drowsiness for at least two hours by continually conjuring up images of what I thought Pentecostal churches should look like.\u00a0 Tossing and turning in my aluminum tubed rollaway bed, beads of sticky sweat rolling off my face and neck and pooling in the deep hollows my collarbones formed below my shoulders, all I seemed to be able to come up with was memories\u00a0of the Catholic Church my mom and I had previously attended.<\/p>\n

I assumed it had to be different from that in a lot of ways; for one, they didn’t have a priest, or nuns, or altar boys.\u00a0 At least I didn’t think so.\u00a0 When I had asked Robert to tell me about it, all he could talk about was how many girls went there and how some of them were actually pretty. \u00a0So, even though my hormones had started coming to life that year, at this point I was still pretty immune to the sexual pull of the opposite sex.\u00a0 For sure I had already started to look at girls from a slightly different perspective, but I had not yet reached the \u201cdrooling when a pretty one walked by\u201d stage.\u00a0 Robert had.<\/p>\n

He mentioned that they had a band (a band?), and most of the girls that attended the church played tambourines in accompaniment to the hymns that everyone sang.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of band?\u201d\u00a0 I asked, truly curious.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, the regular kind.\u201d\u00a0 Robert said mysteriously.<\/p>\n

\u201cGuitars?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cS\u00ed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDrums?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, and trumpets, too.\u201d\u00a0 He added.<\/p>\n

\u201cTrumpets?\u00a0 Regular bands don\u2019t have trumpets, Robert!\u201d\u00a0 I said slightly annoyed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis one does\u2026two.\u00a0 And, you know what one of the trumpet vato\u2019s name is?\u201d\u00a0 He teased.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, dime.\u201d\u00a0 (Tell me).<\/p>\n

\u201cDeLe\u00f3n!\u201d\u00a0 He said, mimicking blowing a trumpet by wiggling his fingers in front of his face.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00bfDe veras?\u201d (Really?) I asked, plainly surprised.<\/p>\n

\u201cS\u00ed vato\u201d, he quipped.\u00a0 \u201cPero he\u2019s not your relation, ese.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Que relaje!\u201d (How cool).\u00a0 I sighed.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1No, ese!\u00a0 El relaje son las ni\u00f1as guapas que tocan las panderetas.\u201d\u00a0 (The cute chicks that play the tambourines are what are cool).\u00a0 He whispered dreamily.<\/p>\n

He really did seem to have a one-track mind nowadays.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Showdown At Rancho DeLe\u00f3n<\/strong><\/p>\n

The sun was pouring its bright steamy Sunday morning rays of light on my face through the heavily patched screen window, causing my eyelids to squeeze a bit tighter and slowly dredging me up from the deep slumber I had finally fallen into earlier that night.\u00a0 Turning my head away from the piercing glare my face sought that nice cool place on the surface of my thin pillow case and my mind raced to try to carry me back to that sweet dark place where I\u2019d been for the last few hours.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Oye, Pancho!\u201d\u00a0 The was voice coming from so far away.\u00a0 \u201c\u00a1Pancho, lev\u00e1ntate!\u201d (Get up!)\u00a0 My mother\u2019s voice was insistent, but still soft enough for me to ignore.\u00a0 \u201cThey\u2019ll be here soon to pick you up to go to the church today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHmmmm\u2026.un poquito m\u00e1s, mam\u00e1.\u201d\u00a0 (Just a bit more.)\u00a0 I heard myself say.<\/p>\n

\u201cFRANK!\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh, oh!\u00a0 That was my Dad\u2019s voice!\u00a0 <\/em>Twisting quickly off the sagging bed and planting my bare feet on the linoleum floor, I said, \u201cS\u00ed, daddy!\u00a0 Ya me voy a levantar.\u201d\u00a0 (I\u2019m getting up already!) And what the hell is he doing home?<\/em>\u00a0 On Sundays he was either not home from his Saturday night binge, or he was sleeping one off. \u00a0He hadn’t been home the night before when I went to bed so I’d assumed he was out partying.<\/p>\n

With that, all thoughts of more sleep were entirely out of the question.\u00a0 Usually, I could string my mother along and enjoy about another ten or fifteen minutes of that lovely morning snooze time until she finally got irritated and yelled.\u00a0 But my father, well, he was not in the habit of repeating himself, and he did not yell\u2014at least not at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on mijo,\u201d my mom was saying as she handed me a clean towel, \u201cgo get your bath and hurry dressing because Robert\u2019s grandparents should be here soon.\u00a0 You need to eat something too before you go.\u00a0 \u00a1\u00c1ndale pronto!\u201d\u00a0 She chided.<\/p>\n

Entering the small bathroom I saw that she\u2019d laid out a pair of long dark trousers, a freshly pressed white dress shirt, and one of my father\u2019s red silk ties.\u00a0 On the floor my old brown oxfords had somehow recaptured a respectable semi-glossy sheen to the thin leather, and most of the scuffs and scratches had been transformed from grayish white gashes to deep brown shadows\u2014and were now hardly noticeable.\u00a0 My best pair of white boxers and thin white socks were folded over the pants and shirt.\u00a0 No belt though.\u00a0 Hmmm.\u00a0 I didn’t think my khaki colored military style canvas-like belt; with its scratched and pitted fake brass finish would look very good with dress clothes.\u00a0 Well,<\/em> I thought, I\u2019ll just see if I can borrow one of my dad\u2019s belts and cinch it up good and tight.<\/em><\/p>\n

The old tin washtub had been half filled with hot water and was sitting under the rusty faucet waiting to be cooled down to my preferred temperature.\u00a0 Mom\u00a0must’ve\u00a0gotten up\u00a0really early to heat up this much water.\u00a0 <\/em>I mused.<\/p>\n

Climbing into the old yellowed lion\u2019s claw tub I sat down gingerly, flinching as the cold porcelain met my bony butt. \u00a0Scooping the now tepid water over my head I again began to wonder what this church would be like.\u00a0 Robert hadn\u2019t provided much detail, except to prep me on where the best looking girls would be sitting.\u00a0 He also said that when the congregation filed into the back area behind the altar and stage to attend the Sunday school class, the men, women, boys and girls would all go into different rooms.\u00a0 Little kids usually went outside to a small playground to be minded by a couple of very old sisters of the church.\u00a0 There they would recite Bible verses and sing children\u2019s hymns while sitting in a large circle on the grass.\u00a0 During bad weather they’d stay inside the building and pretty much run amok until the classes were over and the service resumed.<\/p>\n

Having dried off and dressed I stepped out of the bathroom holding my pants up with one hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cDad?\u201d\u00a0 I yelled.\u00a0 \u201cCan I borrow a belt?\u00a0 Mine is too old and doesn’t really look good with these pants.\u201d<\/p>\n

Walking out of the bedroom (actually just an area in the two room house) he said, \u201cI don\u2019t think any of my belts will fit your skinny waist, but let me find one of my older ones and I\u2019ll just cut it down and punch a hole for the buckle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Holding a steaming cup of coffee, he was wearing a pair of nicely pressed, but paint stained, khaki pants and a white wife beater undershirt, and with no shoes on his white-socked feet.\u00a0 \u201c\u00a1Oye, vieja!\u201d\u00a0 (Hey old lady!) He yelled out to my mother. \u201cWhere\u2019s that old brown leather belt of mine?\u201d<\/p>\n

From the kitchen area, \u201cLook in the chester drawers, Bob!\u00a0 Third one down!\u201d\u00a0 My mother, ever murdering the English language, always referred to the \u201cchest of drawers\u201d as \u201cchester drawers\u201d; along with \u201coh-ven\u201d for \u201coven\u201d, and \u201csang-wish\u201d for \u201csandwich\u201d.\u00a0 Sadly, until I knew better, so did I. (sigh)<\/p>\n

After rooting around the third drawer and throwing everything out onto the floor, he finally found the belt and triumphantly raised it over his head, trophy-like.\u00a0 Striking a spread-legged pose and wiggling his eyebrows furiously he trumpeted a loud, \u201cTA-DA!!\u201d and strode off proudly in the direction of the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Oye, vieja!\u201d\u00a0 He yelled to my mother.\u00a0 \u201c\u00bfD\u00f3nde est\u00e1 el cuchillo?\u201d\u00a0 (Where\u2019s the knife?)<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1JesuCristo, Bob!\u00a0 She complained\u00a0from the bathroom where she was cleaning up after my bath.\u00a0 \u201c\u00a1No sabes nada!\u201d \u00a0(You don’t know anything!) \u00a0She said with a heavy load of exasperation in her voice.\u00a0 \u201cAll\u00ed est\u00e1 en el drawer.\u00a0 Est\u00e1s blind?\u201d<\/p>\n

Opening the drawer that my mom had designated as: the knife (1), serving spoon (1), (two pronged serving fork (1), and can openers (2) drawer\u2014he drew the knife out with his right hand and suddenly flew into a classic fencing stance, yelling, \u201cTOUCH\u00c9!\u201d in the direction of my mother just as she was stepping out of the bathroom.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you viejo loco,\u201d she said in a growling voice while pointing at him with her left index finger (she was a southpaw), \u201cI’ll bet you wish you could \u2018too-che\u2019 me!\u00a0 Well, you just try it MISTER! \u00a0GO AHEAD AND TRY IT!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVieja, do you \u00a0know what “touch\u00e9 means?\u201d\u00a0 My dad said tilting his head while sheathing his make believe foil in his make believe scabbard.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I know, tonto,\u201d she said smugly.\u00a0 \u201cYou want to touch me with that knife! \u00a0Pero, you think I\u2019m gonna let you?\u00a0 HA!!\u201d\u00a0 And with that she put her left hand behind her and slowly drew it back out, index finger out and thumb up, with the rest of her fingers tucked in.\u00a0 \u201cPOW, estupido!\u00a0 I shoot you and your dumb \u2018too-che\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a withering look from my dad that said, \u2018what the hell am I going to do with her?\u2019 he mumbled, \u201cVieja loca,\u201d and shaking his head walked back into the main room to do some leather belt trimming.<\/p>\n

Seeing his retreat my mom uncocked her \u201cgun\u201d and transformed it into a pointer.\u00a0 Motioning towards the table she said, \u201cSit down Pancho and eat your cereal.\u00a0 You have to leave soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

This recollection of my parents actually having some fun with each other is probably my most vivid memory of all, mainly because of its extreme rarity.\u00a0 Although they both had a keen sense of humor, it seemed that they very seldom used it with one another around the house.\u00a0 Whenever they were apart from each other and in the company of others\u2014my mother, usually with her sisters, and my dad always with his friends\u2014they exhibited a completely different personality than what they did when with each other.\u00a0 For example, many times I can recall my mother and my Aunt Janie joking and eventually driving each other into a crazy laughing frenzy.\u00a0 Hugging, trying to hold each other up with tears rolling out of their eyes, they would laugh until they could hardly breathe.\u00a0 Finally drained of all strength they would collapse to the floor, trying to compose themselves back to a general state of seriousness.<\/p>\n

My dad, on the other hand would very rarely joke around when I, or my mother, was present.\u00a0 Apparently he saved the comedy routines for those times when he was with friends and far away from us.\u00a0 I knew this because many times church people particularly would comment on how funny \u201cMr. Bob\u201d (later it would be Reverend Bob) was.\u00a0 After many church services, as I would be putting my guitar back into its case, brothers and sisters of the church would tell me how lucky I was to have such a funny and clever father.\u00a0 All I could do was smile and agree quietly.<\/p>\n

More often than not, in the car on the way home from church services I would sit silently in the back seat while my mother and father argued and insulted each other in the front seat.\u00a0 By the time the car was pulling into the driveway their disagreement over whatever would have escalated into full-fledged verbal warfare; usually dealing with money.<\/p>\n

So, the lighthearted episode that occurred between my mother and my father on the morning before I left to go the Pentecostal Church for the first time was one that will forever remain forged in my memory.<\/p>\n

The Water\u2019s Fine, Just Ignore The Sharks<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was small and somewhat shabby. Peeling, a yellowing white ashy paint covered the exterior of the wooden building, while the lot it was sitting on was barren; rocky and dusty with scattered patches of grass resembling unruly cowlicks on a \u00a0freckled farm boy’s face. \u00a0A sign, hand painted in childlike letters\u2014upper and lower case mixed\u2014said simply, “Jerusal\u00e9n, Iglesia Pentecostal”, (Jerusalem, Pentecostal Church).<\/p>\n

Tinny sounds, barely recognizable as\u00a0music, painfully clanged out from a slightly out of tune brown upright piano and spilled out through the church\u2019s open wooden doors.\u00a0 It was around nine in the morning but already the steamy Texas dampness was causing the collar on my slightly over-sized shirt to chafe my neck.\u00a0 After parking the little Ford coupe next to a beat up Chevy pickup missing a rear bumper, we walked to the front of the church and climbed the knotty and slightly bowed wooden steps.<\/p>\n

My first sensation as I entered the old church was that of smell. It was a dead and dusty atmosphere in there, air hanging shroud-like, and still.\u00a0 Millions of tiny specks of dust were slowly dancing, illuminated by the scattered rays of dim sunlight flowing through the rectangular glass windows.\u00a0 The ancient wooden floor, covered by an almost threadbare red carpet, adorned in an ornate gold weave Persian-like design, creaked painfully as I walked slowly down the center aisle following Robert and his grandparents. The dull aroma of old paper and cardboard, yellowed and brittle, was in hard competition with the musty odors of varnish\u2014long dried out.<\/p>\n

Picking out a pew on the right side of the church, our little group filed in and sat down. Robert’s grandparents sat nearest the aisle followed by Robert’s sister, Robert and then me. Glancing around I noticed that there were no statues. Instead, banners in once rich but now faded colors adorned sections of the walls between the tall rectangular windows.\u00a0 Gold and silver fringes bordered the sides and bottoms of the banners, and words spelled out by letters that were oddly misshapen, as if cut out by a class of third graders using round nosed stubby scissors and stiff poster paper, were displayed on each.<\/p>\n

Everything was in Spanish, and even though I spoke the language I could barely read and was completely unable to write it.\u00a0 “Soldados De Jesucristo”, “Goza En Tu Salvaci\u00f3n”, \u201cEl Hijo De Dios”, were just some of the phrases that adorned those banners.<\/p>\n

At the front of the small church there was a stage with a pulpit in the center, covered in a tapestry that resembled a heavy white sheet with green embroidered edging\u2014a caricature of Christ wearing a thorny crown, blood dripping down his forehead, embellished on the front facing the congregation.<\/p>\n

Eight tall backed dark wooden chairs were arranged, four on each side and slightly behind the pulpit.\u00a0 Directly behind, and almost against the back wall was a large box-like structure covered by a heavy deep red velvet throw.\u00a0 I would later find out that the structure was a large tub, about three feet deep, where water baptisms were performed.<\/p>\n

On the left side of the stage was the tortured brown upright piano, presently being played by a young girl\u2014probably no more than twelve or thirteen years old.\u00a0 Sitting on a small bench, head cocked one way then another; she was viciously working the yellowed keys with a fevered intensity.\u00a0 By the look on her face, and certainly from the tortured sounds escaping the exhausted instrument, she hadn’t studied her music homework very well.<\/p>\n

Afraid to look behind me I remained stock still, staring straight ahead straining my lateral eye muscles pulling my vision from far left to far right. Finally Robert asked me if there was something wrong with my neck.\u00a0 I knowingly, but quietly, advised him that any slight glance backward would surely elicit disapproving comments from the old folks sitting behind us. I whispered that in Catholic Church I\u2019d learned that one had to sit quietly and stare straight ahead. He smiled, and told me not to worry. \u201cLook all you want,\u201d he explained.\u00a0 These people are cool.\u201d \u00a0Cool?<\/p>\n

The people\u2014well if I hadn’t known better I would’ve believed that it was the same audience mysteriously transplanted from that little Catholic Church that I had previously attended with my mom.\u00a0 Again, with grand similarity to the Catholics, most of these folks seemed to me to be moderately to desperately poor; and compared to what most of them were wearing I was dressed like a king.\u00a0 There were a few more young to middle-aged couples, most with with kids, than had been in attendance at Our Lady of Sorrows, but that really wasn’t what I felt set this group apart.\u00a0 It was their general demeanor.<\/p>\n

While most sat silently, toes tapping to the piano\u2019s ragged rhythm; a few of them even nodding their heads to the beat, they all seemed to have a perpetual smile on their face.\u00a0 That was the difference!\u00a0 These people seemed genuinely happy to be where they were.\u00a0 Not a sad or serious look anywhere.\u00a0 Weird.<\/p>\n

The women all wore dresses, modest in their length, but most had probably never seen the inside of a department store for quite a while. \u00a0Mixed in with the older ones, the groups of younger families almost seemed out of place; youthful, fair complexions, fairly good quality clothing and shoes, and an almost aloof demeanor.\u00a0 Our little group fit right about in the middle.<\/p>\n

At last the piano mercifully stopped playing and the girl got up, head bowed, and walked off the stage, taking her place with a group of homely teen and pre-teen girls in the first pew.\u00a0 From a door located to the left back of the stage several men emerged, all wearing white shirts topped off with red bolo ties and dark slacks.\u00a0 They filed out and climbed the two or three steps up to the stage.\u00a0 The first two were carrying trumpets, one gold and the other silver; the other two men empty handed.\u00a0 The trumpeters took their positions sitting on chairs located near the wall at the back and left of the stage, all the while fingering the valves on their shiny instruments.\u00a0 One of the other two men stopped, bent over and picked up a guitar that had been leaning on a small amplifier, and sat heavily down.\u00a0 The last man noisily pulled up a metal stool and dragged it behind a lumpy sheet on the stage.\u00a0 Once situated, he reached out and removed the sheet exposing a large set of drums.\u00a0 For a few seconds all four men just sat there looking listlessly out onto the nearly full church.<\/p>\n

A door on the right side of the stage opened slowly and from it walked a beautiful tall ivory skinned red haired girl, dressed in a fabulous blazingly white high collared dress.\u00a0 Her pale freckled face framed an almost Mona Lisa-like smile on her lips as she walked, (no, floated) up the stairs to the stage and glided across and behind the pulpit towards the now empty piano.\u00a0 Gracefully pulling the bench out with her left hand she carefully wiped the seat with a small white cloth she’d been carrying in her other hand.\u00a0 Flexing her fingers she sat down on the bench as daintily as I had ever seen anyone do in my entire life.\u00a0 I stole a quick look at Robert as he turned his head towards me.\u00a0 Grinning broadly he sent me a, \u2018I told you so\u2019, wink before his grandmother tapped his arm and whispered something in his ear.<\/p>\n

After staring straight ahead for a few seconds, the piano girl began to stretch, then arched her back so severely that I thought she might actually tumble backwards.\u00a0 Regaining her balance she turned her head to the right and quietly addressed the four other musicians.\u00a0 Her left hand left her lap and glided up to the keyboard deftly striking a key.\u00a0 Whereas before, the tones belching out from that very same piano had sounded harsh and tinny, now that one key, softly caressed by that pale and delicate hand, rang sweetly\u2014the sound wafting melodiously through the church\u2019s dead air.<\/p>\n

In unison the trumpet boys raised their instruments and strained to match the piano\u2019s long note in long slow draws; the guitarist crossed his legs, lowered his head close to his Spanish guitar and strummed\u2014first one string, then all, in a full chord\u2014in the same key.\u00a0 The drummer did a couple of light drum rolls and thudded his bass drum.\u00a0 Apparently satisfied, he twirled the sticks, laid them on his lap and smiled at the guitarist.\u00a0 Then quiet.<\/p>\n

The red headed beauty folded her hands on her lap, the trumpeters blew spit out of their horns and the guitarist sat back gently stroking his instrument\u2019s long neck.\u00a0 The drummer yawned.<\/p>\n

Not a sound came from the congregation save for the rustle of folded paper fans, bearing that same suffering Jesus face, exciting the still air and bringing temporary relief to their hot sweaty faces.<\/p>\n

Bending her head slightly toward the keyboard the piano girl brought both hands up to the keys and with a hard nod all the musicians began to play.<\/p>\n

The music, led by the pianist, was tantalizingly familiar, yet new to my ears.\u00a0 After a few bars I realized that the hymn they were playing had been sort of musically reconstructed to sound like a northern Mexico polka (norte\u00f1as).\u00a0 It was catchy, had a hell of a rhythm, and made you want to tap your toes, and more.\u00a0 The red head began singing to the accompaniment in a sweet yet husky voice, and the drummer along with the guitarist provided background vocal harmony.\u00a0 The trumpets were literally blazing away.\u00a0 The congregation, although not singing, one by one began to stand up; and like a wave\u2014the younger ones first followed by the slower and creakier elders\u2014rose and began clapping their hands in time with the infectious rhythm; suddenly and joltingly joined by dozens of tambourines that had appeared out of nowhere and began driving the beat.<\/p>\n

The sound was deafening yet pleasing to the ear.\u00a0 The red haired pianist\u2019s honeyed alto voice rose above the din and carried the hymn\u2019s melody and cadence up and over the rattling cacophony created by clapping hands and slapping tambourines.\u00a0 It was riveting, and before I knew it I found myself swaying, and like everyone else, clapping enthusiastically to the driving beat.<\/p>\n

As the hymn drew to an end the church was flooded with the sounds of \u201camen\u201d and \u201challelujah\u201d.\u00a0 The pianist, having terminated with a Liberace-like flourish, brought her hands back down to her lap and folded them primly, one over the other.\u00a0 Her back still painfully arched and her head held high with ankles crossed and tucked under the bench she resumed her statue-like pose, staring straight ahead.\u00a0 The people, still voicing heavenly praises, all slowly began to sit back down and for a few moments, save for the resumption of the waving paper fans, nothing happened.<\/p>\n

Then, as if on cue, the two doors either side of the stage opened slowly and four dark skinned men, of varying height, filed out of each door.\u00a0 All dressed in dark suits and ties, they climbed the steps of the stage and took their positions standing quietly in front of the chairs.\u00a0 Each one carried a bible, and once situated in front of his respective chair clasped the book tightly, \u00a0both hands crossed demurely in front of his body.\u00a0 Staring somberly, each man focused on the two still open large front doors of the church.<\/p>\n

A deep loud and booming baritone voice echoed from behind and to my left, startling me and forcing me to turn my head.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Que Dios los bendiga!\u201d\u00a0 Boomed the voice.\u00a0 (May God bless you!)\u00a0 And the piano sounded an introductory chord.\u00a0 Everyone stood and every head\u00a0 rotated towards the doors.\u00a0 Just then the piano playing began a solemn set of minor chords and the red haired girl\u2019s head turned left.\u00a0 The chords flowed together and began to form a song whose composition was grounded in mostly bass keys.\u00a0 The \u00a0music rose in volume and as the pianist focused her view on the entrance doors.\u00a0 I turned and looked towards the door.<\/p>\n

Standing grandly just inside the vestibule was the man I would come to know as El Reverendo Tom\u00e1s Villa, resident pastor of the church.\u00a0 He was magnificent!<\/p>\n

A large man, well over six feet tall with wavy black hair cut just right and shining radiantly in the sun, he stood there sucking up every bit of the adoring congregation\u2019s love and admiration.\u00a0\u00a0 Dressed in a flawlessly tailored dark blue pin striped double-breasted suit, radiant white shirt and a flashy gold tie, his attire was perfect\u2014right down to the gleaming pair of highly polished black leather shoes.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1Y a usted tambi\u00e9n, hermano Villa!\u201d\u00a0 The congregation answered back in perfect unison.<\/p>\n

After a quick glance to the right, then to the left, he fixed his gaze on the pulpit and with a large smile that underscored his well-trimmed jet black moustache, and began a slow deliberate stroll up the center aisle in perfect cadence with the music\u2019s beat.<\/p>\n

In his right hand he carried a large white leather bound bible embossed with a golden cross, and to his left for the first time I noticed a woman; her right hand perched on his left forearm she was walking solemnly alongside.\u00a0 She was wearing a beautiful black dress, and although at that young age I had yet to develop an eye for any type of sartorial fashion, I just knew it had to be expensive.<\/p>\n

She was beautiful, in a mature but not matronly way.\u00a0 She was about my mother\u2019s age but her jet-black hair, glistening with a few fine threads of silver was pulled back and tightly rolled into a perfect bun.\u00a0 A very stylish black hat decorated with a short veil was just barely resting on her forehead.\u00a0 Passing by our pew they both shot a brief glance in our direction.\u00a0 A hint of a smile from both as they passed, then onward towards the pulpit.<\/p>\n

As they cleared the front two pews they turned to face the congregation.\u00a0 \u00a0Smiling broadly they enthusiastically waved at the younger kids sitting in the front while waiting for the hymn to end.<\/p>\n

As the song drew to a close Reverend Villa looked to the heavens and in that deep hypnotic voice said, \u201cHermanos queridos, vamos a orar.\u201d\u00a0 (Brothers, let us pray).<\/p>\n

As one, the entire congregation bowed their heads.\u00a0 Reverend Villa raised both his arms, lifted his head heavenward and closed his eyes.\u00a0 In that commanding voice he began to pray\u2014and I was instantly mesmerized.<\/p>\n

His prayer was in Spanish, of course, but never in my life had I heard the language spoken so beautifully.\u00a0 Every syllable perfectly formed and intoned.\u00a0 When the \u201cR\u2019s\u201d needed to be trilled he did so in such a manner that they rolled off his tongue in chilling vocal rapidity.\u00a0 He used words I had never heard before but the context was so beautifully framed I had no doubt as to their meaning.\u00a0 He was masterful.<\/p>\n

Almost everyone in the congregation was also praying loudly, imploring the Lord to show them the path, to heal the sick, to please save their souls.\u00a0 But even through that loud wall of vocal clamor his was the dominant voice.\u00a0 If God was listening, He would certainly be listening to him.<\/p>\n

\u201cEn Tu Nombre santificado te pido todo Se\u00f1or, amen y amen.\u201d\u00a0 (In Your Holy Name I ask this Lord, amen and amen).\u00a0\u00a0 He ended his prayer with those words after slowly bowing his head.\u00a0 He then fished out a silky white handkerchief from one of his inside pockets and wiped his eyes.<\/p>\n

Everyone else put their closing remarks on their prayers and the church began to quiet down.\u00a0 Here and there was a cough, a blowing nose, and finally a soft shuffling of feet as everyone sat back down.<\/p>\n

During the prayer I had been busy looking around at the people\u2014trying to see what they were doing.\u00a0 Some had their arms raised, others only one, and still others just holding on to the pew in front of them.\u00a0 But they all had their eyes closed\u2014some dream-like, others squeezed tight\u2014all imploring the Lord to listen to their plight.<\/p>\n

Robert had his eyes glued to the red head.\u00a0 After having finished playing the hymn she had bowed her head and had remained that way until the end of the prayer.\u00a0 Even after sitting down Robert pinned her with his gaze.\u00a0 She, of course, never noticed.<\/p>\n

Turning my attention back to the front of the church I saw that the reverend had climbed onto the stage and was now sitting on a large chair directly behind the pulpit and in front of the baptismal tub.\u00a0 Legs crossed, his white bible in his lap he gazed almost disinterestedly at the congregation.\u00a0 His wife had taken a seat on the first pew to the left of the aisle. \u00a0Only later would I notice the small paper sign taped to that spot: “Reservado”. \u00a0(Reserved).<\/p>\n

One of the men that had been sitting on the stage in one of the eight chairs was now standing behind the pulpit.\u00a0 Leafing through what looked like notes he cleared his throat and addressed the congregation.<\/p>\n

\u201cGracias a Dios por la vida, y bienvenidos todos a nuestra iglesia.\u201d\u00a0 (Thanks to God for our life and a welcome to all to our church).<\/p>\n

His greeting was met with a disjointed chorus of \u201camen\u201d, \u201cgracias a Dios\u201d, and a bevy of \u201challelujahs\u201d.<\/p>\n

For the next ten or fifteen minutes he went on to make general announcements concerning the church\u2019s upcoming activities for the week and to direct where and with who the segregated groups would attend this morning\u2019s Sunday School classes: adult men in this room with brother so and so, adult women in that room with sister so and so, teen boys\u2026teen girls\u2026etc.<\/p>\n

Referring to his notes for the last time he cleared his throat again and introduced the next speaker.\u00a0 Another one of the men got up and took the pulpit.\u00a0 He proceeded to open the green covered ledger he carried and read attendance totals for last week\u2019s Sunday school service.\u00a0 Boring stuff.\u00a0 I glanced at Robert again while stifling a yawn and was amused to see that his eyes were still boring holes in \u201cRed\u2019s\u201d back.\u00a0 She, on the other hand, had crossed her legs casually and her arms, now resting on the two back corners of the bench, were supporting her as she leaned slightly back.\u00a0 I couldn’t see her face but I assumed she was bored too.<\/p>\n

Soon we had filed into our respective classrooms to receive the bible lesson given that Sunday. \u00a0Not being too impressed with the teacher, a twenty-something gawky looking man wearing thick glasses and sweating profusely, I let my mind drift and wondered where the beautiful pianist was now.<\/p>\n

An hour later, and after having endured the driest and most mind-numbing bible lesson ever presented to any living human being, we filed out of the little classroom at the back of the church and back to our pews.\u00a0 Robert resumed his watch on the red haired pianist, who was now back at her piano, and I sank down on the hard pew.<\/p>\n

I begun to drift a bit but was abruptly brought back by the sound of the band firing up again.\u00a0 Everyone stood up and began to sing.\u00a0 Well, maybe sing is too fine a word.<\/p>\n

No one in the congregation seemed to be in tune and no one seemed to care. The people bellowed out variations of what they thought the melody might be, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. They looked up toward the ceiling and smiled…looked at each other and smiled…looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Spooky.<\/p>\n

No one seemed to care about the words too much either, so I joined in and started making music-like sounds. The beat was furious and addictive. The volume was deafening.\u00a0 Happy! Happy! Happy! Sing! Sing! Sing! Clap! Clap! Clap! The group of men on the pulpit was now leading the congregation in song.\u00a0 Waving their arms and mouthing the words as they merrily carried on.\u00a0 Gradually one of the men in the group stepped up to the pulpit to take the lead.<\/p>\n

Dressed in a loosely fitting, slightly shiny, blue suit, he began exhorting the crowd with his waving arms and wildly bulging eyes.\u00a0 He had a large fine looking black moustache that seemed to bounce in rhythm with the pounding Latin beat, but through it all his wavy glossed black hair remained static\u2014except for one lock that clung to his left eyebrow.<\/p>\n

Just when you thought the hymn was going to be over the big guy would energetically launch, slightly off-key but with mucho gusto, into another refrain…his voice booming over the crowd and bouncing off the plainly painted wooden walls.\u00a0 The band, and the gorgeous piano girl, would pick up the beat and courageously carry on one more time.<\/p>\n

The congregation, as one swirling flowing mass would pick up the cue and launch forcefully into the suggested verse. The band would hurriedly slam picks into strings, blow hot humid air into shiny brass and bang finely manicured fingers into ivory to catch up with the frenzied worshippers. \u00a0Somewhere directly behind me a tambourine was slapping its hollow jingling beat into my soul, and boy did that make me want to dance!<\/p>\n

Finally, after seemingly endless repetitions the hymn mercifully came to its frenzied end. The final boom of the bass drum and the trilling of the tambourine behind me signaled to the mass that there would be no more refrains. Instead of being disappointed they erupted in yet another thunderous wave of hallelujah, amen, praise God…and a couple of assorted words in a language I had never heard before. No one sat down.<\/p>\n

Again the army of little paper Jesus hand fans stapled to flat sticks, began to rapidly flutter everywhere like a wave of dying albino moths.\u00a0 I was hot and sweaty and the breeze generated by the fanning women felt deliciously refreshing. The amen and praising of God name continued here and there until finally Brother Villa, who’d been standing hands on waist lovingly admiring the crowd, let loose with a deeply baritone, “Thank you Lord”! \u00a0This got another wave of holy praise going around the church, the chorus of voices rising up trying to reach the very heavens and then slowly finally fading out.<\/p>\n

One by one finally everyone sat down. I could feel the sweat rolling down my back and soaking into the elastic band of my boxers…vaguely tickling. The atmosphere in the church was well past hot and humid, and the air sank heavily onto my head. Reverend\u00a0Villa began to speak softly and I found myself \u00a0leaning forward, afraid to miss anything he said. He spoke words of salvation, of pain and suffering and of generosity. His deeply rich melodic tone was sing-song, now soft and serious, then sharp and staccato, finally pleadingly and painfully hoarse. With his words floating over the congregation in that stagnant air I pictured the Christ hanging, bleeding, dying, forgiving. \u00a0The message was mesmerizing and magical.<\/p>\n

The corners of my eyes began to sting sharply from the sweat slowly trickling down my forehead, and I reached for the handkerchief that my mother had thoughtfully jammed into my back pocket when I left home that morning. As I averted my attention from the preacher I felt, rather than saw, someone looking in my direction. On the pew ahead of me, and a little to the right, I saw a large round-faced woman staring intently–at me.\u00a0 She smiled and I cringed slightly.\u00a0 She winked and pointed a pudgy finger directly at my nose.<\/p>\n

To my left Robert nudged me and whispered, \u201cI like mine better.\u201d<\/p>\n

To be continued……<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"