"MARIO AND THE BLIND MULE"
(dedicated to my friend
Mario Calderón)
JUNE 20,
2023
THE
PRETEXT
Today I have to return to the center of Guayaquil. Yesterday I did the
same route as today, the difference was that I forgot to write the request
letter addressed to the director of the institution, requesting that a
requirement be attended to in the process. To be honest, in the guidelines of
the institution's page the application is mentioned, but unfortunately I
concentrated on gathering the documents and making minutes and blah, blah,
blah, and I forgot to check against a checklist that I had prepared so as not
to omit any document or step and the truth is that... I missed it. But I think
it was worth going back. Yesterday I came with my wife, today I came alone.
THE
PARKING LOT
Whenever I go to the center of Guayaquil, I go to the parking lot of a
well-known clinic that is on Panama street, before a state bank, I like to do
it there, it is comfortable, quiet and I take the opportunity to walk, exercise
my legs, get them out of that sedentary life to which we get used for comfort
or leisure. I went downtown after leaving my son in Urdesa, at the office where
he works, on a fairly central avenue. On the way to my son's office, he always
drives and I take the wheel from then on.
We took advantage of those moments with my son, to talk trivialities or
serious interesting things like immortality or similar things, the truth is
that this time, I told him that I wanted to pass a proficiency exam in English
to do translations and/or serve as an interpreter and that I had talked to a
friend about the subject and she suggested that I explore the alternative of
the British English test since this is paid only once, while the American
English certificate has a useful life of barely 2 years, and then it's time to
pay again, and that really hurts the pocket a lot.
Having left my son in his office, I continued along Avenida Jorge Pérez
Concha, towards the center of the city, that is, I continued along Avenida
Kennedy, first passing over the small bridge that connects Urdesa with the
Kennedy citadel. In the Urdesa-downtown direction, you have to pass by the
front of the Abdón Calderón Private Institute (IPAC), where I studied almost
all of my primary education, so that crossing or pass always brings nostalgia
for times gone by and not returned as they say in the countryside. We are just
memories, that's what we are. In the same sense, the campus of the State
University remains and I see with some satisfaction that they have remodeled
the entrance and that now it is beautiful and seems functional, I hope that the
remodeling also reaches the academic part, teaching, paperwork and bureaucracy
for the welfare of the country.
I am still engrossed in my memories and soon I arrive at Piedrahita
street, passing first through the circle where the Monument to Eloy Alfaro used
to be, which always caught my attention because at the base of it, there were
people who imagined it or supported Eloy Alfaro. or trying to push him so that
he would fall and that the brandishing of the sword in his hand was to hit
those who wanted to make him fall hard and yelling, move away you stupid, don't
push, that's not it, that's purely my invention from this moment in which I'm
writing and the mind gets excited and begins to write without thinking,
pretexts pure pretexts, not for nothing Jorge, a former schoolmate and college
named me spoiled chinito.
I pass by the former Leopoldo Izquieta Pérez Institute of Hygiene, once
famous for its scientific work where Hideyo Noguchi (野口 英世), a famous Japanese bacteriologist who during his stay in Ecuador received
the honorary position of Sanitation Colonel in the Ecuadorian Army for his
services during the second great yellow fever epidemic in Guayaquil. And if
someone asked me what relationship I have with the Japanese bacteriologist, I
would say only the slanted eyes.
After Piedrahita street, we
pass under the airway that, as always, is empty, it is used, well I don't know
who it is for but I think it was used for certain purposes but not for mass
transportation if that was the intention.
You always have to go by
the side of the General Cemetery of Guayaquil, Cultural Heritage of Ecuador
since 2003 and the memory of the poet Medardo Angel Silva comes to mind, author
of EL ALMA EN LOS LABIOS, a poem that Julio Jaramillo later popularized in song
and is that during the time at the IPAC we studied the poets from Guayaquil,
among them, Medardo Angel Silva and whose death, perhaps caused by spite, caught
my attention, it struck me because I had related death to accidents and
illnesses but never to love. But passing the Cemetery, the romantic or the
stupidity is removed from me and I concentrate on the road, soon I arrive at
Panama Street and the clinic that I had told you about at the very beginning of
this story.
Two days after writing this
story, I wonder why declare a cemetery Cultural Heritage, so I started to
investigate, although I first joked thinking that the reason was because there
were many educated people buried there and yes, that is one of them. the
reasons, although there are many more like it, so is a just recognition for their greatness, for the
historical relevance of transcendental characters buried there, the solemnity
and beauty of its sculptural monuments, and for the sumptuousness of its
mausoleums of European influence that have increased over the years. In them we
can appreciate how the classical, Greco-Roman, Renaissance and modernist
schools come together in the architectural body of the Cemetery.
I arrived at the clinic,
entered the garage, parked and took the opportunity to go to the bathroom. In
previous stories I told you that I have bladder retention problems.
DOWN
STREET
Leaving the parking lot, I turn right and head towards 9 de Octubre Avenue.
Just across the street there is a state
bank, broken by the one whom the people nickname the “the tyrant of the stolen decade”.
Outside of this state bank, there is always a delicatessen fair, exquisite
potatoes with a creamy peanut sauce, hard-boiled egg, pico de gallo to speak
elegantly, when in reality it is a delicious onion salad with tomato, pork
rinds and corn, rich, rich, with plenty of salt, in a yellow sheath, a modern
substitute for the kraft paper from my childhood days; of course I refrain from
eating these cuties, but I imagine they are good because people buy it, eat it
and don't get sick, but this time I discovered something that interested me. A
cart full of bottles with mandarin juice, a novelty for the market and a
delight for me, a fan of mandarin juice that I use to make a cake that is
really exquisite and delicious.
I kept walking, passing by local restaurants and other smaller ones that
sell Peruvian and Creole empanadas, natural juices, water, soft drinks, a whole
assortment of colors and flavors for all tastes and budgets. I continued and I
am getting closer to my destination or place for the purpose of this trip.
Downstairs at reception I indicate the floor where I am going to. I hand over
my i.d. and in exchange they give me a card with a clip that indicates the
floor. They have three elevators on the ground floor, but they take time to get
to the ground floor where I am. The elevator in the middle seems to have been
damaged, it doesn't go up, it's at basement level. The guard also gets
impatient because if the elevators are late, people start to crowd, get hot and
annoyed and that's not convenient. Luckily the expected elevator arrives, A
girl who had just arrived at the reception can't get into my elevator so I have
to go up alone and soon I get to the floor where I had to deliver the request
letter that yesterday I had forgotten to attach with the rest of the documents.
At the entrance to the offices on that floor, I identify myself to another
person, I indicate who I am going to meet with and he tells me to go directly,
I greet him and after handing over the documents and a short chat, I say
goodbye, but not before thanking him for his help.
Back to the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, luckily this time it
doesn't take so long and soon I'm back on the ground floor, reverse process, I
hand over the clip card that they had given me and request my i.d.
BACK TO THE CLINIC
At the exit of the building, I turn left to go to the parking lot where
I had left my vehicle, well, my wife's because it is actually in her name. On
the ground floor of a private bank I met the enterprising lady selling that
delicious mandarin juice and I asked her if they are 100% natural, as a good
saleswoman she answered yes, what a question. I asked her if she had change for
a $10 bill and she said no and that she would ask the lady who sells lottery
tickets, for change. But I told her to wait cause I was going to buy a lotto
ticket and for sure I will get the requested change, so I got it and returned
to pay for the two bottles of mandarin juice. I opened a bottle and it taste like
heaven, really delicious, natural and
refreshing. A piece of heaven for just
$2, what a deal.
MY
ENCOUNTER WITH “THE BLIND MULE”
It passed by the state bank and I continued towards the parking lot, but
I didn't stop, I kept walking for about two more blocks. On the corner there is
a hotel and next to it on Panama street, is the place where they sell cookies,
but it happens to be a cafeteria well known to me. To be honest, I always take
the opportunity to compare prices, qualities. You see, but at this specific
time didn't buy anything because I also make cookies and they are very tasty in
some cases the prices displayed seem excessively expensive to me. Good for them
if people are willing to pay. I crossed to the opposite sidewalk and went back
to the parking lot, but before entering it, I found a cafeteria with the name of
“THE BLIND MULE” and of course I had to
go in since it was the topic of conversation with my very good friend
Mario Calderón. What a happy coincidence.
There was a girl who very busy cleaning the coffee machine who didn't
pay much attention to me. When I saw some books on display I decided to go in
and browse but I couldn't find the book from which this cafeteria took its
name. Stung by curiosity, I ask the girl:
-Miss, could it be that you have the novel “THE BLIND MULE”?
-Sure, there it is, she said, pointing at another shelf.
I hadn't seen it because I looked for it among the books on the shelf
and couldn't find it, because it was next to the cash register, on the right
side. So I asked her another question:
-Miss, can I leaf through the book while I'm enjoying an espresso
coffee?
-Of course, he answered.
I thanked her and I took the opportunity to take a photo of the book
cover and the restaurant sign and send them via wasap to my great friend Mario
Calderón. I leaf through the book and also ask its price, the girl tells me
$10.00 but I didn't buy it, it will be for another time, now that I know where
I can find it.
Returning to the subject of styles, the truth is that yes, the
narrative, descriptive and the dialogues are very similar, but the truth is
that Oswaldo Castro, like some authors have that ability to catch you in the scene,
to make the situation surrounds you until you feel that you are the character,
to make you part of it.
-Listen, you know if the owner has something to do with the author of
“THE BLIND MULE”.
-And she told me no, that she took the name for her cafeteria because
she mentions it in her graduation thesis, more than that, she didn't know.
And there is another question that, as you can see, the one that I say
was the last, was not really the last.
-Do you know if the girl, the owner, is an artist?
-She answers no, that she is a barista, that phonetically it sounds like
an artist but that it is not the same. and she told me that she is a coffee
taster.
-I said thanks and said goodbye.
Life always gives you surprises, surprises life gives you, it's true.
When I left “LA MULA CIEGA” I went to the parking lot of the clinic, but, oh,
MY GOD, on a bench, precisely one that has a statue of a shoeshine boy, a man
is sitting with his faithful companion, a guitar. The man is not singing
anything, I took some money out of my pocket and ask him very respectfully:
-Buddy, can you sing me a song?
-The one you like, he answered kindly.
-The truth did not decide for any, until it occurred to me to ask him,
if he knew ENDECHAS, an Ecuadorian song, a pasillo to be more specific and that
my dad used to like singing.
I told him that this corridor was sung by my father, that he liked it a
lot, that it was like his hymn and that it would be very, very pleasant to hear
it again.
He did not answer me anything, but immediately his guitar began a
posthumous serenade for my father and the man began to sing, he did it well,
which moved me much more, some tourists stopped to enjoy this song, by this
street artist . And I sat on the bench and started to sing with him, there was
no shame, just emotion. I recorded everything on my cell phone because that
moment was a great occasion for me, because it was, to evoke my father again in
his absence, it was to feel my father again, his presence, it was, it was, we
are memories and that It's something very beautiful that I remember about my
father, his joy, his humor, his love, his enthusiasm, his affection for my
children, his grandchildren who adored him and adore him, because that memory
is not erased just like that, that's just manages to erase itself when no one
remembers anything anymore.
I really enjoyed it, unfortunately since I was short of change I could
not give him more money for the pleasant moment I had listening him singing ENDECHAS. I asked him if he was from Manabí, but he told
me that he was from El Empalme and I told him that I was born in Quevedo to
which he replied that both towns were very close, really that's how it was. I
said goodbye and thanked him.
Now I realize how stupid I was not to have had the courtesy to ask the
man his name, but there is no way to go back, it only remains to remind me and
suggest that you not follow my bad example..
FRIDAY,
JUNE 16
Mario, a friend with whom
we really enjoy the occasional meetings to savor a good coffee or to have lunch
but always to share memories and I would like to conclude this story with
something we talked about on Friday last week when he invited me to lunch.
-José, when we were
classmates, actually, maybe we only spoke once or twice.
-Yes, Mario, I think so
too, but to be honest that doesn't stop me from enjoying these moments, from
sharing this time.
-I believe, José, that now
when we enjoy maturity, we are no longer as fussy as before and we rather
appreciate sharing a while, talking about any subject that passed by our minds.
-It's true Mario, it's that
we need to be listened to knowing that the purpose is not for the other person
to solve our problems, we want only to be listened to, not even to be in
solidarity with our situation, position or point of view, just to be listened
to.
GRATITUDE
Now that I am finishing this story, although there is a great implicit
lesson, I want, in honor of my friend Mario Calderón, to highlight it so that
no one misses it. I want to thank GOD for allowing me to take my son to work
today, for the memories, for Hideyo Noguchi, the Japanese bacteriologist, for
Medardo Angel Silva, the poet and for his song “EL ALMA EN LOS LABIOS” and for the sweet and delicious tangerine juice.
THE END
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THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME AND
FOR YOUR LOVE TO READ
