One of the women who sells rebozos and chats with me for stretches at a time introduced me to one if her four children, Luis. Luis didn’t want to meet me. He smunched up his face when she ordered him to draw nearer to me. He refused despite her threats. I did not understand why she was so adamant we meet. I could see he is handsome from a distance.
I went on chatting with her about the stunning breeze, about the puppet show, about business today on the plaza. At the same time, Cecelia was thumbing through the photos I’d taken that day, asking intermittent questions about where the picture was taken. Easy to answer. About what was happening. Sometimes her guess was better than mine. About why I took the picture. I just blamed it on the blog which, to her, is no explanation at all.
Anyway, Luis scampered away, and this woman asked me if I’d consider being his madrina, godmother. I was stunned, explaining I’m not Catholic. She explained that what she is asking has nothing to do with the church.
He simply needs someone to accompany him as he progresses from elementary (primaria) to middle school (secundaria). I knew enough to be honored by the request, but I wanted to think about it before I agreed to be part of the ceremony on July 15th. She agreed that I should consider it.
This morning I asked Mari if it was as simple as my new friend had made it seem. She said I only need to attend the celebration (which sometimes involves him performing a waltz), present Luis with a bouquet of flowers and a small gift. My name would be recorded on the official rolls as his madrina. That’s almost all (in some cases, I would have to buy him a suit, including shoes).
But the real work, Mari explained, would be done by the announcer who’d have to figure out how to pronounce my name.