Tita’s güero was back, this time with mariachis early in the morning. And he intended to sing with them to serenade Tita on her 78th birthday.
But when Tita first heard them get out of their car and walk through the backyard fence to her bedroom window, she thought it was trouble for sure and reached for her 45 semi. Then she waited for a lull in the commotion before she pulled back the slide to cock the gun. The güero and his three accompanying mariachis immediately recognized that universal sound of a big gun racking. The men froze in their tracks, awaiting the only possible sounds that follow such a sound: either a big bang or words of warning from the person holding the gun. Several long seconds passed. They knew it wouldn’t help to dash away, for anything that made such a big cocking sound would not be stopped by the walls of the house. Only God’s intervention would save them. So they prayed.
“You heard what I have pointed at you? Pos I got eight hollow points and several other magazines loaded and ready to go. You vatos get loco, and I start blasting through the walls until I go through a few magazines then check to see if anybody’s still standing and needs another pajuelazo,” Tita said in the voice of her favorite Clint Eastwood character, Dirty Harry.
“It’s me, Tita. We come to serenade you, baby,” the güero said pleadingly.
After a long pause, Tita looked out the window, the 45 in front of her.
“What the…,” she began to say.
“I brought you mariachis, Titita. Let us sing you “Las Mañanitas,” the güero persisted.
“Oh, pos órale. I thought you were a bunch of chundos thinking you were going to rob a defenseless old lady. Go ahead,” said Tita.
The men got no closer, readied their instruments where they stood, and sang a heavenly rendition of the classic Mexican sunrise serenade, followed by the popular Juan Gabriel ballad, “Amor Eterno,” then Tita’s favorate corrido, “Contrabando del Paso.”
“Eee, se aventaron, you were outstanding,” said Tita, now leaning on her windowsill smiling broadly.
“Thank you, baby,” said her güero.
“Come in. I’ll make some coffee. I have empanadas too,” said Tita, clearly overtaken by the gesture.
“Empanadas?” a voice said from a distance.
The men turned to see who it was. Tita didn’t react in the slightest.
“Who’s that?” said the güero.
“It’s just my neighbor, El Quit-o,” said Tita, shaking her head slowly.
“Let’s invite him,” said the güero.
“Simón, esa. I liked the music,” said Cuito.
“Thanks,” said the güero.
“Chale,” said Tita.
“I don’t want chundos coming in here, just you and me, Güero.”
