CHOLO

Cholo

Part I The Babalawo


The shadow of the Babalawo on the wall was projected by candlelight; dancing images formed a mystic pantomime as the Bataa drums played their ancient rhythm. The Babalawo shook the sacred rattle calling forth from the infinite which gave all men birth, the spirits of the dead. The invocation, long and sonorous, recalled from the abyss, those that had preceded them.

The Babalawo now sang to the guardian Orisha, the "Grand Cabeza"the master of his "head"Cholo watched and listened from the waiting room in silent admiration not unmixed with awe. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the lights from the candles began to flicker and change in hue, shape and color. And then finally there was a moan from under the winding sheet. A chill rapidly spread down Cholo's spine.


Part II : Early Days In Culiacan
"El Momento De La Verdad"
                                                          PIPINO'S Boxing Gym

The sound of the heavy bag resonated throughout the gym, compelling the men to pause in their daily regimen and marvel at the speed, power and sheer ferocity of the man pummeling it. Above the heavy bag, written in Spanish, was an old sign that said "Tell me what you boast of and I'll tell you what you lack."

Everyday before beginning his workout the young man presently engaged in this task, would stop and gaze at the sign reflecting on what it meant to him while simultaneously touching his elekele, whose beads represented Shango, the young man's patron saint Orisha. This young man was one Wilfredo Guerrero, "Cholo" as he was called by the others.

Cholo was the son of a Mexican sailor and a Panamanian Indian woman. He was 17 years old. His thick hair was jet black and as thick as the mist that descended each morning at daybreak in the village of his mothers people and left before the morning chores were done.

 He was a handsome man by any standards. The nose was long and straight, the nostrils fairing slightly. The cheekbones were high and broad and as sharp as obsidian. The lips were full. It was the sensitive face of an artist.

It was the eyes however that forbade one to take liberties with the mans apparent vulnerability. The eyes were black as night and burned with an inner elemental fire that tended to make people uncomfortable whenever those eyes were focused on them for any period of time.

Copyright 2014 by Kevin Casey Murphy