Entre Calles

by Montserrat Deolarte Ruiz (Mexico)

I didn't expect to find Mexico

The usual buzzing streets of Barrio Antiguo now lay abandoned on a Wednesday afternoon. The unmovable crowds from the weekends are nowhere to be found. The constant chatter and the overlapping music of several restaurants is replaced by the creaking of old doors and the brushing of leaves. The restaurants’ signs sway with a breeze that brings no relief to the simmering heat and the shade offered by the balconies is scarce. Beautiful doors that would otherwise be crowded with people photographing them now stand unbothered and alone. The bright colors of ancient buildings cover up a history of abandonment in the face of violence. The paint is new, not a scratch in it yet. There’s a troubled sort of peace over the place, almost as though it is holding its breath. Waiting for the second shoe to drop. I walk away from the main street and the bright colors are replaced by crumbling greys. No paint to hide the dust and broken furniture that lays inside. Sloppy lines of spray paint decorate these walls instead of murals; one house even has a slur. My father’s words echo in my head, “There used to be a real nightlife here. This place was famous for it, restaurants on every corner, tables out in the street, people wandering around. You could walk alone at night with your friends,” as I walk past a building with a barred door and fading writing on its wall. “But things got ugly, business wasn’t the same and people left. These houses are old, they were once preserved and taken care of. They’re a part of our history.” And look at them now. Dried plants on broken window sills, cracked glass, old cigarettes and empty beer bottles. The holes on the stone leave you wondering if they came from time or bullets. Old metal, faded words, a ghost of what was lingering in the consciousness of the city. Ancient and abandoned, but its people slowly coming back. The bright colors slowly covering up the grey and empty. The only other person around is a man, with a small wooden cage, waiting outside a restaurant. He leans next to a plaque that boasts the story of a ghost haunting the building. He doesn’t look bothered by it, in fact, he looks at home in his nook of stone and comfortable shade. “Do you want the little bird to read your fortune?” he says signaling to the cage. A yellow bird peeks out and chirps. “How does that work?” I ask, already inching closer, intrigued by the strange offer. “Tell the little bird the letter of your name and they pick a paper out for you. You can ask about love, fortune, you name it. Ten pesos the question.” “I’ll take one.” The words leave my mouth before I can truly stop myself. He smiles and brings out a box divided into sections, in them are folded pieces of paper, all tightly packed together. He sets it in front of the cage and opens the door. “Come out little bird.” The bird does as told and stays there instead of flying away. “The letter of your name?” “M.” I feel the little bird’s gaze fall on me, unwavering and intrigued. “Little bird the fortune of the lady M.” The bird cocks their head, looks at the papers before pulling one out and handing it to the man. “Thank you little bird. Go back to your house.” He opens the door and they hop back inside. “Here you go, if you like what it says keep it somewhere safe and it'll come true. If you don’t burn it and throw the ashes out.” I thank him and hand him his coin. I continue walking as the bird starts to sing. The piece of paper feels heavy in my pocket.