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One remembers part of Maestra vida, one of the most important works of Rubén Blades, today, the day of his 70th birthday
The wake of Carmelo da Silva begins with tears, almost everyone has finished the wake of the Caribbean since time immemorial. This has been recalled for years and decades by its neighbors in the district of Solar de los Aburridos, perhaps the same where one night, two or three winters before, to call them winters, Pedro Navaja pbaded with "the tumbao that the handsome have to walk to New York; perhaps even the same, where Camilo Manríquez walked before going to his death "for natural cause", as the doctor said after examining the shovels that a foreman gave him "planting in".
You can read: Seven decades of Rubén Blades: the salsero that integrated performance and politics in his social struggle
The neighborhood was always the same, with other names and others clothing and the strange habit that was changing, but the same that he was writing and rewriting and Rubén Blades has been singing since he decided to break up with the salsa that had been heard until the sixties. ten. Neighborhood dark streets, repeated lives, imminent risks. District of scattered lampposts, cracked asphalt, rum and domino. Neighborhood, in short, bars and souvenirs, bars and souvenirs that Blades took over to invent Maestra Vida, a salsa novel, a Caribbean opera that he published in two albums 30 years ago.
The story began with Carmelo da Silva, who died several songs later with his covenant nested in his right hand, his last gesture to shout to the world and to the life, to Master Vida, who for the sake of Manuela and Manuela, had been able to survive hundreds of misfortunes, his mistakes, infidelities, slips, follies and betrayals. Da Silva had known him several years ago in the same neighborhood. "Manuela, what a woman, with big eyes and a guitar belt, what a sensual look."
Da Silva was the handsome man who killed them all. "Carmelo was in the neighborhood the handsome older man, respected as any great doctor," sang Blades and his drunken bar friends. They married, as they would say, in the bar Quique Quiñónez, Carlitos Lito and Rafael da Silva, friends, survivors and, in a way, heirs of both, and made the best party organized in the neighborhood, a party that was repeated later, when Ramiro was born.
Ramiro da Silva was the illusion of his parents and the neighborhood. "Yes, sir, I ask on your behalf, I'm not sissy, I do not get a thief," sang, shouted Da Silva at the party, while motioning to his guests to continue drinking. The hope, however, began to break almost since Ramiro was born, "because the poor are still fregao," as Quique Quiñónez would say to Ramiro's son many years later, in the same bar of his life.
He told her about politicians: "Every four years they appear, carrying children, promising, the poor look and cheat, the poor look, and the elections come and when you look at the selections you always see the same people, ha, ha, ha. He told her about the soldiers who took power after the lies, and advised her to take care of the money, that before, at that time, and in the future, the song would be the same. Drunkenness continued. The ice is over. The laughs and memories are gone. The story followed its course and the music was not an excuse.
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Manuela Peret is deceased. He had spent the 70s and his last days were bent, walking every morning to the church, persecuted by the defeats, the fear of God, the possible disappointments and the rosary inherited from his mother. Da Silva could not resist it. Ramiro was not awake. Like Albert Camus' s stranger. Quiñónez hinted that he had been imprisoned. It was possible The same thing was the employer who refused permission. He cried. "He did not know how long he was crying." He shouted, "Oh mom and dad, if I made them live how many things I told them, how many things would change." He cursed. He remembered. He wanted to hold the blows with the priest who charged him with the "children of the palea esta". He was thinking about suicide, but he was very cowardly for that.
In the end, the voice of a witness to everything, God of pain that is Blades, told that "All the facts condemned him, the anecdotes and memories spoke badly of him." With his eyes buried in the ground, suffering from the bad movements of his existence, Ramiro visited the streets of the neighborhood.The same corner with its same smell, all the facts have condemned.However, no one has spoken of his loneliness, those years in jail, things that he did and did not do, his eternal bad luck .. Standing in the corner, Ramiro answered the questions that he They never asked him – after all, his only reward was old age, the same reward that his father Carmelo received, the same reward that his son Rafael would surely receive … It was a night in May 1970, Ramiro is always in the corner, Alone, as always … "
He sang to life, to his life as a master. "I arrived at your school without understanding why it happened, in your clbades I find a thousand roads and crossroads, and I learn a lot and I learn nothing (…). And I saw thorns and saw roses, saw loved ones dying, saw beauty, witnessed aches and pains. wars (…). And in God I remember only at the moment of death or sometimes when I am sad, but never if I am happy (…). And I have friends, acquaintances and enemies, loves that have loved me and faces that refuse to see me (…). I found myself facing death and in their eyes I saw the meaning and with fear with me so I learned to love you (…). Death is the messenger who arrives with the last hour and the time does not stop, neither for love nor for money (…). Master Vida Camara, she gives you, kidnaps, removes and gives you … "
Then he committed suicide on a motorcycle, he had not finished crying his parents yet. had not yet begun to understand life.
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