NECESSARY FIRST STEP

From the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade" 
Read companion poem

Chapter 17: Necessary First Step

Wine’s what drew people to the fiesta, but music, food, and comradery is how they’ll measure the moments, an ego deflating fact Jake long ago came to terms with. One thing New Mexico fiesta-goers can count on, is a full dose of Mariachi and Salsa music served alongside a variety of foods, each competing for the most interesting way to combine red or green chili in uniquely Southwest dishes. The more discerning agree that while not all New Mexico festivals include bands from up north, the memorable one’s do. This year Padre’s band is one of three Northern New Mexico acts presenting their unique brand of salsa.

The music tent’s one-hundred-feet long and fifty-feet wide footprint is located in the center of the fiesta grounds. Winery and vendor tents form a perimeter with a sixty-foot gap, which provides a kind of medieval charm. If the fiesta were a town the music tent would represent the plaza, and the perimeter tents the businesses lining the plaza, similar to downtown Santa Fe or Albuquerque’s Old Town. The music tent has no side walls, just a roof. At its peak, the roof is thirty-feet high and held up by three long poles evenly spaced down the center. There’s an elevated stage at the north end, and in front of that a twenty-foot-long, thirty-two-foot-wide parquet dance floor. Beyond the dance floor are thirty rows of white plastic chairs: each row containing twenty-five seats with an isle in the center. The sixty-foot gap between the music tent and perimeter tents is carpeted with lush green grass having picnic tables randomly interspersed. The gap provides room for both milling around and queuing up for wine tasting. There’s plenty of room on the balloon fiesta campus to expand or contract the gap, but five-hundred years of fiesta planning has settled on a canonical distance of sixty feet.

Jake crosses the gap from his wine tent to the music tent intersecting where the dance floor ends, and the first row of chairs begin. Before getting halfway across the gap, he’s cleared his mind of the SID incident, not allowing the secret police to ruin his mood. After being on his feet all day he’s hoping to find a seat near the front but unfortunately, the only available ones require him to sit next to someone, and he’s just not up for that level of familiarity. Instead, he leans against a sidewall support pole. In his fiesta attire and solemnly stoic way he leans against the post with his legs crossed, he looks reminiscent of a vintage cigarette advertisement.

From his vantage point Jake’s easily able to watch Padre on stage, and with a turn of his head, check up on how things are going back at the tent. Padre’s band is just finishing a popular salsa song, so the dance floor’s filled with couples. Jake marvels at the way these uninhibited bodies move with such freedom, something he could never do with his conservative South Dakota upbringing and an innately nerdy engineer’s personality. He can’t imagine any circumstance in which he’d dance the way they do; at least not without feeling obligated to smoke a cigarette by the end of the song. Put in another context, there simply isn’t enough bourbon in all his barrels to get him on a salsa dance floor, especially in such a public venue. It’s not that he’s opposed to Latin dancing, in fact, he enjoys watching and feeling the rhythm. After all, what man wouldn’t like beautiful women performing seductive gyrations to richly passionate music? That being said, it’s not something he can bring himself to partake. It’s sort of like his position on recreational cannabis, people should be free to smoke pot if that’s their deal even though it’s not something he’s into. What strikes Jake as a sight even stranger than provocative salsa dancers grinding up an open-air tent, is a trumpet player in a priest’s uniform whipping people into these sorts of pagan-like gyrations? However, to be consistent with his views on Latin dancing and pot smoking, why the hell not a salsa playing Priest?

As the song ends, Padre returns his trumpet to its case with a careful reverence and enthusiastically grabs his electric guitar from the stand next to its acoustic cousin. As he plugs his guitar into the amplifier, he steps up to his microphone grinning with a happiness reserved for those who believe with each breath God and heaven await. Padre’s not the band’s lead vocal but he does sing back-up on most songs and is the featured vocal on a couple numbers. Because of his exuberant charm and charisma, the band long ago delegated song intros to him, something Padre’s become rather famous for.

“Thank you very much,” Padre begins working his charm. “You guys are great. You know that right? Great dancers. Great listeners.” He looks back at his fellow band members with a grin so contagious they know what’s coming. “The boys in the band will back me up on this, because they know half the fun of performing is playing for a great crowd. So, on behalf of all of me and the boys in the band, viva la Nueva México!” Padre readjusts his shoulder strap while waiting for the applause to die down. He strums a couple strands to locate himself and send a signal to the band to be ready. “Our next song is a little shout out to our Southern brother,” Padre announces to the crowd while softly striking up an opening montage for a very popular song his band performs with a distinctly Northern New Mexico flare. Some in the crowd catch what the intro’s leading to and applaud while whooping wildly. For Jake, the intro portends the opening of silly season, right on schedule. From the look of things, early indications indicate that the hot sun, mixed with good music and great wine, is going to create an extra dose of silliness.

As Padre strums deeper into his intro, one by one the band members join in, each teasing at what the song will be, but not enough to make it obvious. The effect of ever-increasing musical instruments harmonized with the melody Padre’s performing creates an almost Pagan like stirring that builds the emotions of the crowd into a subliminal frenzy. Needing to bring more of the crowd on board Padre provides the give-away clue just as the music reaches its crescendo. “Brother Carlos that is,” Padre seductively says as a clue to the band to begin playing in earnest. Padre steps back from the microphone as he and the rest of the band burst into the song with full volume. The crowd erupts in jubilation as the lead singer steps up to his microphone to run through the opening lyrics. The parquet floor instantly packs with people eager to let the music move them. Nothing in music or club dancing catches the unabated exuberance for life and the sheer joy of living than New Mexican’s salsa dancing in an open air-tent at a wine fiesta, while listening to the harmonic happiness that can only be captured by a Northern New Mexican band. Padre may have gotten things going, and the band delivered as billed, but it’s the people who make the moment magical.

Having successfully kicked things off, Padre’s able to focus on playing the many rifts the song allows, while providing an opportunity to survey the crowd. He quickly spots Jake, flashing his friend a warm grin. It pleases him that Jake’s not only come but has apparently eluded arrest. He’s equally pleased to see Jake subconsciously moving with the music, not in overt ways like the dancers, but with a subtlety that could easily go undetected. What pleases Padre most, is Jake stepping outside his solemness to allow a breath of life to live in him once more. Nobody understands more than Padre the journey Jake’s been on since losing Emelia and nobody’s rooting for Jake’s success more than Padre.

As Jake predicted, the tasting lines have begun to dwindle, which is another indication silly season is blossoming; seemingly all at once, the queues in front of his servers practically vanish. While Sympatico’s used to Jake being right, what she can’t know is the causal factor for the vanishing tasters is Padre’s band playing Oye Como Va, a song written by the Puerto Rican, Tito Puente, made famous by the Mexican, Carlos Santana, and performed in a distinctly Northern New Mexico style by a salsa playing Priest from Venezuela. Regardless of what causal factors led to the sudden evacuation; it clearly presents an opportunity for Sympatico to reconsider Jake’s suggestion that she wander around the fiesta to see what it’s all about. Even though a part of her wants to venture out and is looking forward to her rendezvous with Jake with yet to be assessed enthusiasm, she’s having difficulty finding the courage to take that necessary first step.

Researchers who study human behavior on either cognitive or neurological levels long ago concluded that the most difficult and complex task humans perform is taking a first step to initiating motion. From a physiological perspective the very act of matriculating motion requires more brain activity and muscle management than talking, reading, solving math problems, or even arguing passionately with your lover. From a cognitive viewpoint, the gap between standing still and moving is akin to the gap between realizing you must end a relationship and finding the fortitude to leave. In the same vein, the delta spanning the statics of simply surrendering to the logical assertion that action is required and reaching the point where you’re able to release the dynamic energy required to propel accelerated motion, seems unfathomable.

If she could initiate motion; if she could take that first step, then the rest would be easy. After the first step, the next comes more quickly, more fluidly. One step invites the next, and in a cascading form of recursive simplicity, we’re able to move. From movement comes speed and speed begets more speed, and if we remain on the same trajectory, we’d in theory eventually achieve escape velocity; moving past the gravity of all those things that slow us down and holds us back. All of that would be achievable, within our reach, if we could just take that very first step. But alas, in the neurological and cognitive constructs of human existence, the real reality is that escape velocity is not possible. If it were, we’d all be somewhere else. So, as it is for everyone, so it is for Sympatico, initiating motion from the relative safety of the wine tent into the uncertain world outside, requires a step she just can’t seem to muster. In all likelihood here is where she’ll remain, held in stasis like surface water on a frozen lake; able to change in the afternoon sun, but unable to go anywhere. That’s how it is for people like her; and sadly, for the rest of us as well, just at differing levels of intensity.

If it had not been for Dario insisting, she go, Sympatico might not have found the fortitude to leave the security of the wine tent for the vast unknown of the fiesta crowd. But with his help; with his comforting cajoling, she’s able to convince herself that leaving is possible. It’s mostly because of the calm bravery Dario brings to every aspect of his life. It inspires her to believe she can be like him; she can venture beyond the tent. She can sally forth into the crowds, onto the plaza and dare to be normal and unafraid. “Yes,” she compels herself. “I can do this.” That was the hard part she acknowledges while releasing the last of her trepidation, a necessary and essential first step toward becoming the kind of person she wants to be. And with that, she’s ready for the next step believing it will come easier. And it does, then that step invites another, and before long she’s ventured past the green chili jelly tent, past the next wine tent, and is flowing with the crowd that promenades the plaza.

Sympatico observed throughout the day that most fiesta-goers traverse the plaza in a clockwise direction, in a quasi-uniform manner that reminds her of growing up near La Paz, where she frequently walked the plaza in the evening with her parents and grandparents. Every young girl in La Paz romanticizes the centuries-old tradition in which eligible young ladies walk with family members, usually their father, in a clockwise direction around the plaza, while single men interested in marriage walk in a counterclockwise direction. This tradition provides young men a chance to meet available girls while proper courtship chaperoning is maintained. Sympatico continues beyond the security of her wine tent finding that less and less she has to think about the steps she’s taking. She’s uncertain if she should walk directly to Jake who’s across the gap or venture around the entire plaza alone as he suggested. Her initial position is that she can’t possibly walk without a chaperon, it is not possible or proper.

Slowly, she accepts that Jake and Dario are right; she can’t spend the rest of her life cowering, never finding the courage to step away alone. But then again, how can she do that? No, it is not possible. After much debate she decides to let fate decide if she walks directly to Jake or wanders around the plaza. She looks to her left, toward where Jake will be waiting. Seeing nothing that catches her eye, she looks to her right where several artist and vendor tents, sprinkled among the many winery tents, seem inviting. The people in this direction even seem more interesting; and equally important, friendly, and benign. With that as her touchstone, Sympatico launches in a counterclockwise rotation to see where the people have been coming from all day. The only trepidation she hasn’t been able to successfully manage is a deep-seated uncertainty about how she’ll be perceived by fiesta-goers for walking without proper escort.

Once she’s into the plaza and among the crowd, Sympatico quickly concludes fate was correct; this is in fact the way to go. Her mood escapes trepidation, quickly forgetting about what people might think or how scary being out on her own is. She feels comfortable and relaxed, when she reminds herself at least. A sense of eagerness comes over her as she begins to experience the sights of the fiesta beyond her serving station. It’s been a long time since she looked with welcome toward what comes next, but as she starts slowly meandering around the plaza, she can’t help but always be looking ahead to what the next vendor might reveal. Her plan is to check out the different perimeter tents before finishing at the music tent. She doesn’t have money, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy seeing what the artists have brought. It also means she must be content to sample vendor foods with her eyes and nose. The one thing she’s not allowed to do is sample wines from other wineries, Jake was very clear about it being against the law for servers to sample. She would have liked to try other wines, just to see how they’re different from Jake’s. He promised they’d do that in the fall when they’re gathering pressings for grappa and visit most of the other wineries. She’s so happy to hear him talk in the Spring about things they’ll do in the Fall and can wait until then to validate how much better Jake’s wines are relative to his compadres.

At the northeast corner of the plaza, Sympatico stops at a tent filled with landscape paintings of New Mexico wilderness in different seasons. One particularly beautiful landscape looks like it could have been done on a full moon night from their parking lot facing the Sangre’s. There’s another painting she really likes of a high mountain meadow at dawn. In the foreground, a small herd of mustangs drink water at a beaver pond while in the background high altitude aspen thin out to tree line spruce. Above that a group of mountain goats graze on the mostly bare rocks finding whatever small clumps of vegetation they can. There’re spots of snow around the goats allowing them to blend in and become part of the mountain itself. The artist tells her it’s a painting of Marquez Mountain, just north of Taos. He then proceeds to tell her an amazing tale of life and loss, and how its rumored treasure is buried there somewhere.

The tale is of a man named Kincade, who everyone called Kismet, on account of he got shot once in the chest but a book about Arabian Nights in his jacket saved him. Sympatico marvels at the way the sun peaks over Marquez Mountain helping highlight the reflection of the mustangs, goats, spruce, and snow spotted mountain on the mirror still pond. She would love to visit that pond someday and thinks that perhaps this Fall, Jake will take her. She imagines what it would be like to stand beside the pond at dawn looking at the reflection of her and Jake in the undisturbed water. That is a Fall sunrise she’ll look forward to all spring and summer.

The tent next to the wilderness artist is selling Andes blankets and traditional South American pan flutes. They’re playing Andes Mountain music in the tent and while it reminds her of home, it’s not interesting; not when there are so many new things to experience. As she passes winery tents, she pauses to study the way they set up their tasting lines, and how they promote their products. While one has more flare and another is quainter, Jake’s set up is clearly the more pragmatic and manageable. She’s already come to appreciate that aspect of living with an engineer, “function over form,” that’s one of Jake’s favorite expressions, as it was her Abeulo’s too. The wine tent anchoring the Northeast corner of the plaza seems to have neither form nor function. The tent is open on two sides and the L-shaped layout makes it hard for servers to move around. What’s even worse is their express lane is at the far end of the L, making it awkward for tasters at one end to get to the other end to make purchases.

As Sympatico starts along the northern side of the plaza her pace subconsciously slows to a relaxed rhythm devoid of hurry or purpose. She stops to look at jewelry being offered by an artist who says both the silver and turquoise in his pieces are mined near his home on the New Mexico side of the Navajo Nation. She’s been around Santa Fe enough to appreciate that his jewelry is different, it isn’t gaudy like many Native American pieces. His stuff would probably not appeal to tourists because of its subtle intricacies and understated southwest style. However, for legitimate New Mexicans, she imagines his jewelry is quite popular. The artist notices Sympatico’s necklace, and while he didn’t make it, praises the skill and authenticity of whoever did. Sympatico admires Emelia for her good taste and appreciates that Jake doesn’t mind her wearing Emelia’s jewelry.

While Sympatico’s talking with the Navajo artist, two men busily engaged in the management of the world’s oldest profession take notice of her. It’s obvious from the way they’re dressed that they’re Mexicans. At first the two Mexicans are drawn to Sympatico because of her beauty and the possessively alluring way she holds herself. Quickly though, they realize they know her, and as she moves from the jewelry tent working her way along the plaza, the two Mexicans nonchalantly follow. One makes a quick call on his cell phone while the other keeps an eye on both Sympatico and the girls they’ve been assigned to manage.

By the time Sympatico passes the northwest corner of the plaza and starts to traverse the west side, the two Mexicans are joined by two other associates. On first glance the new guys appear to be New Mexican Hispanics; both by their dress and physical appearance, which in contrast is taller, lighter skinned, and having features more traceable to Spanish ancestry than Central American Indians. The two Mexicans and two New Mexicans stay apart from each other as they discretely trail Sympatico while maintaining supervisory control over their working girls.

Because the music tent has no side walls, it’s easy to deduce where everybody went when the tasting lines dwindled. Whatever song Padre’s band is playing one thing certainly cannot be denied, it’s popular. The roar of applause when the song ends is so loud and enthusiastic it draws Sympatico over. She finds a small place to stand along the side of the tent about ten rows down from the dance floor. There are so many people crowded around the tent she doesn’t notice Jake on the opposite side standing more forward and slightly closer to the dance floor. Disappointed about not spotting him because she promised they’d meet; she decides to wait until the next song ends and then cross to the other side.

As the applause dies the lead singer thanks everyone for listening to their set. He announces the name of the next group to perform and says that as the bands transition, Padre will play a couple acoustic numbers. Sympatico is excited she got here in time to see Padre perform, and watches with anticipation as he slides his electric guitar off his shoulder and move a stool to the front center of the stage. He then positions a microphone about waist high in front of the stool and grabs his acoustic guitar. He sits down and scoots the stool to a better position while adjusting the guitar on his thigh. “A lot of you know me,” he begins. “But for those who don’t, I’m Padre Paul, and as I reminded you earlier,” he adds smirking at Jake, “I’m a simple parish priest from Norte Nuevo Mexico. In addition to playing for you as the next band sets up, I want to let you know I’m raising money to help our New Mexico brothers and sisters struggling with social injustice by selling my ‘Padre’s for Peaceful Protest’ buttons. They’re five dollars; less than the cost of a glass of wine or a burrito; red, green or Christmas,” He jokes. “Guess how I answer the state question?” The crowd patriotically cheers as Padre references the fact that New Mexico is the only state with an official question. “I know you’re thinking because I’m a Priest I’d go with Christmas, but your wrong.”

“If you want to buy a button to show your brothers and sisters un poco simpatico, see Brother Bob here at the edge of the stage.” Padre points to a tall and rather large Hispanic man with a bald head and long beard standing at the edge of the stage behind a table that seems especially small given his giant stature. On the table are rows of Padre’s protest buttons carefully laid out by the stealth hands of the giant in anticipation of big sales. Brother Bob looks like a lifetime member of the Bandito motorcycle gang, or a ZZ Top roady, but those who know him respect his compassion, obedience to God, and lifetime commitment to helping those in need by providing whatever support or assistance Padre requires.

As Padre talks, he lightly strums his guitar playing some unrecognizable piece with a definitively Spanish flare. He scans the crowd and finds Sympatico, smiling warmly, happy she came to see him play, and even more happy she’s found the courage to venture around the plaza on her own. “You know my friends,” Padre continues his monologue. “We live in a world at the edge of transition. I feel it as strongly as I feel the Santa Anna’s. Do you?” He pauses to allow the profoundness of his assessment to sink in while he continues his unrecognizable melody. “It’s that subtle uneasiness you sense when life’s warning you that change is coming, with or without cause. And here’s the deal guys, you can be the instrument causing your change. Sometimes though, the reality is you’re nothing more than a bystander caught up in the chaos of a change that’s beyond your control. But the amazingly awesome part of free will is that you have options. You can choose to be a part of change, you can struggle against change, but you can’t stop it. You can’t outrun it, can’t out last it, and the absolute truth my brothers and sisters, is you most certainly cannot change change.”

““It’s odd,” Sympatico thinks, that Padre would talk about change. For the past few moments she’s sensed an uneasiness; at times even rising to an irrational anxiety compelling her to want to rush to the safety of her tent. Each time she feels anxious though, she’s able to deliberately work through enough to convince herself everything’s okay. She reminds herself of her compelling desire to stay at the music tent long enough to listen to Padre perform and to rendezvous with Jake. However, the waves of paranoia are not only relentless, they’re intensity is increasing.

When his cell phone rings the first time, Miguel does not answer because he’s in a meeting with Ramon in a rented RV parked just outside the southern end of the plaza’s perimeter. His boss arrived from Mexico a few days ago to both preside over the weekend’s operations, and to discuss matters with Miguel that he deemed necessary to do in person. Ramon is a ruthless man quick to anger and Miguel worries answering the phone in the middle of their meeting might set him off. He rented the small RV, as he does for all fiestas, to use as a facade. Under the guise of running a series of air-filled bouncy houses for kids behind the south side of the plaza, they brought in a second even larger RV as well. The small RV’s where Miguel, Ramon, and their minions hang out and occasionally conduct drug transactions. The large RV is where the girls they brought over from Ramon’s Albuquerque operation do what they’re compelled to do. After the second ring of the second call, Ramon gets irritated. “Is that one of our boys?”

“Si,” Miguel says looking at his phone.

“Well don’t you think you should answer it?” Ramon’s annoyance clearly calls into question Miguel’s management acumen.

Miguel nods as he gets up from the kitchen table and walks toward the back bedroom. A few moments later he returns, calmly sits down and delivers the news. “She’s left the wine tent and is walking around unescorted. I told them to watch from a distance until we get there.”

“Excellent,” Ramon responds. “You take care of this while I phone Diaz with the news.”

“Si,” Miguel says getting up to leave.

“And Miguel,” Ramon cautions. “Do not create a scene. We don’t want to draw attention, not with so much at stake.”

By the time Miguel makes his way to the plaza, Sympatico is busily scanning the opposite side of the music tent for Jake, while Padre’s about to launch into a song. The two Mexicans are inconspicuously positioned twenty feet behind and fifteen feet to her right. The two New Mexican’s are about twenty feet behind and ten feet to her left. Miguel stops to talk to the two New Mexicans giving them their instructions before moving over to give the two Mexican’s theirs. He then retreats across the gap to a tent selling organic goat cheese and gluten free bread. There he waits for Ramon pleased that all the stress he’s been under is about to end.