Post by laestrella on Aug 19, 2017 22:58:24 GMT -5
……………
Off in the outskirts of Mexico City, in the southwest region, there lives an old man, wise and frail, with thinning shoulder-length grey hair, leathery-brown wrinkled skin beaten down by the hot sun and dusty air, and two hands that keep ten calloused fingers that have started to curl up with the early stages of rheumatism and a back that arches forward with a slowly developing bump. Just too many years of performing incredibly delicate work while hunching forward. If that wasn’t enough, his eyes were failing him as well. To him, it was worth the wear and tear on his body, the slow destruction of his tendons and joints - - his eyes were only a matter of time, though. The same thing forced his father into retirement. He has lived a quality life doing exactly what he wanted to do and loved every minute of it.
Those days are gone now, though. He both chose and didn’t choose to retire from his trade, the trade of his father and the trade of his now grown sons with sons of their own. His body made a choice for him, with the aches and pains, with the inability to hold a needle some days, find the eye to slip the thread through, or hunch over the table for extended periods of time. He had to acknowledge his limits and admit he had suddenly become an old man. To him, it was like it happened overnight. To everyone else, it was a slow, but very steady thing. His sons and helpers, the men and women who shared the workshop with him - - the very one he built - - would watch him struggle with the needles, miss stitches, or lose track of paperwork. Out of the workshop, his darling and doting wife would see it in his morning routine when he got out of bed; there would be cracking and popping, grunting and moaning, a shuffling in his step as his stiff joints came back to life. For all her herbal cures and the muscle rubs she bought off the curandero, it only offered minimal and very temporary relief. The best cure would be rest, relaxation, to stop doing the things that caused him pain and stress.
Another thing helped him, too, something far less painful but still nagging and unforgettable. He longed to spend his remaining years with his wife, sons, and most importantly, his grandchildren. He wanted to bring them to wrestling shows, inspire a desire in them to do something other than leathersmithing - - maybe he even wrestling, but the goal is for them to follow their dreams. Of course he would like to teach them the family trade, but he wants more. He could, perhaps, make up for the time he lost with his own sons. All those long nights, early mornings, and weekends spent meddling away on the leather or heading to the market to buy it. The time he spent teaching them the ins and outs, to him, doesn’t count as quality time.
So that is what he did. The great lucha mask marker of Mexico City put down the needle and thread and picked up a soccer ball, tickets to luchadora, and his grandchildren instead. He moved as far from the noisy, dirty, and sometimes dangerous city as he could without being too far from his family, took his life savings - - which had amassed from his many years of scrimping and scraping and careful attention to money, a skill he learned in his youth - - and bought the biggest and nicest house he could afford. At the same time, he disappeared from the public notoriety, dropped from view, and let his name rest in the annals of wrestling history. He had made his last mask and he would never make another. Those lucky enough to know his work, to wear his work in the squared circle, they will be amongst a class all their own.
The Mask Maker of Mexico City now goes by the name of Alverez in the town of Col de Heroes 1910. Nobody in his small suburb knows of what he once did, just that he made leather goods. In reality, almost no one remembers him so even if they did, they wouldn't care. He knows this. He likes this.
Not everyone has forgotten, though and it goes beyond himself.
……………
Col de Heroes 1910 sits in the shadow Volcano Xitle, a long dormant volcano that helped create this part of Mexico with its thick lava. In its younger days, when active, it has said to have leveled an entire civilization, one of the earliest known in this part of the world. Cuicuilco was all but wiped out and residents of the civil center fled to other cities and states, helping to develop and evolve other cultures. All that remains today are a few tattered buildings, a beautiful pyramid, and an impressive system that fed water to the city. Most remains were destroyed during rapid urbanization, including the building of the Olympic Village Sports Centre.
The only people who care about this, though, are archaeologists. The common people who live, work, and shop here have no concern or time for such matters. They are living and alive, doing what they need to do, with the things that are active and stand, while the things beneath the ground, they are dead and literally buried - - buried under thick sheets of hardened but stable and healthy lava. People want things they can use, not things they can look at and admire. Besides, that’s on the other side of the mountain. This little enclave is buried in thick trees and industrial buildings, sitting near a deep valley cut by some kind of geological event millions and millions of years ago.
A taxi kicks up gravel and wet dirt as it comes to a slow stop at the side of the road, just in front of what can be described as a wooden shack built out of found plywood, pallets, timber, and sheet metal that serves basic staple foods for a cheap in an even cheaper setting. While food poisoning isn’t promised here, it could happen, especially in this environment. It’s wilderness out here, with those tall pine trees and dirty dirt that gets just about everywhere with even the slightest bit of wind. Thankfully there isn’t much wind today, but there is rain. It has rained most of late night and early morning, leaving everything soaked. For the moment, it has tapered from the downpours that have blasted on and off to something in between a drizzle and gentle rainfall.
This isn’t where the passenger wanted to go, but two problems have presented themselves. Three, really, but the third hasn’t been shared with the driver. The young woman in the backseat doesn’t exactly know where she wants to go, or in this case, needs to go and the driver, for as much as his profession demands his willingness to drive on command for money, he is unwilling to drive around this mall suburb as the streets can get a little rough, to the point that they turn to dirt the closer to the volcano they go. Even if he were willing to go, his passenger just doesn’t have the money to pay for such a journey. In fact, she barely has enough to cover the ride from the city to this part of town.
In a slow rush, she hands him a few crumpled bills and dumps a few coins into his greedy hands, thanks him for his services, collects her things, and covers her head with the hood of her jacket. Once outside, she realizes how cold it is here this time of year. At least compared to the city. The taxi speeds away, leaving the young woman on the side of the road, alone to find her final destination. She has come a long way, asked a lot of questions, talked to a lot of people, and searched high and low for this so a little more won’t bother her much. That, and she knows she’s in the right place at least.
When she thought she was in the right place, the man who answered the door had some bad news for her - - she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just about a week ago, she stood in front of the address that she found in her father’s stuff, looking for the name attached to that address. There was nothing there but shuttered heavy metal doors covering the doors and windows and a faded for sale sign covered in graffiti. She could barely make out the letters that once hung there, their darker outlines left in the sunburnt paint. Right place, but just far too late. The workshop and the man who made the goods had moved on. The Sons part of the company name had moved it, maybe got something bigger or more modern. Of course she would go on to find them, but even as much as they promised, they could not give her what she wanted. They also had no interest in giving her very much information in where to find the man and the goods she wants.
That didn’t stop her, though. It won’t stop her now, either. Not the rain, not the cold, not not knowing, not anything will stop her. She starts walking, starting up what seems like the main vein into the suburb. All the while, she keeps thinking about why this place is Colonia de Heroes 1910 and why some street names are dates and the names she remembers from her history classes. As much as she does know, the Mexican Revolution happened that year and some of these dates are important markers for battles or victories. But why this name, she thinks over and over again. Did the heroes of that battle come to live here? After all, the name, the colony of heroes from 1910, says that. Was this small area meant to just honor them? Where are the statues and monuments to say that?
Another thought crosses her mind - - why has nobody told her this story? If there is a story to tell, anyway. Then another thought - - why are there such beautiful houses with grand properties and then sheet metal shacks across the street? This young woman hasn’t ventured too far outside of Mexico City. In fact, she hasn’t gone outside of Mexico City at all, not on her own and not since her father stopped bringing her along to shows, and even then she didn’t see too much of things. To her, for all she knows, all of rural and suburban Mexico could look like this. Not before long, the road turns to two strips of what looks like old stones held together with clay. The same type of stone that makes up the short walls that line the street.
She has probably walked for miles, seeing no one to even ask for help or directions. She feels like she has walked for miles and hours but it probably has been nothing close to that. A little lying to herself about needing the cardio keeps her going. That, and the end goal of the quest. For all she knows, the man could be dead and this whole thing has been a waste of time and she will have to settle with what she can get. It won’t be right though. It won’t have the right magic attached to it.
If only her mother knew what she was doing right now. The very Earth would shake and crack with her mother’s rage. Then the disappointment would crash like a giant wave, wiping clean the surface like the lava that once flowed over this valley. It won’t be pretty. A mother’s wrath can stop just about anyone from doing anything. A mother’s disappointment could be a grown man to his knees, begging for forgiveness. But when a girl is chasing her dream, then not even that can stop her.
Finally a person. A pudgy middle-aged man with dark hair walks his dog down the street - or what could be considered a road.
“Excuse me,” she says to the man sweetly enough. “Hello.”
“Hello,” he answers gruffly.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says then briefly looks at the beige chihuahua. The small creature has a mohawk and an overbite - - a real beast of a dog - - but he seems friendly enough. “But do you know… Do you know if Alvarez lives around here?”
The man nods, “yes.” He points up the street to a small but well-kept house with a big yard. “Up there. The red one.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Thank you.”
The man nods again and gets walking again. The young woman does the same thing and begins what is going to become the final leg of her journey. The house isn’t far and with the excitement in her step, it doesn’t take very long. Within seconds, she has reached the front door. Her eager hand knocks, her knuckles tapping against the wooden door rapidly. No answer. It distresses her greatly. More knocking.
The door opens, finally.
An old man stands there, smiling. “Hello. Can I help you?”
The young woman in front of me him looks at him for a long time. “Hello… Are you Alvarez? Jorge Alvarez?” she asks.
“Yes,” he nods.
“The Mask Maker of Mexico City?”
With that, the mood changes. The smile leaves his face and his body stiffens. The pretty young woman at his door is not here to sell him cookies or looking for her lost dog or ready to help him find Christ - something he did a long time ago. She wants him to sell her something instead.
“That man does not live here,” he quickly answers.
“No, no, Alvarez. The man who makes luchadore masks. Some of the best in the world,” she says. “You are - - you make people legends.”
“I do not do that anymore,” he says. “That was a long time ago. You are in the wrong place.”
“Please,” she begs.
“I cannot help you,” he says, shutting the door. “You should go. Good luck.”
The young woman plants her foot in the doorway and slaps her open hand against the door to hold it open.
“You made a mask for my father…” she says. “Astro.”
He stops pushing the door. “Who?” he asks.
“Astro,” she says. “And my grandfather’s mask, Comet.”
Alvarez looks up and down the street then back at the woman in front of him. “Come inside,” he says, opening the door wide again.
……………
A masked La Estrella sits on a bench looking over the landscape in front of her. It is the sandy desert of Nevada, not far outside of Las Vegas. Nothing but jutting dark brown mountains spotted with green dots, empty sandy-yellow flat ground, and blue, cloudless sky.
La Estrella: It is surprising to me that out in this barren wasteland, this desert where almost nothing lives, where the government of this country dropped many, many bombs, can host such a large, bright city. As if this place were not bright enough as it is with all this sun. At night, though, it is dark. So dark. Outside of that big city, of course. In the city, Las Vegas, there is nothing but light. But here, here you can see the stars. Nothing but stars. Millions and millions of them. Galaxies, even. I have not yet seen it myself but some say you can see part of the Milky Way here. I would very much like to see this. Tonight I will try to see it. It will also help me come into focus into what will be my biggest match to date.
She sighs heavily.
La Estrella: My familia… The luchadores in my family have always named themselves after space. Comet, Astro, and now, me, The Star. A man told me that it was because my great-grandfather had found some kind of space rock in his wheat field and from then on, was convinced that it was a sign from the Gods. That his familia, his sons would go on to mucho things. He would have dreams about how his sons would be famous, standing in front of cheering crowds. He saw comets, asteroids, and shooting stars.
A small smile comes over her face.
La Estrella: I am the shooting star he saw in his dreams and I am fulfilling his profecía. The cheering crowds. The fame. The éxito. Perhaps I have not always been so successful. I did not win the rumble, but neither did the Princess of Legoland, either. I actually helped to eliminate her and it felt so good. It is the woman I must face in the first round who won the rumble, eliminating Kenzi Grey to do it. Grey has taken a disgusto to me. I am okay with all of this. There will be victories. There will be pérdidas. It only matters that I keep getting up. I am up again. There is another match. A muy, muy importante lucha.
She is distracted for a moment as a plane flies overhead.
La Estrella: It is finally time for what I returned for, the Queen of the Ring. Last year I was knocked out in the very first round. This year, I do not want to be knocked out in the first round. Una decepción. My first opponent is going to be a tough one. She has made that clear. She defeated every single girl in Queen of the Ring in that rumble. She held her own in the tag team match. But truth is, she can be beaten. It came out in the tag team match. Then again, I have not been doing as well as I did last year this time. I am hoping to change that. I know I can change that. Stacy Jones be damned. She is where I have to start and then from there, I must play my hand as the card falls. I maybe have to face Lilliput Lackland Princess. I bet she is real heated about that. Exactly what I said would happen, happened. She was distracted, demasiado preocupado with the top of the mountain rather than all the boulders she needs to climb before she gets there. One missed step and you will hit the ground very hard.
La Estrella leans back, crosses her legs, and looks out over the mountains.
La Estrella: Those mountains out there may not look so high or dangerous but appearances are deceptive. Even the best trained climber can slip or misjudge the climate. There are many things that can go wrong. They look at it, say es insignificante! And take off running to be king of the mountain. Not long later, they are stuck, stranded, lost, have fallen back to the ground. I see many in this tournament who think that of themselves. Not that they will fall but that es insignificante when they look at me or the other ladies in this. I am not this stupid. In that rumble, I got to enredo with these ladies and that taste was… I never thought they were not good, especially Camacho and Grey and Jones and I have nothing but respect for the woman, except one and we know who that is.
She stands and cracks her neck.
La Estrella: She found out quickly that ignorance is not bliss and it can be very painful. If she keeps it up, it will be more painful than she could ever imagine. The stars will be bright tonight. They will shine even brighter at Queen of the Ring and the Shooting Star will be a rising star.
Just like that, she sits back down. Off in the distance, it is clear that the sun is starting to go down.
La Estrella: For tonight, I will watch for other shooting stars.
She smiles and looks over the mountain range, watching the sky turn orange.
Volcan Ajusco.
Volcan Xitle