Jesús and Jesse
By Don Adams © Don Adams 2003

Last night I met Jesús. He played the harmonica for me and I gave him a Snickers bar. He also offered to heal any and all of my ailments within three days using only three minerals. Good price too. Whatever I felt the service was worth. Actually it may not have been last night. It could have been---it probably was---several months ago. If it even happened.

A lot of folks never get to meet Jesús because he lives in a cornstalk hovel in a field near San Nicolas de Ibarra and most folk don't get out there too often. I was on my way into Chapala one evening to meet up with a pre-scheduled taxi driver who was gonna take me on in to catch a plane. At the same time Jesús was walking home along the same route I was taking.

I stopped to offer a ride to the long haired sandal-shod old man. He readily accepted, but signaled that I should wait while he shifted his burden. Two large woven bags hung criss-crossed over his shoulders and he needed to take them off so that he could sit comfortably. Once he had freed himself and loaded the luggage he climbed in and we took off.

Almost immediately he introduced himself---Jesús Mendoza---and asked if I liked music. When I answered in the affirmative he began rummaging in one of the bags and brought out a small cloth bound bundle. After the almost ceremonial opening he showed me a harmonica. "Do you like Juan Miguel?" I didn't know Juan Miguel but I wasn't about to put the brakes on this train so I just smiled and nodded. "I played with Juan Miguel" offered as casually as he might have said "These are old huaraches I'm wearing" led to the inevitable performance. Never pull a pistol or a musical instrument unless you're prepared to use them.

After he finished his first selection he motioned to where he lived, and where I should stop. I assumed the performance was over but he launched into another tune as I braked. I glanced across the road to see his house and saw a small square, flat-roofed shelter made of dried cornstalks.

By the end of the piece I was a bit anxious to get on my way but Jesús was not ready to release me. He asked where I was going. And why. I was already behind schedule and concerned about missing my flight. I knew the driver would be waiting, but aside from that Puerto Vallarta charter flight that I held up several years back because I was sitting up in the restaurant having lunch instead of boarding, I was pretty sure most airlines were not gonna wait for me.

I was a bit taken aback by his directness, his questions of a personal nature, but for some reason I felt compelled to stay and talk. After listening for a few minutes Jesús told me to come see him when I returned from my doctor's visit. "I can heal you in three days, using only three minerals." After a round of mutual thanks he wrapped the harp and began to gather his bags.

"Do you like chocolate?" For some reason I needed to thank Jesús for the entertainment and his concern for my health but I knew money wasn't the proper offering. I had already reached for my carry-on because the answer to that question is seldom "No." He accepted the gift and shook my hand.

I sat and watched as he crossed the road and headed for home. I headed on to Dallas to see my doctor.

I am back and now may be the time to go see about those minerals.

I was reminded of this incident by a recent event. Same road, same location, earlier in the day; still light out. A young man on the left shoulder of the road was walking toward Chapala and as I approached he raised high his left hand with his wrist twisted to point his outstretched thumb toward the town. His right hand held an old guitar. I slowed and pulled over and he ran across to road to pile in.

An offered hand, a quick "I'm Jesse", and as I pulled onto the road, a settling in as he swung the guitar onto his lap and began playing and singing Mexico Lindo. This is one of my favorites, one of only a few Mexican songs I actually recognize. The mariachis at one of the area restaurants play it for one of my friends every time she graces the place. One of the musicians loves, or at least greatly desires her.

Anyway, Jesse's playing with a big chunk of enthusiastic energy, singing with even more, and I'm grinning like a half-wit at the carnival. And thinking about how lucky I am to be living in a place like this.

When Abby, my daughter comes to visit, one of the highlights is always the same event. We'll be driving down the road and she'll be watching the profusion of vegetation---she's particularly enamored of the giant flowering roadside bougainvillas--- and she'll turn from time to time and gift me with a huge appreciative and delighted smile. That memory keeps me from falling into the trap of becoming too blasé about the beauty and wonder all about me.

And the best part is that it's free. Or offered as barter so that everyone stays on a equal plane. Nature offers her bounty and beauty at no charge, with the hope that we will appreciate it and not destroy it. Sadly, I believe she weeps to see how cruelly we mistreat her and how meanly we value her gifts.

But the people of México --- most of us estranjeros don't deserve the inherent gifts they offer. Dignity, acceptance, inspiration, sometimes even envy of their ability to survive and prosper despite the daily hardships they face. Buoyed and protected by family and friends they share an acceptance that things are as they are, but they may get better---and if they don't, they don't.

And they have other gifts to share. Offering up a tiny child to hold and kiss, bestowing upon the worthy great, sweet, smiles, offering acceptance and a bit of inclusion to those who accept and appreciate them, rushing to assist when they see someone in need. Dozens of times throughout the country I've seen people stop to hand a coin to a street beggar, and linger to speak a few words; to acknowledge the kinship, to respect the other's dignity---and the gift that rewards both the giver and the recipient---music.

I'm stopping now. I need to go shop for a guitar and a harmonica. I think I have everything else. Just like Jesús and Jesse.