February, 2013. We are visiting the town of Pátzcuaro, in the
state of Michoacán in south-central Mexico, looking for fine artisan crafts for
Chiripa. The following story recounts what we saw on a prior visit to this same
place. We did not see the stiltwalker on
this trip, but the blind man was still playing his concertina.
In Patzcuaro, there is a blind man who plays his concertina
near La Casa de Las Once Patios (the
House of the Eleven Patios). He plays almost every day, and has done so for
years. Indeed, he may be playing at this very moment. He sits on a little
stool, with his back against one of the adobe walls that frame the cobblestone
alley. The walls have stood for centuries, despite rain, poverty and
earthquake.
The Cobblestone Alley
At night, you can watch the moonlight stream down the alley
and over the cobbles. From open doorways, warm light pours out onto the moonlit
steps. A dim incandescence from rusting street lamps washes down the walls. Gentle
figures, in straw hats and hand-woven shawls, linger next to the doorways.
But on this day we were standing in the alley in the heat of the
afternoon. The rounded cobbles were warm and the old buildings cast welcome
shadows. We stood in the shade, against a wall, and watched the blind man ply
his trade. An old woman, who might have been the blind man’s mother, sat across
the alley and mumbled occasional words of encouragement or advice. We did not
understand her words, but the blind man did. He nodded and, from time to time,
murmured a response.
Haunting Music
We dropped a large coin into the open box. The blind man
picked up the coin, sniffed it and smiled. “Gracias, senor.” He leaned into the
worn concertina, grimaced, worked hard at the fingerboard, and squeezed out a
haunting melody from long ago. His foot tapped on the cobbles, and the little
stool creaked in rhythm.
As we listened, a strange figure turned the corner and
climbed up the alley toward us. He had a painted clown face and carried long
poles over his shoulder. He moved briskly, and with purpose. When he reached a
point opposite the blind man, he scrambled up a high stone porch that
overlooked the alley.
Steps Leading Up to the Stone Porch
His painted expression was kindly – neither happy nor overly
sad. And beneath the paint, as best we could tell, was a decent and kindly
human face. A canvas bag was slung
around his neck. He wore long, heavy-soled, laced and rubberized boots – more
suited to an arctic expedition than to this subtropical place.
He wasted no motion. He leaned the long wooden poles against
the wall and opened his bag. And then, with the utmost care, he prepared for
his intended mission. From out of the bag he pulled the tools of his trade: an impossibly long pair of red and white
striped pants, a whistle, a set of juggling batons, and assorted lengths of rope.
We could now see that the poles were stilts – impossibly long stilts that extended for
yards below their foot rests. The stiltwalker swung the stilts into position,
and then tied himself to them. He wound a length of rope around each
foot, and another around each leg. He drew the ropes tight, and knotted them
securely. There could be no escape. The stiltwalker surely foresaw the
possibility of a catastrophic fall, yet with deliberate premeditation he bound
himself irrevocably to his fate.
Lifting one bound leg, and then another, he poked the impossibly long wooden stilts into the
leg openings of the impossibly long
striped pants (held at sufficient distance by a long stick), then pulled on an
attached cord to hoist the pants up his extended wooden “legs.” Rolling from
side to side, he pulled the pants past his hips, and then cinched them around
his waist. He slipped into his vest, slung the bag and juggling
paraphernalia around his neck, adjusted his red cap and bow tie, took a deep breath, worked his
way to the edge of the high stone porch, set his narrow wooden “feet” on the
uneven cobbles far below, pushed himself away from the security of his stone
perch, and stood to his full extended
height.
The Stiltwalker Stands!
What a sight! The stiltwalker now looked down on the
cobblestone pavement from a height of nearly two stories! He waivered a bit,
got his bearings, pivoted slowly until he faced the lower end of the alley, and
began to walk! He started
tentatively, swaying stiffly from side to side like an old and arthritic giant.
But soon he gained momentum and began rocking toward his fate with graceful,
fearless, colossal strides. His pant legs waived like banners with each
enormous step, their motion synchronized to the blind man’s haunting lament. Oh, the courage! The resolution in the
face of death! It was enough to make us weep!
Gigantic Strides
Borne by our small human legs, we caught up to the
stiltwalker sometime later, in the central square. There was some kind of civic
event underway, and the stiltwalker was part of the spectacle. He towered above the tiny creatures that gathered below him, yet he seemed strangely alone and vulnerable -- an isolated, far-seeing, almost
Lincolnesque figure – fulfilling his duty despite the danger from the children
who swirled violently at his feet. Not once did he falter, or drop his juggling batons.
Tall and Alone, Juggling with Fate
When the sun was going down, we again found ourselves in the
alley by La Casa de Las Once Patios. The blind man was still there, playing a sad tune on his concertina. The stiltwalker was there, too. But this time he was unbinding himself from his stilts and packing
away his public persona. When he had returned to human size, he climbed
down from the high porch, threw his long artificial legs over his shoulder, and
walked briskly down the alley toward us. As he passed, we clapped
spontaneously. “Bravo! …Bravo!” we hollered. The stiltwalker cocked his head,
tipped his cap, turned the corner and was gone…. - JM
