The Stiltwalker

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