San Juan Chilateca¾
(The Sun sets over bald mountains in the brown distance, dry to the foot of the thing. Nopales and Maguey in the dirt, dirt in the wind, no water in the rivers¾everything dying. No rain in eight months. Pueblo, great big group of farmers, walks into the church to get statue of Jesus Christ. Band waits outside.)
Pueblo: (taking statue) Twelve fathers of ours, bring water to this town. Dry town, very dry town, very dry dying town. Take our ten Ave Marias and our Rosary.
Band: Music Music Music.
(Band plays as Pueblo marches to where they planted the now withering corn plants. The praying continues. Feels similar to a funeral. Clouds form over the mountains. Feels like a party now. Dancing and singing as the first drops hit the dusty ground. Maguey plants raise their arms. Mezcal shots poured. Toasts and Gracias. Rain turns heavy. ¡Un aguacero! Pueblo runs for its houses. Rain thumps corrugated tin houses, drains off rooftops, floods the streets. Running people splash water in majestic spray. Even hail comes from that sky, walloping the cars. The corn fields inundate. The sun rises and the Pueblo sees that so much water has come that the seeds have been lifted out of the ground and away. The water has taken the dead corn crops too. The town is dead and wet. All hopes gone. Pueblo gathers outside tightly shut church doors. Pueblo demands to see Padre. Water leaks from the roof of the church. Padre opens door. People stampede in. Padre hides behind door as they rush to the statue of the Virgin)
Padre: What do you want with the Virgin if you already got Christ?
Band: Funeral Music Music Music.
Pueblo: So the bitch can see what her son did!