On summer nights Papi lets me help out at the music store. Papi says you can read people's souls by the music they listen to; that hearts fly home when the music's Just Right. Papi says people come here to buy dreams and memories. Mrs. García gets off at the bus stop in front of the store. She walks slowly, one hand on her back, trying to push away an ache. She's been cleaning houses all day, but still she smiles and stops to talk. João hangs out by the door pretending not to watch the girls go by. "A boy that handsome can only be trouble," Mrs. García says. João likes to talk music with Papi. Mrs. García On the day of my quinceañera , I wore a gown of blushing pink and a gold tiara. The tiny rosebuds on my cake matched the real ones in my bouquet, and my gifts reached the ceiling. A handsome mariachi band played all afternoon and serenaded me with "Las mañanitas." On the day of my quinceañera , I was in Mariachi Heaven. João A girl from Ipanema (no one ever knew her name) caught the eye of a composer who would never be the same. "She's a little bit of samba, with a pinch of jazz thrown in. She's the strum of my violão -- such a girl there's never been." Then he wrote a brand-new song for the girl without a name, who strolled along the beach and brought the bossa nova fame. Excerpted from Under the Mambo Moon by Julia Durango All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
