“Shhhh,” Nana hushed.
All of the adult Sorias listened to the broadcast. Because the cousins had taken every other radio in Bicho Raro, this meant they were assembled in and around Eduardo’s pickup truck. Rosa and Antonia and Judith and Nana were crushed inside the cab, huddled together for warmth. They did not want to turn on the heater in case the blower would drown out any of the broadcast. Francisco and Michael and Luis perched in the truck bed. They were cold, too, but they suffered it alone. Eduardo sat on the hood and smoked a cigarette. He did not believe in suffering, so he felt plenty warm.
Diablo Diablo said, “Here’s a letter from an anonymous listener. He says, ‘People always said I was lazy, a do-nothing who just took up space. My sister always thought the best of me and I feel a little bad for letting her down. She always thought I was going to turn out to be something and she used to cuss at anyone who said otherwise, and it’s too bad that I didn’t turn out to be something because I feel like all her cussing was for nothing. Of course maybe she would have cussed anyway.’”
The pilgrims had written the letters. This was one of the ideas Tony had suggested to Joaquin during the course of the afternoon. Tony, after all, had firsthand experience with how well listener participation could boost a radio station’s success. The two of them had gotten along as well as two folks could when all communication had to go through a young man from Oklahoma, particularly when they discovered they both loved the same part of radio: the intersection of music and stories.
Diablo Diablo continued, “?‘If she were listening, I’d tell her that I really needed her cussing. I guess it didn’t make me do anything, but it made me happier while I wasn’t doing anything. Maybe one day I still will be somebody. Maybe.’ Sounds to me like this anonymous listener needs some gas in his engine. Luckily, I’ve got just the thing, I just heard it today and I haven’t been able to stop listening to it since: Here’s the brand-new ‘Loco-motion’ by Little Eva. Let’s get moving.”
A mixture of emotions filled the space around the radio in Eduardo’s truck: shock, anger, delight, pride, and finally, as owls began to circle the pilgrims, anxiety. Unperformed miracles hung thick in the air and the birds were going mad with it, swooping and calling, feathers drifting all around. There were second miracles choked up in the pilgrims and first miracles in the Sorias.
“Let’s have another pair of letters from two more anonymous listeners. Remember, those of you pricking your ears to us from home, the theme for tonight is love, and these are love letters, letters about all the strange kinds of love we feel for our family and friends. While you’re listening to these words, friends, think about what you would tell these anonymous writers. Would you give them comfort? Advice? Agreement? Or maybe just a swell little song from the Shirelles. Ah, you know what, I’m gonna spin that and we’ll be back to read the letter on the other side.”
The Sorias said nothing for the two minutes and thirty-eight seconds it took the Shirelles to ask if they would still love them tomorrow. They waited with rapt attention until Diablo Diablo returned with the letter he had promised.
“?‘I don’t know if I love my sister or if I have to love her because we’re basically the same person. People are always saying we look alike; it’s the first thing they say. Then everything else is measured by comparison. You’re actually a little taller than your sister or She ate more than you or You read longer books than her. Nothing ever happens that’s just about me. I guess that makes me selfish, so that’s stupid. I’m glad these are anonymous.’ Have you ever felt like that, listeners, like you only exist in relation to someone else in your life? It’s a terrible feeling. People are like sweet, sweet chords—we love them when they’re playing all together nicely, like in the pretty number I’m going to spin next, but it would be a crying shame to forget what a lovely little noise a D major makes strummed on a single guitar.”
All of the Sorias in Eduardo’s truck imagined themselves first as part of the Soria song, and then as individual chords. All considered that the song they had been playing collectively was not a very harmonious one.
Diablo Diablo continued. “Hold that thought … I’m gonna read this second letter now, because it’s also from a sister to a sister. ‘I love my sister, but I also hate my sister. We fight all the time. She knows everything about me and I know everything about her, so we don’t really have anything to talk about. We just fight. Sometimes, I pretend that I have gone out and gotten myself a very exciting life with exciting friends, and at the end of the day I’ll come back to her and be able to tell her all about it and it will be nice again, but I’m too afraid to do that, actually. She likes me because she has to like me. What if nobody else does?’?”
Nearer to the fire, Robbie and Betsy were squirming a little. They were the authors of these twinned letters, of course, and it was hard to look each other in the eye, hearing them read out loud. It is often easier to be truthful with yourself and others in writing, and that was the case here.
Diablo Diablo said, “I’ve got a song for these two sisters, but I’ve also got a piece of advice. I know what you’re saying: ‘Nobody asked you or your mama for advice.’ I know it, I know it, but it’s not from me or your mama, it’s from Frida Kahlo, offering some truth to everyone out there who can’t let go. Here’s what she said: ‘Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.’ Sisters, I want you to think about that while I sing you a song that’s a lot about love but also just a little about liberation. Here’s Brenda Lee’s ‘Break It to Me Gently.’?”
As Brenda Lee began to croon through the speakers, Francisco suddenly put it all together. The radio, the letters, the owls swooping overhead.
He said, “The pilgrims are the listeners. They wrote the letters.”
And now, for the first time, the Sorias were directly answering their questions.