“Not today. It’s Dia de Los Muertos.”
Day of the Dead was a Mexican festival that was celebrated over two days: Dia de los Angelitos, dedicated to souls of children who had passed away, and Dia de Los Muertos, celebrated the following day, to honor the spirits of deceased adults. Day of the Dead was a remembrance of loved ones that had passed on, and a celebration of the continuity of life. It was an important day for Damian because he had finally got a new tombstone for MaMaLu, a completed one that was fit to honor her memory. It had taken him weeks to have it custom made and he had received a call that morning, that it was now installed.
“You all set?” asked Rafael.
“I am,” said Damian.
They drove to Paza del Mar, noting the new developments that were now lining either side of the road—modest little homes, interspersed with lavish mansions, hotels, shops, and restaurants. The area had gone through two distinct phases: before El Charro and after El Charro. What had once been a small fishing village that had served as an outpost for the drug lord’s dealings had bloomed after his death. Crime rates dropped and tourists began to trickle in, opening up jobs and commerce. The presence of foreigners deterred the cartel from trying to re-establish its hold over Paza del Mar. A tourist caught in the crossfire was bad news. It inevitably attracted international attention, and the capos preferred to stay out of the limelight. The shadow of fear slowly lifted off the sleepy little village. It transformed into a charming, laid back getaway, its residents never knowing of the two boys who had made it happen, the two boys who as men now, were parked outside Camila’s.
Rafael had bought and renamed La Sombra, the cantina his parents had worked in, and turned it into a favorite spot for the locals. He stopped by whenever he was in town, checking in with the management, approving the menu and sorting out what needed to be looked after. It was twice the size now, painted white, blue and a cool yellow, with high ceilings and a verdant wrap-around patio. The cuisine was fresh and flavorful. On weekends it pulsed with live music. Accordions and guitars accompanied icy cold cervezas, while the kitchen served steaming tacos stuffed with steak, cheese and jalape?os, and skewers of dunkable scallops with pumpkin seed sauce.
Camila’s was closed on the Day of the Dead, but Rafael laid a bucket of cempasuchil—wild marigolds—in the spot his parents had died. Damian recalled MaMaLu explaining the celebration to him. She believed it was a time when the deceased were given back to their families and friends, when the living and dead were joined, if only for a brief time. Marigolds were supposed to guide the spirits to their loved ones, with their vibrant color and scent. Damian and Rafael stood in silence, in the empty restaurant where Juan Pablo and Camila had once danced to crackly tunes on the radio, each honoring their memories of the couple.
When they stepped outside, they followed the streams of people making their way to the cemetery. The streets were lined with decorative paper skulls, colorful lanterns, and plastic skeletons that danced in the wind. Fishermen held vigil in their rowboats, with torches that reflected in the water.