He plays the requinto, he sings the bolero, and he watches. He watches you, señor, and you, señorita — especially you. He observes the audience, a nocturnal conveyor belt of lovers, haters, and drunks — stretching from the earth to the moon. He must have the knowledge, the repertoire of songs that tell the simple stories of life, la historia of every man and woman: romance, religion, and death. He must have the touch, the sense of the crowd, their mood. Happy and gay? The songs must correspond. Borracho and melancholy? Then, there is a desire for the songs of la lucha, the struggle of living. Some of us are better than others. Some are even men of wealth and fame from the sale of discos and autographed pictures. That is a rare category, the famous ones of the Mexican silver screen: Trio Los Panchos, Trio Los Tres Reyes. They wear the tailored draped gabardine and smile as the beautiful star glides by: Ninon Sevilla, Maria Felix. But I am not one of these.
