"jingle bells, jingle bells..."
Rudolph the red nose ...
Silllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeent niiiiiiiiight*
te de deee ti de deee ti de di de deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..... beep bip bip. bip bip bip bi.....
*in spanish!
December 27th- Lima's historic centre and night markets.
It was a few nights after Christmas, and still they sung on in the 30 degree heat. Fairylights adorned trees singing sugary sweet, tinny music into the hot night.. Out of date Christmas songs that must have grated the ears of those working those post-Christmas nights.
We were wandering round a city centre park, sporadically lit up by lurid lighting amongst the singing trees, colonial churches, food sellers and street artists.
Having checked out the night craft market, we wandered until we found a crowd. Holding fort were a couple of mime artists. Half baked jokes washed over us as we sat in the flickering half-light.
Couples promenaded, children ran and we chuckled along with the crowd. Eyebrows raised every so often to reassure the other that the reason for the laughter sometimes went right over our heads, even as the laugh itself tugged at the sides of our mouths.
And the mimes jumped and squeaked and ran and fell. And the crowd tittered and oohed and aahed in all the right places and the coins went in the pot.
We were in a mini Colosseum- a round, seat tiered hole, with our non-violent black and white adorned lions running riot in the middle. In amongst the youngish crowd, a benign Cesar sat, up on high, aged, wrinkled and worn, apparently half dosing as he lent on his wooden sta..stick.
Yet not all was well in the land of this little amphitheatre. Even as we sat beneath our weathered Cesar, all smiles and laughter and with his metaphorical thumb definitely up, usurpers were gathering forces round the ringside.
Security guards, no doubt driven to point of bureaucratic madness due to the incessant tinkling of drivelly electronic xmas-trash, stormed our little theatrical haven, declaring an end to to the show as the black and white lions weren't officially registered, had paid for no licence, and were as thus being illegally gainfully unemployed.
[- security guards should really know that storming mime artists' turf tends to lead to mimicry and jokes at their expense-]
With half a serviant face, as the other roused the crowd, the artists slowly mimed the slow process of packing up. No food on the table tonight. Painted smile tuned to off. The slow trudge of the repressed. And the hands silently orchestrated the crowd's protest.
The Guards were firm- you have got to go,
the law must say, and the the Law says no.
Cheeky hidden smile as the crowd shouts their plea,
they were bringing us smiles, all smiles can't you see?
And the guards are uneasy, not sure what to do.
The law is our job, but they have this crew
of happy belligerent watchers-
now watch as they shout out this fight...
argh- !get reinforcements!- a phone call
and then the strategic flight...
soon a blackblue uniformed huddle-
and then a brave one comes forward-
no look here chaps, he starts to say,
this is all quite untoward
a civil disruption, we must keep the flow
of people here promenading,
and then off into the night they go.
Uncomfortably standing by
the limits of reasonable force,
just one more unfair action-
part of the city's nightly sauce?
Yet. now here our Cesar raises his weathered head
"now enough is enough, and enough is what I've said
be off, you show stealers, and leave the smiles to us"
all punctuated with the walking stick, now arbitrator of all this fuss.
And the Arena's played out it's nightly play- comedy to morality- and all to say
the crowd sometimes wins, the crowd's sometimes right,
. this is a travelling memory, warm... and bright .
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