The Night Whistler

If you happen to be awake here in the wee quiet hours of night and morning, you might hear a strange sound that brings back memories of our first assignment in Mexico, 45 years ago. As you sit in a quiet stupor, hoping to go back to sleep soon, an eerie whistle wavers and wobbles on the still night air. You're not really sure you hear it, but then it draws nearer...and nearer... But by the time you get to the window and stick your head out to catch the Night Whistler, there is NO ONE there. This is the Night Watchman, an ancient tradition here. I'm not sure if it is from the Spanish or indigenous, but it doesn't take long to realize the whistle is to give the bad guys a chance to disappear before the watchman arrives on their block. He goes round and round, from late at night until the sun comes up. And no one ever sees him.

Daytime noise is more ordinary: a voice shouts: "Mangos have arrived! Manilas, juicy, delicious. MANGOS, MANGOS, SANDIAS!" And there is a ratty old pickup truck with the back filled with mangos. Around here there are so many they often are left rotting on the ground.

Then there is the sinister slither of the serpent recently seen in the tall grass at the side of our house. The mayordomo responsible for that little piece of church property is GOING to HEAR about it!

Come on, folks. Get your grandmother to show you how and write a comment or two.