A Tale from the Cobblestone Street

A few years ago, I traveled to a small town called Ajijic in Mexico. That place, it is said, miraculously cured and eased then sickly and restless novelist D. H. Lawrence who fled Europe in early 1920s. He first traveled to America in the hope to find a quaint place to stay for a while and eventually found this hidden gem in Mexico by the Lake Chapala. During his stay, he started one of his famous novels "The Plumed Serpent". Probably because of it’s lure of literary spirit and the down-to-earth lifestyle, many like-minded writers, artists, and people are interested in alternatives of living have been flocking to the town ever since then. Local people call them Gringos.

Admittedly, I neither fall into any of these types, nor a gringo who supposed be with blue or green eyes. I was simply lured to its cobblestone streets, for they triggered my childhood memory. There was this alley which I passed every day on my way to school as a child in China. The fact (I learned later) was that there wasn’t a single street in the town wasn’t paved by cobblestones, except a highway. The purpose of such pavements was not of a pretty sight. Naturally, they would not evoke nostalgia, but their construction was an economical way to solve two issues: making paths for use and letting water be absorbed by soil. The so-called highway was merely a two-lane main street, which was east and west bounded and lined with shops on both sides. Mountain La Chupina was just behind the town, so stones were their forever least-cost material for making community streets.

How could it be better choice for an alternative vacation? A half year later, I packed a luggage and bought a one-way ticket. As wished, I leased a small house right in one of these cobblestone streets.

It was Late September, right at the turning point from raining to dry season and Mountain La Chupina was at its greenest peak. I sat by the front door, lost in my thoughts as admiring the majesty of the mountain in such closely distance. All the while, there was a trumpet blowing out music intermittently from one of my neighbors’ house. I could tell the trumpeter was an amateur. The music blew out was staunchly crying, and it tried to run far, but it bounced back by the mountain and then helplessly fell around me. Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed it while watching the sun downing to the westside of the mountain.

One early evening, there was a greyish little dog appeared in my sight. She sniffed along the path and stopped at my doorstep. She then raised her head to look at me for seconds. Ah, she must have smelled my stewed beef! I ran to the kitchen and sliced a chunk of meat with a bone in it for her. She wolfed down the meat and ran away. The dog was out of sight in no time but came a crippled lady who walked slowly across the street. The lady was skinny, tall, and hunchbacked a bit. Her outfit was outdated and funny-looking: a pair of high boots wrapped her jeaned stick-like legs; she wore a girlish floral-patterned short skirt with an oversized cowboy-style hat covering both her head and face where scattered whitish blonde hair slipped out; her assumed skinny long neck was encircled by the stand-up laced white collar; and the hand holding a walking stick had a laced white and pink glove on. Overall impression: her entire body was oddly shrouded. The dog soon came back, wagging her tail unhurriedly. I started to play with her. During the time, I saw the lady passing me across the street back and forth several times with slow pace.

The very dog then visited me on a regular schedule every day. I always had some good stuff ready for her and made myself available around her visit time but had to miss her visit a couple of times when I had to run errands. On those occasions, I would leave the door open until it was dark, in the hope of her showing up. On one such day, she appeared at front of me unexpectedly. She circled around me with gaiety until I grabbed her, she then lied down with four legs open, letting me play with her. She wouldn’t linger too long, she seemed sensing it was already late. 

On another day, the little dog came, followed by that strange-looking lady. The dog disappeared into the backyard, as if she was familiar with this place very well. The lady then approached me and hello to me.

“I want to thank you for having taken care of my Schneiky.” She said.

“You are welcome, but whom are you talking about?”

“My dog.”

“Oh, your dog’s name is Schneiky?”

“Yes, I adopted her a year ago, found her wandering around in the street. Is she cute?” She said with pride on her face.

Her outfit today made her look like a gypsy, with a square scarf tied on her head instead of the hat as I usually saw, and that the short skirt was replaced by a leather vest with tassels dangling, much of the brown color had faded away same as her blonde hair and boots. The complexion of her face was pale. She’s a fine-looking woman, still. 

“Are you the new owner? What’s your name? My name is Sofia Buzinsky, by the way.” She showed an interest in getting to know me.

“I am a new tenant for three months. My name is Huahua, same as “Chihuahua”, the state of Mexican, or the breed of the dog named after it with no ‘Chi’.” I answered her questions one by one.

“Ah, that’s an interesting name, so you probably will like Mexico.” She laughed and we shook hands. Her fingers were long and bony.

“I moved there from Germany eleven years ago. I didn’t expect to stay that long, but now I think I will die here.”

No wonder she had a heavy accent. I stared at her boots and offered her a seat.

“No, I’m fine, I won’t stand long. See my boots? They are my best walking shoes for these cobblestone streets. I’m glad I’ve brought them with me. They are very old but still wearable.” Obviously, she noticed my eyesight on her boots.

“Oh yeah, cobblestone streets, I loved them, but now, I don’t know. I may need a pair of more suitable shoes like yours.” I had to admit that my fondness of cobbles was waning.

“By the way, I’m your neighbor, the house after the next on your left. Please come over and join me for an afternoon tea. How about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”

She kept speaking without waiting for my reaction for her prior sentences. I said three o’clock would be perfect, to answer her last question.

She started calling the dog. “Schneiky!” Her voice was thin and faint.

The dog appeared in front of us at the blink of a second.

“She’s still an energetic baby. I’m, however, going in the opposite direction. It is what it is.” She limped away slowly while still talking, and Schneiky had run ahead of her.

Sofia had bigger front and back yards and a two-storied house in the middle. Schneiky was probably right in the front when I pressed the ring button. She immediately barked and came to claw the door. It took quite a while for Sofia to come to the door. She was wearing a vintage gown, despite it’d been worn out a bit, the floral pattern dotted fine burgundy silk with exquisite tailoring suited her and made her all the more unique.

Schneiky circled around me again with her head turned towards me while Sofia was making tea. It was her signal to me to play with her and pat her.

Sofia told me she had a very weak heart. “It is at the verge of cracking down. That was why I keep blowing trumpet.”

I had always wanted to know who the trumpet player was, and now I knew. “Ah, was it you playing the trumpet? I’ve been enjoying it.”

“I didn’t I annoy you, did I? I’m glad you enjoyed it. It helps keep my heart and lung function.”

“By blowing trumpet? Do they help?”

“Yes and no. When the time comes, it comes. I don’t care. I’ve lived my life long enough.”

“Why do you say so?” I couldn’t read whether it was pessimism from her tone. I was curious about her past life, so I probed by asking her what brought her to Ajijic and why she was living all by herself.

She started briefly recounting her early life

She was a descendent of a Russian aristocracy. Her family fled Russia and immigrated to Europe in 1950s when she as a teen girl. During college years in Germany, she befriended Julia Schneider, a German feminist with whom she kept a life-long closest relationship. The two devoted themselves to the feminist movements and travelled around the world to support and participate in all kinds of events championing the feminist cause. They spent tremendous amount of happy and exciting time together. After being involved in radicalism for over a decade, she and Julia decided to retreat. They bought a ranch in Black Forest area, ready to sit down to write books and enjoy life in the idyllic countryside for the rest of their lives. Tragically, her life partner was killed when giving a speech in a convention in Bosnia and this was their last planned activity.

“This was all I got from that.” Sofia mumbled, tapping her injured right leg with her long fingers. “She shouldn’t have been targeted. She didn’t deserve to die. I couldn’t, and I can’t accept it.”

I uttered nothing, and she continued: “Eleven years ago, I learned about this place and I knew it was going to be mine. I sold and gave away everything. I had to start anew. I’ve been happy living here, without a care in the world. She would have been happy, too.”

I remained speechless, although my mind was wondering. Finally, I found something to say: “Does the name of Schneiky mean something?”

“Julia and I had a plan to have a big and strong dog to match our ranch, perhaps a German Shepherd. I didn’t want it after she’d gone. Well, a year ago, I found her, a stray dog, I decided to keep her. I took the prefix of Julia’s last name ‘Schnei’ and the suffix of mine ‘ky’ – Schneiky for my new companion.” She cracked a smile.

Sofia’s voice was getting thinner and thinner, and her skinny body was like imbedded in a big armchair with whitish blonde hair strains scattered on her shoulders and chest, the contrast with her fair skin of the face made her look paler.

By dusk, a soft melody from the trumpet was rising in the air. It sounded like a faint groaning, reminding me of Sofia’s weak heart and her heart-wrenching sorrow.

Schneiky’s greyish hair grew very long and sticky. I got Sofia’s consent to take her to a pets’ groomer. The appointment was in early morning. Sofia gave me her house key so that she won’t be disturbed. The groomer came to take Schneiky on his way to work. When I went to pick her up three hours later, she looked smaller and cuter with a butterfly ribbon knotted on her head. She jumped into my arms, whining as if complaining about being abandoned. She acted normal as soon as she got treats. Despite the long walk back home, she enjoyed it. Her little paws briskly tapped on cobblestones. Now, I’ve had myself a pair of sturdy Mexican style leather shoes on to deal with the cobblestone streets.

Sofia asked me if I would mind keeping the key, in case I could walk Schneiky when she couldn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t mind, Schneiky came to me every day anyway. Gradually, I almost virtually took over the task of walking Schneiky, but Sofia would go for a stroll during earlier daytime as she could, and the little dog, of course, would be happy to take walks, no matter how many times a day.

She called me one evening, inviting me to have tea with her. I joined her, and again, I had my favorite mint tea. I said I hadn’t heard her playing the trumpet lately, and she said she could hardly blow a candle now. she poured herself a glass of wine instead of tea, and quickly a second one.

“Is wine good for your cardiac vessels? probably?” I grew a little concerned.

“Oh yeah, also good for my soul.”   

 “You are a good drinker.”

“Used to be, not anymore. Julia preferred Chardonnay, but I loved red wine, so we always had two bottles. Those were the good old days! Cheers!” She stretched her long and bony arms, and said, “You should have some wine, Huahua. Oh, I guess you prefer Tequila, don’t you?”

“I do like Tequila more than wine.” I confirmed it and told her I also loved to make margarita by using tequila.

“Go and pour some for yourself please. No wonder you came to Mexico, Huahua, aha!”

Sofia was in an exciting and jolly mood ever in this evening since I knew her. I was fascinated by her life and things she and her partner Julia had done. I couldn’t help myself thinking how many colorful characters in this strange small town had hoarded. It was a weird magnet to pull over people who found a sense of belonging here. Was I one of them? Why didn’t I want to leave? I renewed my lease for three more months in spite of having lost my initial interest in cobblestone street and the lease was ending soon. I forgot to mention a place called ElseBar, where it gathered sorts of men and women who I could tell have all kinds of stories hiding behind. But Sofia knew no one in the town, she was self-isolated. I became very talkative that night, fueled by tequila, but I did not at all recall anything I had said, probably I had told my own stories. Yes, I have many stories, too. Sofia had dozed off when I left her house. I cleaned the table and glasses, and then covered her with a blanket. I heard she was mumbling “my love…”

I missed the “Schneiky time” the following day, so I hurried to Sophia’s house to check her up. Schneiky was waiting in the front yard and sprang out when the door swung open. I called out Sofia, there was no answer. I better took a cautiousness to make sure Sofia was okay. It wasn’t. The living room where we had wine and tequila was the same as I left it; and Sofia was still lying in the couch covered by the blanket I had thrown on her. She looked just like what she looked yesterday.

Sofia died peacefully in her sleep.

The end of my second lease had come. One morning in May, a cabbie drove me through the cobblestone streets before exiting to the highway, and we quickly passed Mountain La Chupina. The mountain at dawn was obscured. It was still grey and dry, but I knew the green season was coming soon.

When I boarded my flight, I had a companion and a memento with me – Schneiky a dog and a small-sized brass trumpet.