Xmas Post-mortem

More than one post-mortem here, actually. I'll start with the apparent solving of the recent murder here in La Boquita. Some good police work yielded evidence that produced a confession, and the pieces began to fit together. It turns out that the victim had been surreptitiously sedated. Once the drug was identified, a survey of pharmacies yielded the identification of the purchaser of the drug with which a glass of wine was laced. As suspected by those who had known of the victim's relationship with the young woman, it was indeed she who confessed to the plan to drug and rob him with the help of some young male accomplices. The drug did not last long enough to complete the robbery, and the victim awoke to discover the plot, and lost his life as a consequence.

Christmas in Latin America sounds a lot like the Fourth of July in the U.S. In the latter case, the old "bombs bursting in air" allusion to warfare would seem to explain the American penchant for firecrackers, sparklers, and Roman candles on and around Independence Day. But how to explain the deafening reports of explosions and amateur pyrotechnics that pepper the nights leading up to and culminating on La Noche Buena (Christmas Eve) in Mexico, Nicaragua, or Peru (to name a few countries of which I have personal knowledge)? Was the Star of Bethlehem imagined to have been a nuclear attack? Were the shepherds keeping watch by night with gun powder lanterns? Were Joseph and Mary, in fact, terrorists? I checked a few web sites in search of an explanation for this practice, and found only acknowledgment that fireworks and other explosives are indeed a Latin Christmas tradition.

I recall a Christmas Eve in Lima, Peru with my son's grandparents. Gabe was about six years old, and we clambered up onto the roof of the house, like thousands of other Lima residents, and lit cherry bombs and firecrackers -- cuetes, they are called. (The next day's Christmas earthquake easily surpassed the cuetes in memorability!) They have cuetes in Managua, too. I spent Christmas Eve with Erlinda and Ivan, and we enjoyed a stream of visitors, mainly family, who stopped by throughout the evening, for drinks and conversation punctuated by explosions and whistling bombs. Strictly speaking, the evening should have culminated with a midnight meal, followed by presents, but we were all famished by ten, and I was the first to cave in to exhaustion at not quite midnight. The rat-a-tats and boom booms continued without me. For all I know, I was dreaming I was in Anytown, USA, running for my life from some pathetic mass-killer wannabe trying to make a dent in history without actually having to accomplish anything worthwhile.

I admit I was bluer than blue with all the holiday hoopla, and I am grateful to Erlinda for saving my sanity with her kind invitation. Now I just have to make it through New Year's Eve. Ah, yes, sleeping pills will handle that nicely. Here, at least, one can be pretty sure that the sound of firecrackers and cherry bombs in no way involves firearms. Is there a town left in the US where this is still true?