CHORUS (X2)
(Benji--)
Ah…you do what you have to do
(Benji--)
Lo que tenia que hacer!
VERSE
They beat him bad on his way to school
(La partieron la madre!)
He stole a truck ran down those fools
Took their dinero and left them dead
So the blood was turned to bread
CHORUS (X2)
(Benji--)
Did what nobody else would do
(Benji--)
Lo que tenia que hacer!
RAP
Chased through the streets of the City of Gold
Hearts beat strong in the City of Gold
You can feel the Ghost of Cortez in the City of Gold
Lookin’ for that pagan treasure in the City of Gold
Better go quick boy you better run
Little Benji hidin’ from the things he done
Get a reputation and the money will come
Where the blood runs hot in the jungle sun…
The clock on the wood-paneled mixing room wall said 8:25. She took the pen and notebook into the tracking room and moved Armenta’s accordion into one of the instrument booths so she could sit down at the Yamaha. Even the sound of her boot on the floor and the piano cover being slid open resonated in this room like a perfect musical chord. She ran through Joni Mitchell’s “River” to get her heart and her fingers working together and when she got to the ending quote from “Jingle Bells” it reminded her of Christmas and her home so strongly that tears welled in her eyes and she understood very clearly now how terribly Benjamin Armenta must have missed his home when he’d been exiled in Salvador, so she took up the pen and she listened to the wonderful melody and she tried to keep up with the lines coming into her head:
VERSE
So he hides in a secret place
Eleven months and thirteen days
He grew strong but he had the blues
He longed for a girl in Veracruz
CHORUS
(Benji--)
Sweet Anya in Veracruz
(Benji--)
He did what nobody else would do
(Benji--)
Lo que tenia que hacer!
(Benji--)
He did what nobody else would do
And then she imagined what it would be like to be kept from your home for not just a few days, as she had been, but for months on end, and to never know if you’d be able to go back there. What passion you would feel, to finally return! She tapped the melody on the piano and heard the instruments join in, the accordion and the bajo sexto and the guitars. Yes, it was starting to take on the sound of a corrido. Danger. Doing things you never thought you could do:
RAP
Steal back quiet to the City of Gold
Where the blood runs hot on the jungle stones
Get a reputation in the City of Gold
Better than money in the City of Gold
Trade it in for your empty soul
Well, no, thought Erin. Not empty soul. If I write that he’ll skin me for sure.
So she scratched through “empty,” then the rest of the line, but she couldn’t find the right words to replace it. It was a terrible feeling and one that she knew well-the fine and incandescent thing that brought the music to her mind was gone again, vanishing like a far-off filament of lightning.
She took the pen and notebook then walked around the tracking room, past the vocal and instrument booths. She imagined them staffed by professionals who could bring her song to life. Narcorridos were almost always sung by men, so who would have the best possible voice for it? Luis Miguel? Jorge Hernandez of Los Tigres? Flaco on accordion, for sure! And Ry Cooder on acoustic and maybe Mike Campbell would play electric, and her all-time rhythm section Sly and Robbie would show up with Sam Clayton for percussion and man, what if we could get Linda and Lila for harmonies, yeah, that’ll be the day Linda Ronstadt and Lila Downs sing backup on one of my songs. But now she could hear them playing and singing anyway. She stood still for a long moment, hearing fully detailed passages of the song, all of the instruments and vocals working perfectly. She closed her eyes and walked to the rhythm tapping the pen and notebook against her legs. Eyes still closed, she listened and tried not to interrupt in any way, scribbling across the pages and turning them as fast as she could:
Hunger grew in his belly like fire
He used his cenote like a telephone wire
To the Gods that he fed that he hoped to inspire
On the City of Gold they would build his empire
CHORUS (X2)
(Benji--)
Did what nobody else would do
(Benji--)
Lo que tenia que hacer!
LAST VERSE (TO BE SUNG SOFTLY, ACCOMPANIED BY ACOUSTIC GUITAR…)
But the Gods are a fickle crew
And Benji’s time had come overdue
A gun in the hand of someone new
Who simply did what he had to do
CHORUS REPEAT FADE OUT
(Benji--)
Ah…you do what you have to do
(Benji--)
Lo que tenia que hacer!
This corrido is going on forever, she thought. Maybe not the greatest narcorrido ever written, just the longest!
Then the music stopped. Erin was left standing in silence before the wall clock.
Ten-forty.
“You are hearing music,” said Father Ciel.
He was so close behind her, she felt his breath on her neck and she wheeled and stepped away from him, her heart racing.
“I was trying to. Why are you here?”
“My key to your room is missing. I have not told Benjamin. Did you take it?”
“How could I take it? I can’t leave my room. Now it’s gone? Who else might be sneaking up on me in my own room?”
He looked down on her. The cold blue light was gone from his eyes and in its place was a moist pity. She smelled his vanilla smell and she thought of what he was doing to the novitiates and she felt revulsion.
“I suspect Saturnino took the key. He is becoming increasingly active. I have come to warn you. You are perspiring and you look alarmed.”
“You scare me.”
He smiled and nodded as if her confession permitted him something. Then he unbuttoned his coat and let it fall open and reached out with his thin pale hands as if to accept her in an embrace. Erin’s eyes were drawn to the revolver in the waistband of his trousers and his bulge. She saw the lights reflected off his glasses and the air-conditioning moved his wisps of thin tan hair.
“Come, my child.”
“Do not touch me.”
His smile was dry and dreamy. “Who told you that you were naked? The serpent?”
“Don’t use those words on me.”
“Have you spoken to Owens?”
“She told me everything about you.”
“She can so easily beguile. An actor’s art. But she did not tell you the truth.”
“You should be ashamed.”
“You have listened to the serpent. Take my hands and let us pray.”
“Never.”
“Great men can be brought down by the lies of small people. Owens imagines that her sins are mine. She cannot comprehend that a man may devote himself to the Lord. This is common among the unfaithful. Here-take my hands.”
“Go to hell.”
“I know that Benjamin has given your husband one more day to deliver the money.”
“Why are you here?”
“To give you another day beyond that. And another and another. I can save you if you love me as I love you. In Christ. A holy secret between us. We will celebrate the Lord’s love and the flesh that he has given us to celebrate Him. Take my hands.”
“I’m not thirteen years old. I’m not overwhelmed by you or what you pretend to stand for. Get out of this room before I scream.”