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Back in 1980 I decided to move down to Old Mexico. In the postings of July 3rd and 4th of 2010 there is a description of how I was converted into the church with the help of a fellow named Ramón García. During the first two summers we were friends, Ramón encouraged me to go down and enjoy the hospitality of his family, who lived in an ejido outside of Allende, Coahuila, called Charcos. That summer of 1980 I decided to go ahead and take him up on the offer, and moved down there to live for the summer and attend summer classes I'd signed up for with California State University at Sacramento.
I told a life-long friend named Brent of my plans. We'd been on many adventures and journeys together, and it seemed natural that he'd take some time to tag along with me for the first week or so of my stay there.
When the time came we piled our stuff into my old 1964 Rambler American and headed down. It was good to be traveling together again, and I enjoyed having Brent along for the ride. We took Interstate 35 south from San Antonio to where it intersects with Hwy 57 near Bigfoot. By then we were in sparse territory. Brent didn't know a word of Spanish, so I took the opportunity during the long hours on the road to teach him the basic necessities, such as how to count to ten and how to say hello to the pretty girls we would encounter. After about 50 miles he'd mastered both.
We got to our destination in Mexico and passed our days learning the environment and getting to know new friends and neighbors. Before long it was Sunday and we found ourselves in church.
It was a smallish congregation there in Allende, perhaps 50 in attendance, and the preacher's name was Rubén Medina - an awesome speaker and powerful force for the church in the area. After Rubén completed the sermon he began to speak about us and the fact that we'd come from the United States and it was great to have us, etc. Seems he went on for a good five minutes, but Brent, oblivious to the fact that he and I were the subject of his talk, just sat there, bored.
To my surprise, at the conclusion of his talk Rubén called on me to stand up and say something to the congregation. We were sitting close to the front, so I stood up, turned around and said something in Spanish to everyone there about how happy we were to be there, what a fine place it was, etc. Then I sat down.
Unbeknownst to all of us, Rubén had plans for Brent to speak as well, and indicated for him to stand up and say something. Meanwhile, in his boredom he'd taken an interest in grooming his fingernails with his teeth, and was so engrossed in that activity that I had to nudge him with my elbow. He seemed surprised, and somewhat aggravated at the interruption.
"What?"
"Brent, Rubén wants you to stand up and say something!" I whispered urgently.
"What?!?" he asked, while all looked on.
"Stand up and say something!"
He looked at me for a second, then shrugged his shoulders as if resigned to his fate. It was assumed, I think by everyone, that he would say something in English for me to translate.
Unfortunately, Brent did not operate on the same assumption. He stood up, turned around, and said, «¡Hola muchacha bonita! ¿Cómo estás?» Then he counted on his fingers, «Uno, dos, tres, cuatro...» After some giggling among the girls and no small murmur generally, we got him to sit down after he reached cinco or seis...
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