We three kings of orient are

One on a tricycle

One in a car

One on a scooter beeping his hooter

Following yonder star…

 

Or so we used to mischievously sing (off key in my case) in the back row of the school chapel.

 

 

I am on my way to the church when I hear rapid drum beats – not the deeper tones of the town drum but a more vibrant tone. Following the sound I find  Alcalde of Concepcion on  street corner with four cofrades, first, second, Rox and the older Juez. Alcalde Pedro Mendoza Mendoza is holding the Niño from Concepcion which has been in the church over Christmas, its box festooned with flashing fairy lights – the only occasion when the tinkly tunes which emanate from the flashing chain of Chinese produced lights are appropriate to the season - for those of us who can identify Rudolf the Red nosed Reindeer and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. People come up to him, kiss the Baby of Babies and place a coin in the tin plate held by Primero.

 

I go with them as they ascend the hill past the radio station Voz Atitlan and then left past the entrance to Cofradía San Nicolas. The only non cofrades in tow are a young drunk, who inevitably attaches himself to me, and an ever-changing pack of excited kids. We seem to traverse every street in canton Panul and probably part of the neighbouring canton too. And as we progress further off the beaten track, onto the streets and alleys still paved with dust and volcanic rocks in the old way, each house has members of the family at the door appearing at the sound of the drum and the cry of the Alcalde (I’m not sure what he says). The excited little ones, the babes in arms and the smiling old ladies lining up to kiss the baby, but also giggling teenagers and solemn old men.

 

We follow all sorts of back alleys and cul-de-sacs I’ve never seen, and probably would never get to see by myself, right to the edge of the town where the hill ascends almost too vertically to allow building and the road swoops down precipitously to the lake challenging the brakes of the tuk-tuks. We retrace our path and enter Cofradía San Nicolas.

 

There they are all prepared, with pine needles spread across the floor and a special place on the table marked out with coloured paper and pine fronds on which to place the baby. Ex-telinel Gaspar, the ajkun in residence, is there and podgy faced Salvador who is Rux of this cofradía and turns up performing duties in others too. They don’t seem very enthusiastic but start warming up as the drinks are poured. Three tixeles sit beneath the window and the Xoa sits next to me. She is feisty, engaging in constant backchat with the men and responding to joker Gaspar with what seems to be razor sharp repartee. After beer -fruit drink for Alcalde Concepcion, he doesn’t drink at all on this occasion, perhaps mindful of carrying the Niño and someone tells me later he is diabetic - we leave San Nicolas, the Rux beating out the usual rhythms on the small tambour slung over his shoulder.

 

Again we visit each street, families appearing at every door and gate and when we sit on a step to take a break kids cluster round. This is the most truly popular, in all senses of the word, cofradía activity I have seen. It really takes it to the people and they all respond.

 

An old fellow, probably an ex-alcalde, ushers us insistently up an alley and into his house where he plies us with drink – none of the cofrades are very keen, it’s some unknown (to me) brand of kux – they sneakily take half glasses and Alcalde not at all so I have do the major part of the drinking keeping the old man company and he just keeps bringing out the octavos. I wonder if this visit was pre-arranged, with him perhaps paying the Alcalde for the privilege of a visit from the Niño.

 

At Cofradía Rosario it is just the Xoa and her elder daughter and two bottles of Quetzalteca, and Alcalde Concepcion inquires where are the tixeles and the Juez? Yaros gives her usual spiel – but acknowledges that she told them that the Niño would arrive later at 6pm. Fortunately I had made a call when I noticed us getting close, and I heard them referring to Rosario, so one of my tixele friends turns up within 10 minutes.

 

We leave after some more Quetzalteca and as night falls we go through the market, down gringo alley and back to Cofradía Concepcion.

 

The marimba is in full swing and, rather movingly, Alcalde dances the baby into the cofradía. The cofrades line up behind and insist I join them in a shuffling sort of snaking dance - rather as I saw in the cofradía at San Lucas Toliman where the dual Alcaldes enter at the head of  a double line of tixeles. We weave our way back and forth in the cofradía in front of the saints as the marimba band plays. The baby is laid upon the table, in the centre, with the money collected in a black plastic bag beside it. The drinks go round and several, including me, put our heads down – certainly in my case to avoid drinking so much. And so I observe the rest of the proceedings drifting in and out of waking dreams. During the course of the evening three other babies are borne in by the Alcalde of the relevant cofradía – S. Nicolas, S. Cruz and S. Felipe. Each Alcalde dances their baby in, with their cofrades behind them in a line and then, having been offered a drink or two, most seem to leave pretty quickly. The babies stay, lined up on the table, each with a bag of the collected coins beside him or her – some say the baby of San Nicolas is a Niña.

 

 

When we arrive the doors are firmly padlocked so some of the cofrades go to the gate of the convento cloister and wake the three caretakers, who presumably sleep there, by repeatedly shouting out and ringing the door bell. They come and open the doors, locked inside and padlocked out. The town drum stays on the porch and we go inside and replace the Niño in his box festooned with fairy lights ( now unplugged). Then the images of Mary and Joseph, who share with him the space under the leafy bower to the right of the church in front of the Rosario saints, are divested of their silver crowns and their fairy lights, which are all placed in a sack in the care of one of the lads. Manuel pretty much takes charge of all this. He is bossy but also knowledgeable about how things should be done. I gather he comes from an important traditional family; and he has that sort of elite authority which all seem to accept. Mary and Joseph are then taken off their carrying andas and carried back to their places on the right hand altar under the direction of ex-telinel. Then the andas are stacked, one upside down atop the other, and are lifted to be carried off. The anda with the Niño in his case, still draped with the lights, is lifted too – this by four cargadores and with the tixeles, who have been sitting in the front pews minding their candles, leading the way we set off back to the cofradía – it must be about 1.30am by now.

 

We pass rapidly through the darkened and empty streets with the lads attempting to set off firecrackers every few yards, but they all seem to be damp squibs. But as we arrive back at the cofradía they light up sparklers. And this is where I take my leave of them, as they re-enter the cofradía, and walk back home avoiding the dog packs and crossing the milpas by the light of the moon and accompanied by the sound of the marimba drifting through the still night following me home from the town.

 

Throughout this day of los Tres Reyes the kings are conspicuous by their absence – nary a crown or gift. They do appear in the European crèche nativity on the right hand side of the altar platform – but there are only two of them. In a nice touch the cow shed is a traditional house with a paja thatch roof with a pot at the summit. I am left wondering if we are not all of us the Kings offering our obeisance, fealty and gifts.