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| All
Hallow's Eve |
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| by
Liz Smith |
Death,
or the threat of an impending death, isn't
easy. That's probably one reason why in secular
America, Halloween most often means buying
a costume and going door-to-door asking for
candy, or getting good and drunk at a masquerade
party. As fun as these things might be, they
are not very spiritually comforting or fulfilling.
People in Mexico and south Texas extend the
Halloween season into the fiesta of el D’a
de los Muertos, from October 31 to November
2. These three days are given over to remembrance
of family members and friends who have died.
An altar is made and on it are placed calaveras
de dulce (sugar skulls), pan de muertos (bread
of the dead), velas (candles), cempasœchil
(marigolds), cups of chocolate, special foods
that the deceased enjoyed during their life,
and pictures of the departed. On the first
day, the angelitos, the spirits of children
who have died, pay a visit.
The next day is marked by the departure of
the angelitos, and the adult spirits come
to visit. On the last day, All Souls' Day,
the living gather at the cemetery to clean
and decorate the graves and to say goodbye
to the adult spirits. As darkness falls, candles
are placed on the graves and lit. Families
walk in starlight to their homes, and their
annual celebration comes to an end.
Every year in our house we make an altar in
memory of my dad. There are bright marigolds,
candles, a picture of him in front of his
twin-engine plane during World War II, and
little bowls of food. What he liked best was
liver and onions, but I hate liver, so I put
out Planter's dry-roasted peanuts and Doritos
instead. That way we're both happy.
Then we get ready to go trick-or-treating.
When the streetlights come on, my son blows
out the flickering candles and we go into
the dark night. He is a ferocious pirate.
I am there to carry things, sort of like a
donkey with bus fare and a map. Due to my
utter incompetence with Halloween makeup,
he looks like an accident victim who happens
to be carrying a plastic sword and a large
paper sack from QFC. He does not want to go
to the community center carnival or their
haunted house. He doesn't want to go to any
mall either, even though I have suggested
how much fun he would have. What he wants
is candy.
So, energized by greed and delight, he charges
up our big hill, stopping at each lit-up house.
At the crest of the hill we pause for a minute.
Down below is the valley of our neighborhood-where
all the stores are-and further on, another
hillside covered with gleaming houses. Beautiful
houses, with plump lawns and splashing musical
fountains and the best Halloween decoration
in the whole city.
We move along sidewalks filled with parents
and children. It is wall-to-wall children,
and no one is crying. Everyone is happy and
cheerful-those who give and those who receive-and
it is a real pleasure to see these normally
quiet streets so full of energy and color
and community spirit.
Up another hill and we are here, and we begin.
Children dart by like bats, dressed as bumblebees,
princesses, tramps. We stop at many, many
houses. Groups of children join together at
doorways, then break apart at corners, only
to form new groups for the next blocks of
houses.
Off in the distance ferries make their stately
passage through the water. Houses wear necklaces
of pumpkin lights. Every porch has its carved
jack-o'-lantern. Ghosts dangle by their necks
and skeletons grin bony smiles. We get to
our favorite street, one we visit every year.
Our first stop-a haunted house, complete with
ax-wielding maniacs that spring to life and
make us jump and a very realistic fortune-telling
witch with green skin and a big black hat.
Our second-a front yard cemetery full of tombstones
and cobwebs.
Halloween is fading away and it is time to
take the pirate home. We have been walking
four hours, and he has run up and down stairs
all night. We wait for our bus. All the sensible
parents have tucked their children into bed
long ago.
Midnight. The candy has been piled up on the
kitchen table and admired. My son is asleep.
Overhead, a twin engine C-46 with a solitary
pilot banks left, and ascends to navigate
the universe. |
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