“So my third Par-can will be controlled with a power strip? Ok then”

Tech rehearsal en Puerto Plata--muy differente

(Note: Yes, I know that my verb tenses are frenetic, jumping all over time and space, so If you are an English major or proofreading maven you will just have to bear with me.)

Finally I have a few minutes to run across the street to the beach. You can see, hear and smell the ocean because it’s RIGHT THERE. But during the few moments of down time we’ve had I’ve either been ready for the kid’s class, eating or trying to write. So that’s it, I’m going in. I walk across the Malecon, not too busy at the moment, so I’m not taking my life in my hands—running for the bus in London might actually have been more dangerous. I can still see the Hotel from the water’s edge. There is a riptide and strong undertow (that’s not the same thing is it?) so I am hesitant to throw myself into the surf. It’s nice to just stand with my feet in warm water under a perfect azure sky. This is not too rough.

I finally through myself under a few waves, then dry off and walk to the end of the beach. I remember one of the kids pieces about cleaning up the beach and realize that thing I see is not a shell, it is a plastic cup. There are a few bags, wrappers and unfortunately quite a large syringe mixed up in the seaweed strewn along the tide line. The beach is empty except for one family and a couple of other tourists. Seems like a waste.

Small groups head out for dinner, then off to the theater for that 9:00pm call for tech rehearsal. Jenn kicks into high gear getting stage, lights and sound set. The mats are down, the sound is good to go and the wonderful Yoheves has come through. Yoheves is Arisleyda’s son and a genius. But he loses everything constantly. He is also the head of the Boy Scouts for the entire country, so you know, a few things on his plate. He has built for Jenn, who he adores now, a two-scene preset board with toggle switches. He has also built a kind of dimmer rack on the wall of the stage. Yoheves is an electrical engineer so he builds the system so that it can handle the 2 Par cans (higher wattage) and 4 tiny lights on stage. There is a third par he has fixed to the lattice work of the “control booth” window with plastic ties. None of the windows have screens or glass, so this part works pretty well. The booth is really the meeting room, but its window opens onto the courtyard where the theater stage is behind the house, so dual purpose rules. The booth par is controlled not by the board, but by a power strip. A set-up some would say is lighting design in its purest form. Off or on, that’s it, no fancy fading stuff for you mi amor! So, for those of you following this blog, but possibly not the details of this situation, you should know that Jenn Ponder is also a genius—for making it all work and never losing her temper in the process. I would have lost it at the moment when everyone was taking, 4 of Arisleyda’s family members came by, Sarah was trying to keep Elian occupado, and cell phones are going off.

So after an hour or so or craziness, we are cracking along with setting up cues when it starts to drizzle. No big. Then more like sprinkling. Then you know what comes next—the end of tech rehearsal because it is pouring. Yoheves starts taking down the speakers and several of the dancers hop around in the rain, cause that’s what you do when you’re young—bless ‘em. The rain stops, but the mats are slick, and they can’t block the piece without them. We’re out. Everything has to be broken down and put away inside so the place can be locked up. There is a young Haitian man, maybe 15, who is the guard and all around helper. He is well-treated here, but very quiet, very shy. Most Haitians are invisible, the children not allowed to go to school. He silently follows us around, turning off lights and locking doors and the big side gate behind us. Jenn asks his name, but doesn’t quite catch it. He is here a lot, I wonder when he sleeps.

While we finish cleaning up, Jacinto arrives. Arisleyda’s brother, he is also the artist on display in the Meeting Place and the head of a progressive carnivale movement. He is, of course, larger than life, dressed all in white with his braids in a ponytail. He has a lengthy discussion with everyone after much hugging. He asks them “What do you like about my country?” Responses vary. The weather, the beach, the people, their innocence. Penny finds it interesting. There is a lot of charm and laughter happening in the bright white tile room, hung with Jacinto’s pictures. We are done, and he is a one-man show, kissing everyone good-bye. I am at the end of the line. He automatically leans in to kiss and say good night. Then he pulls back and freezes. His jazz hands are framing my face and he says—I swear to God—“but you are Shining! The light it is coming from you, oh my God…” Dominic, don’t you dare laugh. And I smile, and he keeps going, and I have to gently but firmly extrapolate myself from the charismatic artist. That was a close one.