Jueves y Viernes Santo

Not to be confused with Sabado Gloria, which used to be everyone's favorite and involved a city-wide water fight until the water crisis put an end to the fun, Thursday and Friday are the most important as well as serious days of the holiday.  As the sun sets on Thursday night it feels like any other day of the year, except that Taxco is exceptionally quiet.  There are none of the daily cohuetes, noisy fireworks without a burst of color, nor is there any of the usual Volkswagen noise on the streets, in fact, the only real sound is that of distant drumming. 

Walking to the town center the drumming still remains distant, but families are now milling about the streets with folding chairs and flavored ice treats, probably consisting of too-sweet fruit syrups and a healthy dose of chili powder.  Children are dressed extraordinarily well, wearing small suits or high-collared white jackets with pearl buttons, the youngest with snowy angel wings spreading out from their backs.  In many ways it is very much a festival atmosphere, vendors setting up stands along the roads and people selling food or bathroom service out of their homes.  All of the usual suspects are there, the noisy chicken toy, the large pencil-shaped balloons, glow-in-the-dark bracelets and helicopter sticks, kazoos, and colorful airplanes attached to a string.  The only evidence that this isn't Carnival is that among the usual wares there are also small, thorny, wooden crosses complete with a GI-Joe-sized Christ.

Although the drumming gets stronger all night, it's not until after ten o'clock that the processions finally get underway, by which time the streets are shoulder to shoulder and the marching sounds are overwhelming.  The crowd compresses upon itself to allow the passage of the first idols, which round the crooked streets at a deliberately slow pace, supported on an elevated platform by as many people as can get their hands on it.  The group, dressed in white, sways side to side in their unhurried walk, followed by a small marching band.  Behind the band are those expressing their repentance for having done wrong.  These people are the main event, and everyone suddenly has a cell phone, point-and-shoot, or SLR in hand, often stepping into the procession to get their perfect photo.  To be sure, if the procession itself doesn't, these photographers will provoke a response in even the most cynical person. 

Of those giving penance, there are three distinct groups, all with black executioners masks to conceal their identities and all barefoot.  The first group consists of women wearing shackles on their feet and doubled over with the weight of their sins.  The chains trail noisily behind and the clasps tend to rub their ankles into raw pink meat.  It would be easier to dismiss them impersonally were it not for their crooked big toes, a subtle anchor back to the reality that these are women, the part of society that wears uncomfortable shoes and complains when their feet become deformed.  Some of their masks are moist with tears and each step looks to be their last. 

The next group is of men carrying hulking bundles of long narrow cactus on their backs.  Their arms are fastened to the branches, meaning there is no putting the weight down and thorns hook into their naked shoulders so that to change position would be exceptionally painful.  There is also the added difficulty of not having eaten during the day, and so, these men are accompanied by several people who keep them upright when they waver and threaten to fall over. 

The final group is the possibly the hardest to watch.  These men cradle a full-size wooden cross, only putting it down to stop, kneel, and whip themselves with a barbed rope.  Sometimes they walk alone, other times in larger groups, whose synchronized lashing results in a wet slapping sound that I have no desire to ever hear again.  In general, they seem to control the speed of the procession, usually stopping to lash themselves every three or four meters.  All done to the steady dirge of the marching band and under the constant illumination of flashbulbs.

Despite the intensity, it is still Mexico and even the most somber occasions are not meant to get people down.  Everyone will tell you that the people performing their public penance are doing so because it will make them feel better on Monday.  As far as they are concerned, the more witnesses the better, and that includes photos taken by camera phones.  Although not supposed to, the rest of us sinners are still drinking and enjoying plenty of meat tacos. The younger crowd is out in droves and looking to pick-up, jeans newly bleached and hair freshly gelled. 

At the end of it all, when the idols are placed back inside the churches, the drumming fades away, traffic resumes, and the jacaranda blossoms fall to the ground to be replaced by scratchy leaves, there will be no great revelations, only gratitude for a week off and a wish that Jesus had risen from the dead a few more times.