CCLaP Weekender
From the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography
November 6, 2015
New Fiction by Joseph G. Peterson Photography by Gustavo Gomes Chicago Literary Events Calendar October 30, 2015 | 1
THIS WEEK’S CHICAG
For all events, visit [cclapce
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7
3pm Paper Machete The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / Free, 21+ thepapermacheteshow.com
A “live magazine” covering pop culture, current events, and American manners—part spoken-word show, part vaudeville review—featuring comedians, journalists, storytellers, and musical guests. Hosted by Christopher Piatt. 8pm Blackout Diaries High Hat Club / 1920 East Irving Park / $10, 21+ blackoutdiaries.info
A comedy show about drinking stories, a “critic’s pick” at Red Eye, MetroMix, and Time Out Chicago. Comedians share the mic with “regular” people, such as cops, firefighters, and teachers, all recounting real-life tales about getting wasted. Hosted by Sean Flannery.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 8 10am
Sunday Morning Stories Donny's Skybox Studio Theatre / 1608 North Wells / Free
We performers are pre-booked. We feature novice as well as seasoned storytellers. On or off paper. 7pm Uptown Poetry Slam The Green Mill / 4802 N. Broadway / $6, 21+ greenmilljazz.com
Featuring open mike, special guests, and end-of-the-night competition.
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GO LITERARY EVENTS
enter.com/chicagocalendar] 7pm Asylum Le Fleur de Lis / 301 E. 43rd / $10 lefleurdelischicago.com
A weekly poetry showcase with live accompaniment by the band Verzatile.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 9 8:30pm Kafein Espresso Bar Kafein Espresso Bar / 1621 Chicago Ave., Evanston kafeincoffee.com
Open mic with hosts Chris and Kirill.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 11 6pm Lyricist Loft Harold Washington Library / 400 South State / Free youmediachicago.org
“Open mic for open minds,” presented by Remix Spoken Word. Hosted by Dimi D, Mr. Diversity, and Fatimah. 9pm
In One Ear Heartland Cafe / 7000 N Glenwood https://www.facebook.com/pages/In-One-Ear/210844945622380
Chicago's 3rd longest-running open-mic show, hosted by Pete Wolf and Billy Tuggle. 7pm
Elizabeth's Crazy Little Thing Phyllis Musical Inn / 1800 W Division
An open mike for poetry, music, comedy, performance, and whatever else. To submit your own literary event, or to correct the information on anything you see here, please drop us a line cclapcenter@gmail.com October 30, 2015 | 3
w When Pedro Alvarez left the small, dusty border town of Ciudad Acuña behind, he was carrying as his passport an old, American coin that his great-great-grandfather, Capitán Julio Alvarez, had brought back with him nearly one hundred and fifty years ago. Pedro’s great-great-grandfather, also known simply as El Capitán, had been a soldier in the Mexican-American War. He fought heroically, though vainly, against great odds in the Battle of Molina del Rey. He took a slug in the shoulder that led to an arm amputation, but he knew that more than just his arm had been amputated when Molina del Rey fell. His homeland was amputated. What was once Mexico’s now belonged to the U.S. And what had been his, a small farm, now belonged to Texas.
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ORIGINAL FICTION
“Rio Grande River, March 2009” by Lee Ruk [flickr.com/gardener41]. Used under the terms of her Creative Commons license.
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The bravery of El Capitán and his soldiers had not been forgotten, however. On the twenty-fifth anniversary of that great battle, he and his brigade had been honored on the other side of the Río Grande in Del Río, Texas, by the veterans of General Worth’s army. Each of the surviving Mexican soldiers, fifty-two in all, received as recompense for their loss a commemorative coin. This coin, minted from Aztec silver under the direct orders of General Worth, had the head of Lady Liberty stamped on one side and an engraving of the Aztec ruins stamped onto the other, with the words Libere Redite scripted in elaborate type above the image of the Aztec ruins. The coin had been awarded to the weary-faced and foot-worn old Mexican veterans who had fought to defend the honor of President Santa Anna and their homeland in the battles of Molina del Rey and Chapultepec in the week of September 7, 1847. Although General Worth and his army had suffered huge losses in those battles, the Mexican government fell shortly thereafter, capitulating California and Texas to the U.S. But General Worth never forgot the bravery of those Mexican soldiers, nor the tenacity with which they had fought. The memorial ceremony that he had prepared in honor of the brave Mexican veterans had taken place in the dusty outbacks of Del Río, in front of a half dozen-army tents. On that bright, sunny day nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, the Mexican soldiers sweated beneath their sombreros and humbly received their coins, while General Worth delivered a speech in broken Spanish from horseback. His speech not only tried to mourn the valiant Mexican soldiers who had fallen in what was otherwise a lopsided and ignominious war, but in the speech, Worth had also tried to absolve the American army of any blame or imputed aggressive intent by the Mexican people. When the General finished his remarks, he instructed his artillery to send cannon fire into the sky, to honor the valiant Mexican warriors with a twentyone gun salute. The American Bugle Corps, bedecked in union blue and in ribbons and medals, played a mournful rendition of “Taps,” followed by a rather moving version of Mexico’s national anthem. When the ceremony was over, General Worth saluted each one of the Mexican soldiers. Then he dispatched a small cavalry to politely escort the poor, bedraggled Mexicans peacefully out of town and towards the banks of the Río Grande. For many of the Mexican soldiers, it was the last time they would touch foot in Texas, their homeland. Many of them would die as exiles in their own country. With a heavy heart, the veterans crossed the Río Grande, which was shallow, quick-flowing, and muddy then. By nightfall, they had set up camp in Mexico, and lighting their fires, they settled down for a long evening. Some of the old soldiers told stories, others got drunk on American moonshine, and 6 | CCLaP Weekender
still, others sang sad songs of independence that made their hearts ache with a longing for their fallen comrades and for the arid pastures of Texas, whose border they once crossed freely. It was a night to remember and El Capitán, who grew blind and deaf and bedridden with age, often recited the events of that day as if it were a miracle in time. When he died, forty years later, he slipped the large, silver coin into the hand of his great-grandson, José, and bringing his mouth to the boy’s ear, he whispered with his last breath, Partes de los Estados Unidos fueron parte de México. They were words that the boy never forgot. When José himself died an old man from a rattlesnake bite another sixty years later, he too called his grandson near and recounted the story of how Texas had once been their homeland, and then he too dropped the ancient, silver coin, as if it were a passport, into the boy’s hand. Repeating the words of El Capitán, he whispered to the boy, Partes de los Estados Unidos fueron parte de México. With that, the old man expired in the shadows and simple clutter of his bedroom, and Pedro Alverez clutched the silver coin to his breast, promising himself never to lose it or forget what he’d been told. Maria Naira Alverez cried when her husband, Pedro, discovered the coin nearly fifty years later, in a clay pot that he’d hidden in the tool shed behind their house. For all these years, he thought that the coin had been lost, or worse still, stolen. And for each one of those years, he’d grow more melancholy and bitter when he thought of that afternoon in the summer, memories of his childhood, when his grandfather had entrusted him not only with the coin that he subsequently lost, but with the notion that los Estados Unidos, or parts thereof, had once been his rightful homeland. Texas, Pedro would often find himself dreaming as he hoed the rows of his garden, is just across the Río Grande, and so is the homeland of my forefathers. He used to watch the sparrows fly from his fields, over the river, and into Texas as easily as a ghost might, and he’d wonder if El Capitán’s spirit wasn’t also doing the same. “Maria,” he cried. “Come quick! Hurry!” Pedro was standing on the porch of his home when he called Maria Naira from the kitchen where she’d been butchering chickens. Her husband was growing old and frail and she constantly worried that he might hurt himself in the tool shed. Instead, he stood before her holding El Capitán’s large, silver coin that had tarnished with age. He tossed the coin in the air and felt the heavy weight of it as he caught it in the palm of his hand. “See here, Maria,” he said, squinting his eyes and pointing to the Latin October 30, 2015 | 7
inscription. “This coin belonged to El Capitán. It says that we may return freely. With this coin, we shall return to our homeland at last!” “But it is not our land anymore, Pedro. It is los Estados Unidos. You are crazy. They will stop you when you cross.” “But it is our land too, Maria. And it always will be!” Pedro held the coin up. “This coin is from their greatest general. They will be bound to honor it.” Maria Naira cursed Pedro for being so crazy. “They will laugh at you,” she said as venomously as possible. “Then they will take your silver coin. They will handcuff you and bring you back in a truck.” She laughed at Pedro, for he was such a fool. “Maria,” he said. “You are a very naive woman. But I love you because you are my wife. If you will not come with me tonight to los Estados Unidos, then I shall go by myself.” Pedro turned away from her and walked back to the tool shed. “Then you shall go by yourself,” Maria said under her breath. As she turned to butcher her remaining chickens, she cursed Pedro for believing the words of his grandfather, passed on from an old, crazy soldier who had been blind and deaf and missing an arm and defeated and hadn’t known anything. Then she cursed the Jesuits who had schooled Pedro years ago. She cursed them most of all for having taught him how to read Latin. When Pedro Alvarez crossed the Río Grande that night, Maria Naira wrapped her shawl around her shoulder and cried. She cried because a flock of sparrows was flying south into Mexico and back to Pedro’s garden, but Pedro, with no more thought than a sparrow, was headed to los Estados Unidos with El Capitán’s silver coin clutched tightly in his hand. “Come back, Pedro,” she screamed. But Pedro just kept running. He ran through the small dusty streets of Cuidad Acuña, and as he ran, he started to feel free. The hairless dogs that hung around the market place came running after him, barking. The town’s women pointed at him from their doorways. “What’s that?” they said. “In Pedro’s hand?” The men looked up from their dominoes and said, “Why is Pedro Alvarez running so fast? Too fast for an old man!” A little boy in a red shirt tried to follow him on his bicycle, but Pedro outran the boy. When Pedro entered the tumbleweed wilderness between Cuidad Acuña and the Río Grande, it was nightfall. He heard the sad guitars of old, forgotten warriors being plucked from the thorns of cacti. He heard the throaty voices 8 | CCLaP Weekender
of old soldiers, drunk on American moonshine, singing songs of fallen comrades. He saw their rough, weather-worn faces in the orange glow of their camp fires, their callused fingers curled around the large, silver coins that the American general had given them, and their voices trying to make out what those Latin words meant. Libere Redite. Pedro Alvarez’s first footfalls splashed in the muddy water of the Río Grande River once, twice, three times. He took a look at the other shore, but on his next step, he fell deep into an underwater hole and he sunk in over his head. He came up for air once, a moment later, the coin held above his head. Then all at once, the current snatched and dragged him under, and this time, it swept him away.
Joseph G. Peterson is the author the short story collection, Twilight of the Idiots, and three novels, Beautiful Piece, Wanted: Elevator Man, Gideon’s Confession and of the epic poem, Inside the Whale. He went to the University of Chicago where he received his BA in General Studies. He works in publishing and lives in Chicago with his wife and two daughters.
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Gustavo
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o Gomes
PHOTOGRAPHY FEATURE October 30, 2015 | 11
After studying journalism at university, I started pursuing personal photography around 2009, when I studied photography language and history under Carlos Moreira (www.carlosmoreira.com.br), a master who’s photographed Sao Paulo since the 60’s. Great part of my work is based on the streets, mainly in my hometown (http://www.gustavominas.com/LimitesCassia-Minas-Gerais) or in Sao Paulo and Brasilia, cities where I’ve lived to work
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Despite of this, I don’t consider myself a classical street photographer. I’m more interested in following the steps of photographers like Harry Gruyaert, William Eggleston and Stephen Shore, who used public space and ordinary life to explore the possibilities of color. What has guided me is an avid curiosity to go to places I’d never been to before and a fascination to how color reacts to light. October 30, 2015 | 13
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instagram.com/gustavominas flickr.com/gustavominas www.gustavominas.com 34 | CCLaP Weekender
CCLaP Publishing
A darkly surreal yet absurdly funny short-fiction writer, Matt Rowan has been a Chicago local secret for years; but now this latest collection of pieces, all of which originally appeared in the pages of the CCLaP Weekender in 2014 and ‘15, is set to garner him the national recognition his stories deserve, a Millennial George Saunders who is one of the most popular authors in the city’s notorious late-night literary performance community. Shocking? Thought-provoking? Strangely humorous? Uncomfortable yet insightful on a regular basis? YES PLEASE.
Download for free at cclapcenter.com/bigvenerable
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The CCLaP Weekender is published in electronic form only, every Friday for free download at the CCLaP website [cclapcenter.com]. Copyright 2015, Chicago Center for Literature and Photography. All rights revert back to artists upon publication. Editorin-chief: Jason Pettus. Story Editor: Behnam Riahi. Photo Editor: Jennifer Yu. Layout Editor: Wyatt Robinette. Calendar Editor: Taylor Carlile. To submit your work for possible feature, or to add a calendar item, contact us at cclapcenter@gmail.com.
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