On the 6th, in the midst of the Romerías de Mayo. Raúl Paz arrived on the stage of the concert alley in Plaza de la Marqueta to find an audience that, ever so gently, accompanied him through every verse of love.
Who waited until dawn knows it was worth it.That counting the light bulbs in the alley. Feeling his way among the laughter and tables, turning the glass of beer. Singing the quiet song of the moment, was worth it.
Plaza de la Marqueta made sense.So did the years of waiting to find him. It wasn’t Raúl Paz’s first time in Holguin, much less during the Romerías de Mayo.But it was the first time that Raúl Paz, you and I were together.
The first time that the light of Holguin was concentrated on that corner where the House of the Young Creator is located. Where the idea of creating a concert hall in what is now the Handicraft Market—and the bars and chaos of the Plaza—sounded so right it bordered on utopian.
The first song went like this: Nobody knows where they’re going, even if they know where they’re going (…) The hours that were missing will never return, but there will always be good moments to remember.
First Tuesday of May.Raúl Paz never sang alone.He brought his old songs. The ones that bring back the taste of first loves, sleepless nights, and goodbyes.
He brought the new ones—“Así no,” “Café”—which each time he introduced them, he apologized.It didn’t matter: the applause following the rhythm interrupted his forgiveness.
After two verses, the crowd under the light bulbs accompanied him. And the slow little dance of hips marking one, two, three. Among the premieres was this one that went like this: How long until / my life and yours flow?
There, we were all artists.We all fell in love, we looked again, we were like that.And we were, too, you and me.We returned to the years before YouTube, Spotify, or anything like that, and Raúl Paz could only be found on the covers of dollar-priced CDs, or in the old record stores on the corner.
The ones where we’d ask for one of his songs.We’d listen to it.We’d leave a few pesos in gratitude and ask for it again, or we’d wait in front of the screens on Sunday afternoons.
We knew the song from the soap opera, the romantic verse that an entire generation memorized. The one you sang softly to the one you loved. It was dedicated. How many of us haven’t loved with a song? Because it was so beautiful to fall in love. And to play a Paz song in the background.
That night, right in the middle of the Romerías, felt like going back.Returning to that time and verse.The Plaza fell in love with Raúl Paz, with you and me.He was grateful for feeling.For hearing the songs and finding the order.
For the slow dance and the silence behind the laughter. The concert passed quickly, but the feeling remained. The taste of old times. Of past Mays, of the drizzle of the day before, of hands brushing against heads. And in between, you and me.
By: María Karla Lam González
Translated by Aliani Rojas Fernández
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