Screeching a Living

The first time I heard her, which was before I saw her, was about six years ago. There are often crippled beggars outside the cathedral in Cuernavaca, making for a very medieval scene. There are also musicians, mostly working the patios of the various cafes. They’re usually guitarists but a violinist is not unknown.

She, however, was a violinist only in the narrowest sense of the word. Simply put, she couldn’t hit a note, phrase a melody nor keep time. She was terrible. She was like an eight-year-old after her first lesson: keen to try, but not yet capable of varying the sounds the bow makes on the strings.

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The mystery violinist outside the cathedral wall in Cuernavaca.

Periodically, I’d encounter her again and think: Surely you’re learning a bit? I can’t play a violin, but if I played as much as you do, I’d have figured out how to make it sound more or less acceptable by now.

But she wasn’t learning, and I had no idea if she was even trying. In our market in Tepoztlan, there are often one or two ‘musicians’ whose sole aim is to annoy you so much that you give them a few pesos just to go away and let you eat your quesadilla in peace. Perhaps, I wondered, she’s like them.

But they wander around. She puts out a music stand, or props her sheet music on a bundle-buggy, and remains in one place for an hour or so, producing bits of (I think) Bach, Vivaldi or Mozart. Somebody taught her fingering, judging by how she holds the instrument, but she seems tone deaf to her own sounds. Maybe she’s wholly deaf, I sometimes speculate, but she does try to tune her instrument before starting, which a deaf person couldn’t manage.

She initially irritated me, then amused me, and finally intrigued me. But she’s very wary of human contact, never even muttering a quick “Gracias” if I drop a sympathetic five pesos in her violin case. The first time I tried to take a photo of her, she dodged behind a pillar, staring warily at me till I went away. I felt mean for trying, even though the street is a public place, and her chosen venue is a busy tourist destination.

I forgot about her for the three years I was back in Toronto, and I was surprised to find her still on the same street last year. She’s still somehow determined to eke out a borderline living from a complete lack of musical skill.

If anything, she might have become worse in the intervening years. One day I’d like to interview her, just to find out what she feels she’s doing, but as I noted, she avoids direct acknowledgement of other people. She’s an institution now, a living monument to artistic ineptitude.

She’s not yet out of middle age. But one day she’ll be gone, perhaps with her identity still a mystery. Some other street performer –– a mime, a singer, a mandolin player – will replace her, and squeezing the visitors for cash will continue as it probably has since before there was even a Christian house of worship here. But when she does go, something uniquely quirky will have disappeared from Cuernavaca. Few people, I figure, would ever dare make such a tuneless noise in a public place, and tacitly ask donations for doing so.