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La Niña de los Peines
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As Pastora adds the finishing touches to her makeup, her dressing room starts
to fill with flamenco artists: Guerrita, El Americano, El Canalejas, La Niña
de Marchena... Others arrive that are not exactly flamenco artists but amateurs
or people within the immediate circle of the artists.
-How's it going, Pastora? How's that throat of yours coming along?
-Ay! Americano, it's terrible. I've got a feeling I'm going to have problems
tonight.
A flamenco artist shows up and offers Pastora a pill.
-Take this, it'll do you good. It's got a weird name, but you can't find
it in the pharmacy. You take a couple of these and you're as good as new."
Another flamenco artist objects energetically:
-Get out of here with those pills! That's just garbage that'll mess up her
stomach. Steam is the only thing she needs; steam from those 'eucalypso' leaves.
Listen to me Pastora, I'm an expert on this.
Flamenco artists usually consider themselves to be experts on a wide range
of subjects, not just the best remedy for Pastora's ailing throat. It can be a
lot of fun spending some time with them, listening to the strangest theories explained
with great conviction and tremendously flexible pronunciation.
La Niña de los Peines calls one of the flamenco artists 'Pepe,' and
I start to realize that it is her husband. Pepe is clearly upset as he paces about
the room and in the hall. I soon discover that it is not a bad mood that has him
in such a state, but his concern that Pastora's faltering voice might let down
thousands of spectators.
-C'mon, Pastora, hurry up. You've got to rehearse a little.
-Hang on a second, Pepe. Just settle down: Can't you see I'm in the middle
of an interview?
Faced with such a convincing reason, Pepe
(Pinto) decides to take his impatience for a little walk in the hall. Pastora
tells me that they have been married for a long time and that they have an 11-year-old
girl. Although their daughter does not sing, she is apparently a wonderful dancer.
-But I'm firmly against her getting into show business. She can dance all
she wants to at home, but for her parents; and for her husband the day she gets
married.
"I can't complain about the public, but singing's taking a change for
the worst. The kind of singing that's popular nowadays is terrible"
-But you certainly can't complain about your career.
-No, that's true, but it's a better life staying home and taking care of
the house. I'm going to let you in on a secret: I can't wait to retire and go
back to the peace and quiet of my house and my family in Seville. I can't complain
about the public, but singing's taking a change for the worst. The kind of singing
that's popular nowadays is terrible. People want to hear milongas or colombianas,
and that's got nothing to do with flamenco singing.
Pastora's guitar player for the evening Niño
Ricardo cuts in, putting an end to our conversation.
Manuel Vallejo, La Niña de los Peines and Niño
Ricardo
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Shortly afterward, the two artists are onstage before the enthusiastic applause
of the audience. With her own personal style and her emotion-charged delivery,
Pastora begins to sing por soleares.
Niño Ricardo coaxes her on: "Vamos a ver, Pastora; vamos a ver."
Ay... ayyyyy...
A mi puerta has de llamá...,
Y no te he de abrí la puerta...,
¡y me has de sentí llorá!...
This wonderful verse (nobody can say so much with so little) is followed by
another delightful example por fandanguillos:
Como una cosa difísil
me quieren llevar a los baños,
como una cosa difísil,
como si el agua del mar
curara los desengaños
que una mujer cruel me da...
Pastora treats us to more of her unique singing, and the audience applauds
wildly. The queen of flamenco singers exits the stage dressed in a shimmering
green satin dress and followed by Niño Ricardo.
Translation: Norman Paul Kliman
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