A rapid bachata vibrates and bounces off the walls, causing bottles to fall from the bar. The lechones snarl and whip their ropes in a frenzy. Pops covers his face with his hands to shield it from the lassos. The demon guitarist jabs me toward the microphone with his instrument.
“I can’t,” I say.
“We can’t hear you,” Sileno yells. The lechones growl along with him. “Louder!”
The air is thick with smoke from Charon sucking on the hookah. He pounds his fist on the table while the dancers wail in pain. I won’t sing a bachata. I won’t torture these spirits forced to dance with monsters.
“No,” I say.
“Did he say no?” Sileno slaps my father on the shoulder. “Charon. I think he has doubts.”
Charon stands up and places the blade against my father’s neck.
My god. Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to play this game.
“Don’t hurt him,” I say. “I’ll sing.”
I inhale and try my hardest to stop from trembling. To find my voice once again. I’ll do this but not the way Charon or Sileno expects. I walk over to the guitarist and press my hand over the strings. He snarls and snaps at me with his protruding jaw.
“Slow the hell down,” I command. “Everyone slow down.”
Charon keeps the machete by Pops’s neck. I got to make this right.
I sing the first verse from “Pena por Ti,” by Luis Segura. Amargue. A song of bitterness, of love lost. I can’t sing of hate, so I will sing this heartrending tune.
The lechones whip with furious intentions, but eventually they calm down. Couples slow their maddening spins. The women still cry out but not as painfully as before. Their whimpering causes me to find my voice and join in their lament. The demons begin to sway to the music. They stop thrashing their ropes. Some even drop their heads onto the table. Sileno slams his fist to try to stir the demons, but he’s out of luck. My voice has lulled the beasts to sleep.
Charon lowers the machete from my father’s neck. When the song ends, not one word is uttered. The club is completely silent except for the dancers’ barefoot shuffling and the snoring coming from the demons.
Within seconds, Charon leaps from my father’s side to mine. He straddles me to the ground and raises his machete. I close my eyes. The machete lands just inches away from my face. The blade feels hot against my cheek. If I move, it will surely pierce my skin.
“What else you got?” Charon asks.
I clumsily dig in my pockets.
“I have this.” In my hand, I hold the token my father gave me, the small statue of the elephant.
Charon snatches the ceramic piece and chuckles at the elephant’s face. When he gets up, the lechones vanish, as does Sileno.
“Let’s go,” Charon says.
My guitar is on the floor, still intact. I strap it to my back.
Pops holds me longer than he should. I’m crying because I don’t want to do this alone, but I must. He nods and wipes my tears. “Be safe. Don’t be stupid.”
I catch up to Charon, turning only once to see Pops still standing there.