A Magical Evening in San Elizario, Texas

Last Sunday, a friend and I drove to San Elizario, Texas for an afternoon visit to an art studio. San Elizario (San Eli) is a small historic town about ten miles southeast of El Paso, Texas. The visit brought to mind an unusual evening that my husband Wayne and I spent in San Eli several years ago.  Here is a description of that evening (the names and places have been changed to protect the innocent, or maybe me from a lawsuit!)

“Come down to San Eli this evening with me.  I’m setting up the chuck wagon at the Billy the Kid Cafe,” my husband Wayne said to me one summer morning.  

Several months earlier, we had discovered a new restaurant in San Eli  The owners, Juan and Gloria Bustamante, soon became our personal friends, and we had enjoyed many home style Mexican dishes in their small diner. Now Wayne wanted to help the restaurant attract customers by displaying his chuck wagon there.  

photo courtesy of Steven Woods

It was to be a festive evening in San Eli.  A Hollywood film company was screening a film in the nearby historic plaza outdoors at sunset.  Wayne’s plan was for visitors to San Elizario to be intrigued enough by the chuck wagon to stop for a closer look and then visit the cafe.

San Eli chapel and plaza

Charles Dicken’s Ghost of Christmas Present must have been with us that evening, sprinkling his dust over the village of San Eli, because the evening that ensued was magical.  When I arrived at the cafe in  late afternoon, Wayne had set up his chuck wagon in the parking lot of the Bustamante restaurant and was now part of an outdoor gathering in front of the restaurant.  Several metal tables advertising Mexican beer labels were joined together to make room for a small group in folding chairs.  I looked around the table for a familiar face, but only my husband’s registered any recognition.  

The drink of choice was horchata, a refreshing sweet, rice-based drink, often served in the summer in Mexico.  There were small bowls of tostadas and homemade salsa on the tables.  As was my custom at social events, I quietly drank my horchata and observed my fellow tablemates.  Who were these new acquaintances of my husband’s?  And what might we have in common?

Juan, the restaurant owner, appeared and gave me a big abrazo.  He and Gloria served plates of beef brisket and corn tortillas.  Everyone ate heartily, and the conversation became even more convivial.  Long shadows were starting to form as the sun went down.  When night fell, San Elizario became transformed into a small Mexican village.  Lights went on in adobe houses, and as a light breeze came up, laughter and music drifted from the plaza.

My fellow revelers were an unlikely group, thrown together by special circumstances.  The common thread was that everyone knew the restaurant owners.  There was my husband, Wayne, dressed in full cowboy regalia and joking and telling stories.  There was Sam, a veteran and the owner of the restaurant property, with his three grown children.  There was Juan’s brother-in-law who left the table from time to time to water down the pavement in front of the restaurant with a garden hose.  His wife was helping Gloria cook inside. 

Our Lady of Guadalupe

And then there was the most unusual guest of all – Indio.  He was dressed in a combination of Indian and biker attire.  His headband held an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Patron Saint of Mexico.  Indio was a man well passed middle age with a profile that could have won him film roles as a character actor.  It was his conversation, however, that held the table’s attention.  Indio claimed to be 95 years old and spouted dates and events to support his claim.  As the other guests, including myself, became more inquisitive, trying to catch him in an outright falsehood, he answered all questions calmly and displayed an amazing knowledge of many topics.  He knew everyone in the San Elizario area; he made frequent references to the Indian spirit world; and he was a self-proclaimed expert in healing people and animals. Even the brief appearance of Indio’s very normal wife and teenage son at the table, perhaps checking to see why he hadn’t come home for supper, failed to dispel the aura that  he had created that he was an unusual person with special powers. 

Screening of the film in the plaza ended.  A few people drifted over to the restaurant, Hollywood types, conspicuous by their clothes and their haircuts.  A husband, wife, and small child, obviously from a more affluent part of El Paso, were sitting at another table.  But our table was oblivious to all of these outsiders who weren’t part of our magic.  My husband, Wayne, lifted his horchata glass high and proclaimed, “Here’s to friendship!” 

Horchata

We all responded with “Cheers” or “Salud.”  Somewhat later, when all the customers had left, we helped Juan and Gloria clear the tables.  Wayne and I left Indio and Juan having a heart-to-heart talk at a table.  A feeling of fellowship, a calm summer evening, and a little mystery had created a memory.

Since that evening, Wayne and I have run into our new acquaintances several times, entering or leaving the Billy the Kid Restaurant.  Sadly, the Ghost of Christmas Present has moved on to sprinkle another gathering with the magic granules of goodwill.  We say hello, shake hands, and rush on, almost embarrassed to remember that for one evening, in a small village, we were, as Dickens so eloquently put it, “Fellow travelers to the grave.”

Ghost of Christmas Present