Chapter Text
Marco didn’t remember much about his life before Mama and Papa adopted him, when his last name had been something besides Rivera, and he’d lived somewhere besides Santa Cecilia. Which was completely understandable, as he was only three years old when it had happened. Now he was four, and had only the vaguest memories of that time--a room with yellow flowers on the walls, the sun shining on a rusty car, a small green parrot in a cage-- and soon even those would be gone.
But Marco remembered music.
At least, he remembered a song. Just one. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it, or who had sung it to him, he knew it was a woman though. Logic, as much as a four year old could grasp it, told him it was probably his first Mama, but he couldn’t be sure. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could never quite make out the face, but he remembered the voice, singing him back to sleep whenever he woke up crying. Nobody sang him to sleep when he cried now. They’d rock him, shush him and hold him, maybe tell him a story. But never sing to him, no matter how hard he cried.
Just like baby Miguel was crying now.
He’d been crying for a while now, almost five minutes. Usually when he started crying, Mama Coco-- who always watched Marco and Miguel when the rest of the family was busy in the shop--would know just what to do. She’d give him a bottle, or change his panales, or just rock the cuna back and forth. And sometimes, sometimes she’d sing, and that would always calm Miguel down, no matter what. Marco loved when she’d sing, sometimes he’d even hum along with her, and she never told him to stop, like Mama Elena or anyone else did.
But this time, Mama Coco had fallen asleep in her chair, and there was no one to help Miguel stop crying.
For a few minutes, Marco had wondered if he should try to wake Mama Coco up. But Mama Elena always told him to let her rest whenever he tried to wake her up and play with her. Then he thought about going to get Mama or Papa. But they were busy in the shop, and he couldn’t leave Miguel alone with just a sleeping Mama Coco.
“Remember Marco, you’re a big brother now.” Mama had told him the first time he’d ever seen Miguel, back when he’d been an even smaller baby, wrapped up so tight that the only thing Marco could see of him was a squished little face under a thick tuft of black hair.
“And being a big brother means you’ve got the important job of helping Miguel stay happy and safe.” Papa had added, as he helped Marco to hold up Miguel’s head as the baby lay in his lap. “And I know you’ll do a great job at mijo.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes Mama!” Marco remembered saying, trying as hard as he could to look grown up and serious. He also remembered Mama Papa laughing at the face he’d made. But he’d meant what he said. He’d do whatever he had to help his baby brother, even if it meant breaking the rules--even if it meant singing.
Looking around to make sure that nobody was watching, Marco crept over to the crib. Standing on a stool so that he could see Miguel, he began making the sort of shushing sounds he’d heard all the adults make when quieting the baby.
“Shsh...It’s ok hermanito, I’m gonna sing to you, like Mama Coco does. But you can’t tell anybody ok?” Miguel made a hiccuping sound, which Marco decided to take as a “yes”.
He took a deep breath, partially to get ready, partially to calm his rapidly beating heart. He could get into big trouble for this if anybody walked in, but if it would help Miguel…Only, what should he sing? He’d heard Mama Coco sing plenty of times, but he didn’t really know the words to her songs, not like he knew the words to his memory song…the song that he’d never sung aloud, because if anybody ever heard it, and told him not to sing even in his head, then that memory might go away too…
But Miguel was still crying.
Slowly, Marco let his breath out, and began:
“Luna Lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios, que me quiera…”
His voice sounded ten times louder in his ears then Marco was sure he was actually singing. And the sound was so different from the smooth, lilting voice in his memory. He kept squeaking in odd places, and he was sure he wasn’t getting the bigger words right. But, despite all of that something wonderful was happening--Miguel had not only stopped crying, he was smiling, and gurgling along, as if he wanted to sing too. Marco felt his heart swell up inside him at the sight.
“...dile que no vivo de tanto padecer ,dile que a mi lado debiera volver…”
Miguel crooned again, and Marco smiled back. His hermanito liked his secret song! And maybe...maybe it didn’t have to stay in his head, maybe they could share the secret together…
“Luna Lunera, cascabelera, ve y dile a mi amorcito por Dios que me quiera, dile que me muero, que tenga compasión ,dile que se apiade de mi corazón, dile que se apiade de mi corazón…”
And as he finished off the song, Marco remembered something else the voice in his memory had said to him, when he’d used to sing along --
“Oh, mi corazón, you’ve got such a wonderful voice…”