On Friday he started in Monterrey with a heat he didn't forgive. The night before I had left many colonies without light, without air conditioning, without rest — And the morning brought no relief. No one would have guessed that hours later the city would be under one of the most intense storms of the year. But that would come later. First, there was a concert.
In the Children's Garden Cyrus R. Cantú, Fundación Música que Humaniza presented The Quartet and the Secret of Music with the Krosch Corps Quartet and Fernando Guajardo for about 70 students and their teachers. The program went through works by Mozart, Beethoven, Pachelbel, Vivaldi, Brahms and Strauss, with Fernando building a new vocabulary with the students: the porquis behind the music, the forms that structure it, the instruments that produce it. With The Spring de Vivaldi learned that composers wrote to tell stories — that behind each piece there was an image, an intention, a world the composer wanted to share. With Martinillo they discovered the canon singing it themselves, voices chasing in one of the oldest musical forms in history.
But the moment he took the morning came with Fernando dressed as a doctor, pushing a small ambulance. Inside, wrapped with all the care that a newborn deserves, there was a violin — One so small that Fernando calls it the baby violin. The premise is simple and perfect: just as a baby has head, neck and body, so does the violin. And we had to make sure, along with the children, that the baby had all its parts. — just like his dad. The students followed the check-up with full attention. And then something happened that had never happened before: the children got up from their places and approached Fernando, as if they wanted to look at the newcomer's ditch. No one asked. They just wanted to be close.
The concert ended shortly after. And right then, without warning, the sky of Monterrey opened. The storm that fell that afternoon was one that they didn't forget. — flooded streets, strong winds, a city taken by surprise. But inside the children's garden hall Cyrus R. Cantu, moments before, Vivaldi had told in music the history of spring: his rains, his energy, his renewed strength. Maybe the rain wasn't late for the show. Maybe he just waited for it to end to clap in his own way.
