Written by Alex Abella
The Killing of the Saint, 1991
But I’ll tell you something, you know what? They don’t have the brains or the balls to do what we did, to take a load of anger and resentment and turn it into concrete and gold, to let your desire point the way so that in the end the whole world is yours because you want it and that’s it, you know? That’s why we’re better, that’s why we’re one of a kind, unicos. Lookit, if all the Mexicans in L.A. got together, brother, let me tell you, those Anglos would be fucked, man, that’s what. Nothing can resist the will of a people whose time has come. It’s a force of nature, like the wind, the tides, which are nothing, air and water, but if put together and driven by a will become a hurricane or a tidal wave that wreaks the vengeance long denied. But you know what? It’s not gonna happen because there’s nobody like the Cubans. Just look at the music, the jazz music, man, that’s all Cuban and that’s a fact. All these guys came down to Havana and drank our rum and fooled around with the ladies and got into the music and pretty soon, brother, they’d stolen all the good notes from us. Even rock ‘n’ roll, mi hermano.
© 1991 Alex Abella; New York: Crown