Enrique's Foley
In which Enrique "celebrates" the lifting of the music ban by experimenting with his own secret passion: Sound design. Exposition dump to start, but dialogue later. Drabble.
AN: I don't know why, but I love the idea of Enrique being into sound design and having a Foley studio. So this is my chance to explore that. Enrique the poet is not an idea original to me, but it's a much beloved idea, so I had to reference it.
If Enrique were honest with himself, he'd have to admit he was jealous of his son.
Now, Enrique had plenty of his own talents and passions, one of which being poetry, and he was proud of Miguel's natural talent at the guitar, and thrilled to bits that Miguel finally had the opportunity to develop his God-given abilities. He had no reason to be jealous, really. And yet he was.
Miguel had honed his guitar skills secretly in the attic for years, somehow able to keep the family in the dark while he became so adept on his homemade instrument (the construction of which was an impressive feat in and of itself) that he was able to surprise the world when he finally appeared on the scene in Mariachi Plaza. Even after that eventful Dia de los Muertos, there was still some lingering resentment between Miguel and his abuelita over the smashed guitar and the fact that Miguel was keeping such a secret in the first place. Elena's easing of the ban for Miguel to play regularly for Mamá Coco had been the olive branch she'd proffered, and Miguel in return had sworn to never hide anything from his family again (though Enrique couldn't help feeling Miguel wasn't being 100% truthful about where he had disappeared to that night; locked in a dead man's mausoleum and experiencing nightmares was believable, but it didn't explain Miguel's sudden knowledge of the true identity of his great-great-grandfather). Peace was restored in the family, and Elena eventually lifted the music ban altogether, allowing Miguel to begin teaching his cousins some songs.
The newfound freedom allowed Enrique and Berto's wives to break out their old records. The two happened to be sisters, and they kept a shared collection of albums at their parents' house. They were eager to share their favorite songs with the family, and dance and karaoke parties soon ensued, much to a still-hesitant Elena's chagrin.
There had been many a time since then that Enrique had shaken his head in bewilderment at Miguel's ability to practically upend the family for the better. But he also couldn't avoid feeling a twinge of guilt when he became ever so slightly resentful that Miguel had managed to keep up his own passions in secret for so long, ultimately winning the family over to them, while Enrique hadn't had a prayer at maintaining his own secret passion.
But instead of dwelling on the past and fighting back envy, Enrique decided to throw himself into that one thing he'd been deprived of for too long. He was going to set up his own sound studio.
Strictly speaking, sound wasn't music; music was just one type of sound. And Enrique had always loved sound design, being fascinated as a child with the few radio shows he was allowed to listen to, wondering how they did the sound effects (surely they weren't actually shooting off guns and cannons in the recording studio, and who can fit a whole thunderstorm indoors?). He was good at imitating sounds himself, and was known to be very noisy as a child. Franco had joked that Enrique had two settings: Mute and hurricane. He'd learned to balance the two as he matured, but he never lost his love for sound design.
The only problem was that his mother thought sound design was dangerously close to music. A sort of gateway drug, as it were. Besides, Enrique was well aware that the only school anywhere close to Santa Cecilia that offered a sound design course was in Mexico City. And Elena would hear nothing about any of her children going so far away for their education. Not when they had a perfectly decent career already established right where they were at. Enrique could have tried to defy his mother by setting up a secret studio in the attic, but he would never have gotten away with it as Miguel did. Not when the very nature of his passion was noise.
But with the music ban lifted, Enrique was finally free to experiment once again with sound design. The only remaining trouble was that he had no idea how to start.
Miguel, on the other hand, knew exactly how to launch himself into his own music career.
"I don't have to go to a college out of state, Abuelita," Enrique heard Miguel arguing one day at breakfast. "I don't even have to leave Santa Cecilia, really. They have college courses on the internet now. I can do that."
"We only ever use the computer for keeping track of orders," Rosa pointed out.
"So I save up the money I make in the shop and buy my own computer. It's not like I don't have plenty of time to do that. Besides, if I'm gonna do any recording, I'll need a computer anyway."
"And what do you need to record for, eh?" Elena asked. "We can hear your songs just fine here."
"Because the world is still convinced that those songs that Papá Héctor wrote belong to Ernesto de la Cruz. They don't know how they're really supposed to sound. Even when we get the letters back from the lab, and everyone knows they're authentic, people still need to know what Papá Héctor wanted his songs to sound like."
"It does seem like a better option than a tour all over the country," Luisa offered.
"Exactly!" Miguel said, smiling. "If someone wants to discover me, they can do so over the internet. I don't need to leave home and end up getting poisoned on my way to the train station by some back-stabbing best friend out to steal my work."
"That's...weirdly specific," Enrique said.
A smile twitched at Miguel's lips at that response, though Enrique couldn't guess why. "I'm pretty much convinced de la Cruz is a murderer," Miguel said.
"You've said that before, but you've never brought poison into it," Enrique pointed out.
"Oh, well...it just makes the most sense. I mean, if he was shot or stabbed or something, it would be a pretty obvious crime and there would be an investigation. And then Mamá Imelda probably would've found out what happened, because they would've had to ask her."
"He could've drowned in a river," Rosa suggested.
"Or gotten attacked by a jaguar or something," Abel added.
"Plus, Mexico didn't have much in the way of forensic science in 1921," Rosa finished. "He could've died a really violent death and they still would've just written him off as some unlucky stiff who had no business traveling alone so soon after the revolution."
Miguel glared at her. "It was definitely poison," he insisted.
"Whatever," Rosa quipped, turning her attention back to her breakfast.
Miguel was about to continue the argument when Enrique decided to step in and change the subject.
"So, mijo, tell me more about this song recording studio you apparently want to set up here at home. What kind of equipment would you need?"
"And who said we're getting him recording equipment?" Elena asked. "Even if we had room for it, our budget is very tight right now. We need to save every last peso that doesn't go back into the shop for the baby and for your Mamá Coco's care."
"I plan on saving up for that stuff, Abuelita," Miguel promised. "I won't take anything out of the shop's earnings."
"That's very responsible," Berto said.
The answer seemed to placate his abuelita, so Miguel turned back to his papá. "I've been looking stuff that I need up online. I'll need to get some really good headphones and a few microphones, and I'll need to get some sound mixing software to put on my computer when I get it."
Enrique leaned forward, interest piqued. "Sound mixing software?"
"Sí, that's a very important part of music production. You can add sound effects to your songs, sure, but more important is being able to mix the sounds of different instruments just right. I can get a microphone that clips onto a guitar, but I should also probably get a boom mic."
"A what mic?" Luisa asked.
"You know," Enrique answered, "one of those overhead mics that they use for news broadcasts from out in the field. The ones with the fuzzy covers on them."
"That's called a dead cat," Miguel said.
Somewhere nearby, Miguel could've sworn he heard an alley cat growl its disapproval of the term. A growl that sounded very much like a smaller version of Pepita's low rumbles of disdain.
"It's not a literal dead cat," Miguel quickly clarified. "It's a wind muff, but people started calling it a dead cat because...I guess it looks like one when it's just laying around unused?"
"Interesting," Enrique said. "When you get this studio set up, do you suppose you could show me a thing or two about sound mixing?"
Miguel gave his papá a surprised look. "Sure, Papá. I...didn't think you'd be interested in that stuff so quickly, though."
Enrique shrugged. "We all had things we were...curious about as children."
Elena raised an eyebrow at him, which quickly dropped into a furrowed position. "Such as what things, mijo?" she asked curtly.
Enrique sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Well...do you remember when various potentially noisy items such as pots and pans would go missing, then suddenly turn up quite dented and smelling vaguely of the creek?"
"The ones that started our loudest fights over whodunit?" Berto said.
"My good cookware!" Elena said, realization dawning. "That was you! Ay, and I believed you when you swore your innocence!"
"There were certain advantages to being the baby of the family," Enrique said with a shrug. "I spent quite a few days discovering all the different sounds one could make with metal, water and wood. Some of them don't sound remotely like any of those materials."
Miguel's face lit up. "You're a Foley artist? Qué padre!"
"Um...sure? I guess?" Enrique had no idea what "Foley" was, but he had to assume it was some musical term. Fortunately, Rosa demanded the explanation for him.
"What the heck is a Foley artist?"
"Foley is the name for creating sound effects that they use in movies, TV shows and radio shows," Miguel explained. "A Foley artist is someone who can take all kinds of random objects and create some really cool sounds with them. Like, you know that laser shooting sound on some cartoons? They did that with a slinky, a piece of cardboard and a drumstick!"
"No manches!" Rosa said.
"It's true! Foley artists really have to think outside the box for the sounds they want. Because there are some sounds that just don't record very well from the actual source, so they have to be made up. Or some sounds just don't exist, so they have to be invented."
Enrique suddenly smiled. After a lifetime of desperately avoiding anything even remotely musical, suppressing his own passions in order to uphold the family tradition, he finally had a name for what he'd long wanted to do. Just being able to identify it filled him with a joyous feeling. He turned his enthusiastic grin on Miguel.
"So what if we went in on some recording equipment together, mijo? You can play your songs and I can play with anything else that makes a few cool sounds."
Miguel beamed. "Yeah! We can even set up a whole sound effects library for you, and maybe you could even start licensing your sound effects for people to use!"
"Would people actually go for that?"
"Absolutely! Producers are always needing some good sound effects for their shows."
"Alright, after the shop is closed for the day, you can show me what we'll need to get started." Enrique took a bite of his breakfast, eager to get moving on the day's obligations. "Sound like a plan?" he asked around a mouthful of huevos.
Miguel followed suit, stuffing his mouth and nodding eagerly.
As the father and son duo scarfed their meal, the rest of the family looked at one another in bewilderment. What had just happened?
Luisa smirked and focused on her own plate, while Franco gave a quiet chuckle. Elena shook her head and walked into the kitchen, muttering something about her best cookware being destroyed by crazy, noisy, rebellious children and grandchildren.
After that, every evening after the zapatería closed, and several lunch breaks as well, were spent down at the library, researching online for the best sound recording equipment and software, and checking out books on sound design and music production. The frenzied research was only interrupted by progress on Miguel's investigation into the life and disappearance of his great-great-grandfather, and by the birth of baby Socorro Rivera. Even when Enrique was too tired from helping care for the infant to also assist Miguel, Miguel continued their research on how to start a sound and music studio. And of course, there were plenty of times when Miguel would assist with the care of his baby sister, giving his parents a break.
Having music back in the home also helped tremendously with Mamá Coco's care. She enjoyed more moments of lucidity, and when she wasn't praising Miguel for his songs (which he'd been playing on a rented guitar while he waited for his Papá Héctor's guitar to be lawfully returned to them), she was laughing in delight at Enrique's Foley experiments—though his primary audience was the baby, who initially thought her father was by far the weirdest creature she'd ever seen or heard, but was soon squealing with laughter right along with her namesake.
Spare time was spent using any recording device they could to capture ambient sound effects, from the birds singing to Dante's many noises. Miguel was convinced they could make a mixtape out of the sounds.
"It's a form of music," he explained. "You take ordinary sounds and edit them together in a way that produces a really catchy rhythm or tune. Dante could make his own songs this way, and we could call them Xolo Tunes, or something like that."
It was a glorious several months for Enrique and Miguel as the two bonded over their similar passions in a way they never would've thought possible before. Enrique found just the joy of spending time with his son was far greater than the excitement of developing his own skills as a Foley artist. Whatever had happened that Dia de los Muertos, Enrique couldn't help but be thankful for it.
It was all abruptly interrupted by two major events, however. The first of which being the return of Héctor Rivera's remains, having been exhumed and examined by forensic investigators, verified by DNA to most likely be Coco's father, and confirmed to have traces of arsenic that exceeded the surrounding soil where they were found. With the verification of the authenticity of the Rivera letters, and de la Cruz's subsequent plummet from fame into infamy, the Rivera family suddenly found themselves thrust into the national spotlight, and Héctor's homecoming was an affair covered thoroughly by the press. The family burial plot was upgraded to an open-air shrine, and Héctor was carefully re-interred next to his wife. Miguel was permitted to play Héctor's white-skull guitar at the funeral, as the famous instrument had been at last given over to its rightful owner's proper heirs. Mamá Coco remained in a fairly lucid state throughout the service, tears streaming down her wrinkled face as she repeated joyously, "Papá is home. Papá is finally home." Elena's eyes had been no drier as she held her mamá's hand and reaffirmed that yes, Coco's papá was finally home where he belonged.
Not two weeks later, the Riveras buried their Mamá Coco next to her parents and husband.
Miguel had been the one with her in her final moments, playing her lullaby on the white guitar. She'd drifted off peacefully, a smile on her face. Miguel didn't seem the least bit shaken, in stark contrast to much of the rest of his family. What tears he shed were mostly happy tears, knowing Mamá Coco had been reunited with the family she'd so desperately missed.
"I'm really gonna miss her," he said, leaning into his papá's shoulder as they stood over the freshly dug grave. "But I'm also really happy for her. I just know she finally gets to see Papá Héctor again."
Enrique held his son close. Miguel had always been more of a mamá's boy, and prior to the lifting of the music ban he would've most likely gone to his mother for comfort. But lately he'd been confiding more and more in Enrique, and that was something that Enrique would cherish for as long as he lived.
A thought came to Enrique's mind. "What say we take a break from the sound design for a bit?" he said. "I haven't written a good poem in a while, and I think between the two of us, we could come up with something for your Mamá Coco. And maybe Papá Héctor too."
Miguel smiled. "I like that idea, Papá. But before we can produce it, we need to buy our studio equipment. Since we have the money now."
It was certainly true. The Riveras had received an enormous settlement from the de la Cruz estate, which covered all of the licensing of the songs he'd stolen. They were richer than they could've ever dreamed. And they certainly had enough money to buy all the sound equipment they wanted. They even they had enough money to add onto the hacienda if they wanted—which Elena fully intended to do, as many parts of the house and workshop were in desperate need of repair.
"So how about we get started on a new song for you to play for the family this year at Dia de los Muertos?" Enrique suggested. "And once things settle back into a normal routine, we'll go purchase that new computer and all the stuff we need to record your songs."
"Sounds perfect," Miguel said with a smile.
As they stood there enjoying one another's presence while bidding their loved ones farewell, Enrique sighed. He studied Héctor's shiny new headstone for a moment. "I never thought I'd say this in a million years, given everything we were taught about you growing up," he thought. "But thanks, Papá Héctor. I'm still not completely sure how, beyond the obvious, but I know these moments wouldn't have been possible without you."
