152 The Meadow placed the paperback hymnals, buckled from wear, on each of the empty seats. “Paul Blocker says ‘Happy Christmas,’” I say, interrupting his reading. A smile has appeared on Reverend Kruger’s face. “Thanks for coming here tonight, Michael,” he says. “It means a lot to the people who attend.” Reverend Kruger pauses, staring at the floor now. “I’m never sure… when you sing at my services… whether people attend in order to worship or to hear your voice. But you know what?” “What, Reverend Pete?” “I believe it’s one and the same. Whether they come to hear you sing, or me preach. Both are worship.” An hour later almost two dozen people have filled the chairs and another dozen are standing around them. “Our own Michael Villalobos will offer solo presentations of several Christmas hymns,” Reverend Kruger announces. “Denise Erhardt will be his accompanist on guitar. Michael will begin with Adeste Fidelis.” If I hear a recording one time in any language, whether German, Italian, French, Latin, Spanish or, in the case of a couple folksongs, Polish, I can sing it exactly as it was rendered. I can’t say how or why I possess this ability. Since I can remember, I have always been able to do so. I can’t speak one word of these foreign tongues, except Spanish which my mother spoke. I begin singing immediately. “Adeste fidelis, Laeti triumphantes, Venite, Venite in Bethlehem, Natum videte Regem Angelorum.” I notice Reverend Kruger’s pretty accompanist is singing along with me during the chorus. As I continue, I can feel the notes roll softly from my tongue and out my mouth, massaging
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