Down Where The Crickets Play A (Rev)(Please Crit)

"My name is Miguel Pedro Gonsalez Alvarez and I'm from the village of Cordoba in Mexico. When you read this story you will think that I'm smokin' that loco weed.
But I'll say no no. We don't do that in our house. Maybe my grandmother...but not in our house. She goes to her place behind the barn. So no senor, not in our house
This story is true. I look into your eyes when I say that because it is truly true.
But let me begin where it begins. My grandfather...he ride with the great Zorro. You know him, no? Amigo, you don't know him? The great el Robino Hood of Mexico?
He robbed from the rich and give to the poor? When the soldados, chase they hide in the selva...the bush...the forest.

There they would stay for three days, seven days or for two weeks. Until ...how do the gringos say it...the coast is clear. Well at night, my grandfather he would listen to the grillos...grillos is what you say is crickets. You know the chirrp chirrp crickets?

One night, a night that he will never forget, he began to understand the grillos...I mean how they talk. First he understood one word and then two and then twenty. Twenty grillo words. He was so excited he shoot his pistol in the air six times. That was when the great Zorro went mad. He wanted to kill my grandfather but he said ""pleease no, great Zorro. Tonight I heard the grillos talk. Really great Zorro. I heard them talk." The great Zorro just shook his head and walked away.

My grandfather, Pablo, he was the clever one, he then made a grilllo box. A cigar box with one long horse hair. One bow from a bent stick and also a horse hair. When he pull the bow, the box he go chirrp chirrp. He was muy clever that grandfather  but when he grew too old he told my father, Alfonso, everything that he knew. And he gave him the grillo box.                   

But for why you listen to me? Why me when you can listen to that professor from Boston with that small English hat."

"Dear Reader
My name is Prof James Harding of the faculty of English at Boston University RI. I came to Cordoba in the North of Mexico when we heard about a remarkable man known as Alfonso Alvarez. It was decided to send me here when it was reliably reported to us that this man was able to converse with crickets using his grillo device. We were told that his father had in fact broken the Grillo Code.
He told us that crickets use combinations of chirrp, chirrrrrp. chorrp, chorrrrp, chirrp-chorrp and so on. In this way they were able to create words.

He told me that typical conversations went like this:
Male cricket: "How're you doing?" "Where are you babe?" "Wanna come over?"
Female cricket: "Oh I'm OK and you?" "Sorry but I'm with someone else." "Sorry I've got a headache."
Alfonso was never satisfied with this puerile conversation. He wanted more. He wanted to move the level of the dialogue to its highest possible plane. He was looking for the ultimate cricket experience.

Little did he realise that he would be granted his wish.
He kept on trying to talk to the crickets on a higher intellectual level. He wanted to discuss the intricacies in insect philosophies. He wanted to plumb the depths and scale the heights of insect artistic endeavour.
Then came that night. The night after which Alfonso did not speak or eat for three days. He was in a totally stunned condition. He began to live only for the nights.
Each evening he would sit on his veranda chair and chirrp chorrp on his grillo box. Until he would hear the sound of a single cricket. Not any cricket. It was a single special cricket.that he waited for.

                                                                                         
Its sound was majestic. He chirrped in counterpoint. He had timbre, overtones and harmonics. He made glorious sounds that would make the family put down their knives and forks and even switch off the TV.
I'll give you the rest of the story in his son's voice. It begins when Papa at last spoke."

The professor's letter continued.   

"It is a miracle. The greatest of all grillos has arrived. He is here in our own backyard. In our backyard. Can you believe it?
His voice was filled with awe.
"This grillo is the greatest of all grillos."
"What is his name papa?"
"He says his name is El Maestro..."
"A grillo called el Maestro?"
"No no don't just call him a grillo anymore. He is the poet laureate of all grillos. He is the Gypsy Baron and the Socrates of the insect world."
"But papa, what does he tell you that's so interesting? Why do you listen to him all night long?"
"Why my son? Because he has told me all the secrets of the insect world. He has discussed the details of their philosophies. He has explained to me the essence of true creativity."
"But papa how will you remember everything?"
"Ah my son. That's why I write. That's why I write all day long. I must finish writing everything down because tonight he will tell me more. Yes, it is my duty to write it all down."
"That's good papa. You are doing so much good papa."

"But wait my son. Tonight is the biggest night that this little village of Bilhao will ever see. There will never be such a night again."
"Why papa?"
"Tonight el Maestro and I will play together. Tonight we will bring together, in our backyard, my knowledge of music and that of el Maestro's."
"But papa. What do you know of music?"
"What my son? Have you already forgotten? When we were in Mexico? When I played for the Alcotlpetl Thirteen. The Los Trece? You did not hear of them? No? When I played first violin for twelve years? Did you not know that we played the microtonal music of our great Julian Carrillo?"