The campus was a half hour away in Río Piedras and, luckily, traffic was light. They parked and made their way across the campus to the main building. It felt like any college campus she’d seen in the past; the daily life of the university buzzed around them, but she was surprised by the cracks in the sidewalk where tree roots pushed through, the minimal landscaping, bald patches in the grass. When they arrived at the main building, the ornate painted carvings on the columns caught her attention. It was like a scruffy peacock, rough around the edges, but still parading around with its colorful tail high. The guard pointed to some stairs that led to the professor’s office. The three of them made their way up an ornate staircase, surrounded by rich murals featuring images of the arts, science, and culture. Lupe was mesmerized. The hallway to the office opened on one side to the courtyard, sunshine, impossibly blue skies, and palm fronds blowing in the breeze. The side of the building with the offices was stone, dark, and somewhat forbidding.
They found the large green wooden door, framed on either side by slatted windows, the shutters closed tight. As Javier knocked, Lupe whispered, “I hope to God there’s air-conditioning in there.”
After a minute or two of silence, a very handsome young man with dimples opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Professor Quiñones. We have an appointment.”
A crackly voice yelled from farther inside, “Let them in, Armand! Let’s get this over with!”
Izzy snorted. “Oh I have such a warm and fuzzy feeling about this.”
When they stepped inside, it was like entering a different world. No air-conditioning, the room was like a sauna, and lit only by ornate lamps positioned haphazardly around the room. If there were any windows they were shuttered like the ones in front. The office appeared to be two rooms; the first, the one they were in, had a worn wooden desk, behind which Armand looked bored, but what was most striking was that almost all the surfaces of the room, including the floor, were covered with saint statues of varying heights. From six inches to six feet, there were hundreds of them, rustic wood, ornately painted ceramic, pockmarked gray stone. Every one was different, but one thing they all had in common: their eyes were looking at them. Their rapturous gazes followed them around the room, until Lupe thought she might crawl out of her skin. El Cuco himself could be hiding among them and she’d never know. She noticed rows of darkened fluorescent lights above and for a moment considered finding the switch and flipping them on, just to shine some light on the creepy scene.
An impatient voice barked at them in Spanish from the interior room.
Lupe couldn’t wait to see what was in there.
She let Izzy and Javier go first, following quietly behind, taking everything in. The light in this room was limited to small spotlights shining on the walls, showcasing the incredible art from floor to ceiling. Oil paintings of blazing orange flamboyán trees, spiky vejigante festival masks in bright colors, pencil drawings of men working the sugar cane fields. Every piece tied to the culture of the island. The room was dominated by a huge, ornately carved, dark wooden desk at its center, its top obscured by piles of books, papers, and an ancient typewriter. The room smelled like old newspapers, leather, and menthol. If you bottled it you could call it “Eau de Old Academic.” She almost giggled at the thought.
Lupe realized everyone had gone silent, and looked over to find Javier, Izzy, and a tiny man with a full head of wild white hair behind the desk staring at her.
“Sorry. I was distracted by the incredible—”
The old man waved at her impatiently, and asked in slow, precisely enunciated Spanish, “I was asking who you were, dear.”
“Lo siento. Yo soy Lupe—”
He cut her off in clipped British-tinged English. “Why don’t we stick to English for her sake, hmm? I have no desire to listen to yet another gringa massacre our beautiful language.”
Lupe narrowed her eyes at the old man.
Izzy snorted and Javier’s eyes darted to her. “Profesor, Lupe’s father is from—”
“It doesn’t matter, she’s still a gringa. Pity so many islanders with good Spanish blood had to muddy the waters by intermarrying and … breeding.”
He pronounced the last word as if just saying it repulsed him. Lupe had had enough. “Look, I don’t need—”
“Yes, yes, I know you North Americans offend easily, so let’s just get this over with before your little blond friend winds up and hits me, yes? What is it you young people want from an old man?”
For a beat they all just stared at him, mouths open. To say that Professor Quiñones was not what they expected would be the understatement of the year.
Javier coughed. “Yes, Señor, we—”
“Uh-uh. Doctor, please. I didn’t spend all those years in graduate school at Oxford to be addressed without the proper respect.”
Lupe could see Javier’s jaw tighten. At least the old man was getting on all their nerves. Well, maybe not on Izzy’s. He seemed to be enjoying himself. He noticed Lupe looking at him, coughed and wiped the smile off of his face, then pulled out The Diplomat side that Javier was always talking about.
“Doctor Quiñones. Por favor, we’re trying to learn more about the myth of El Cuco.”
The professor held up his index finger as if lecturing to a room of students. “Myth? Men have always relegated whatever they don’t understand to myth. I would wait until you learn more before you call it a myth.”
Lupe scoffed. “You’re not saying that you believe in monsters? You, a fancy college professor with all those letters after his name?”
The professor tented his fingers below his chin and stared at Lupe, looking into her eyes until she started to squirm. “Not only is that what I’m saying, but if I were a betting man I would wager my rather meager retirement savings that your two handsome friends here have actually seen monsters, in the flesh, as it were.”
Lupe looked from Javier to Izzy, the old man’s words sitting on the desk like paperweights. “Well, sure, metaphorical monsters—”
The professor cut her off. “Right, I thought so.” He went back to addressing Izzy. “So you seem like a reasonably intelligent young man—”
Lupe snorted.
Izzy leaned over and whispered, “You’re not helping.”
The professor continued, but she could tell he was getting truly aggravated. “What is it you want to know about El Cuco that she hasn’t already found on the internet and dismissed as Hispanic superstition?” He gestured in Lupe’s direction. Lupe could feel her face redden. It only made her angrier that he seemed to know so much about them.
He didn’t seem to expect an answer, though, because before Izzy could say a word he continued in full lecture mode. “I assume you know his origins? That the legend appears in almost every Hispanic culture, though his name varies? He’s called El Cucuy in Mexico, for instance. The legend was first encountered in Portugal with the ‘Coco,’ referring to the slang word for head or skull. Parents in Hispanic cultures threatened children with some version of the same monster. They’d tell their offspring that the monster was lurking on the roof watching to see if they misbehaved.”
“Talk about giving kids something to bring up in therapy.”
“Young lady, there are thousands of scary tales used to frighten small children. ‘Hansel and Gretel,’ ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ why, Jamaica’s duppy—”
“Yeah, I got it.”
He sneered at her. “You Norteamericanos are raised to be so polite.”
Lupe grinned. “About as polite as college professors, it seems.”
Izzy stepped forward. “Okay, children, let’s calm down.”
Quiñones ignored that comment and turned to Izzy. “It seems you know everything. So? What more can I tell you?”
Izzy spoke, serious now. “Why does he come? El Cuco, I mean.”
The professor stood and Lupe was surprised at how tall he was. His long, lean frame had been so folded in
the overstuffed leather chair she’d thought him tiny. He was thin and impeccably dressed in a white suit with a black tie. He straightened up with some effort, then began to pace along the far wall, one hand in the pocket of his suit vest, the other occasionally brushing his neatly trimmed white beard.
“There are theories among cultural anthropologists and psychologists that he represents a supernatural manifestation of childhood fears and that ‘sightings’ of him increase with the unrest of the culture, much like the zombies and vampires that have had their own renaissance of late. And can you think of a time in which our poor island has been in a higher state of unrest? In the late—”
It was Javier’s turn to cut him off. “But why do you think he comes?”
Quiñones stopped pacing. After a moment, his face rearranged itself into a smile. “I think it’s very simple, my boy. He comes because he’s called.”
Izzy stepped forward. “But by who?”
“Whom, by whom. I insist on proper grammar in my office.” Izzy gave Lupe a look as if she should be enjoying this. The professor continued. “El Cuco has always been what parents threaten their children with, in order to get them to behave. My theory is that he’s a physical manifestation of the very limits of a parent’s control over their children. It is he they turn to when they no longer have any influence. And in calling him, they hand the power over to him.”
Lupe saw Javier and Izzy share a look. Something struck a chord with them and she was going to find out what it was the minute they left the old kook’s office. Which she wanted to do sooner rather than later, so she put her hands on her hips and stood in the way of the professor’s pacing. In the interest of getting the hell out of there, she decided to just play along. “Okay, so hypothetically, how does one destroy El Cuco in these legends?”
Quiñones put his hand on her shoulder and laughed. Loud. And long. The three of them just looked at one another as tears ran from the man’s wrinkled eyes. Oh, this was getting old fast. She was about to take his hand and judo-throw the geezer onto the hard floor.
Finally he caught his breath, took a bright white handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry, dear. But it’s so amusing how you North Americans are so anxious to destroy everything that gets in your way. It’s so very … John Wayne of you.” He then began to clean his glasses with the handkerchief. “Most cultures live quite contently with their monsters. Except yours, of course.” He put his glasses back on and regarded Lupe. “You can’t destroy El Cuco. He’s woven into the very fabric of the island’s culture.”
Izzy’s hands clenched into fists. “Then how do we call him off?”
Lupe put her hand up. “Now wait a minute, you don’t really believe that a monster is—”
The professor ignored her once again. “You can’t. You have to give him what he wants.”
Javier’s turn. “What does he want?”
“Retribution.”
They all looked at one another. “Retribución” from Carlos’s song ran through Lupe’s head, as she was sure it did in both of theirs. What did it mean, though? She had to ask. “Retribution for what?”
“Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it? When you think about it, the cuco is rather gorgeous in his simplicity. He manifests for one purpose and one purpose only. As for your query, retribution for some transgression, whatever a parent might consider ‘bad’ behavior, I imagine.”
“Bad? But that’s way too subjective and vague a descriptor on which to base supernatural vengeance!”
The professor clapped his hands. “How delightful! The gringa is intelligent! My dear, you must be like a unicorn in your hometown. I’m guessing somewhere in northern New England?”
Lupe had had it with the old man’s crystal ball reading. “Look, Professor Ass Hat, my friends, my family”—she gestured toward Izzy—“are in danger. There’s somebody masquerading as El Cuco, and we just want to know how to stop him.”
“Now see here, young lady!” There was fire behind the man’s eyes, his pale face reddening as he yelled. “You can’t come into an old man’s office, insult him, and demand information! So typical of Norteamericanos, so self-righteous! If I had my way—” He stopped and staggered a bit, and Javier reached out to take his elbow but the professor ripped his arm back, losing his balance again.
The assistant appeared in the doorway and rushed to the professor as Quiñones whined, “Armand! Armand! Get these ingrates out of my office!” Armand talked softly and coaxed the professor back to his chair.
Armand turned toward them, but they were already ducking for the door, happy to be leaving Professor Quiñones’s depressing cave. Armand followed and pushed them out the door, and they heard the lock click after them. All three stood in the hallway, stunned, mouths hanging open again.
“Well, that was helpful.” Izzy’s voice was flat.
July 8, 4:31 P.M.
Lupe
JAVIER DIDN’T SEEM to be paying attention. Lupe watched him step away from the academic’s chaotic office, lean on the waist-high wall, and stare through the arch-shaped opening toward the courtyard.
“You okay, Javier?” Lupe touched his arm and the contact made him jump.
“Yeah. It’s just … I keep thinking about what the professor said about parents and kids being bad.” He turned to Izzy. “Do you remember anything about our last birthday party?”
Izzy was staring out, too. “Yeah. The last cangrejo birthday.”
“Right. Remember my mother found us in the backyard?”
“Under the flamboyán tree.”
Lupe watched them go back and forth, their eyes faraway, traveling back five years.
“And we got a lecture from our mothers. What did they say to us that night?”
Izzy’s voice grew edgy with impatience. “Man, I don’t know. In those days our parents might as well have been speaking Chinese for all I understood them. I wasn’t listening.”
As Lupe watched Izzy stare blankly, she knew that he wasn’t telling the truth.
Javier touched Izzy’s shoulder. “Maybe we should talk to our mothers. See if we can’t get to the bottom of this.”
Izzy’s voice was quiet, like he was talking to the courtyard, not to them. “They can’t help. No one can.”
* * *
As they headed back to San Juan the sun was starting to make its descent and it wouldn’t be long before her uncle would start to suspect something.
A text came in on Javier’s phone. He glanced at it as they sat at a light. “Ángel is out of the hospital and home.”
Izzy sat up straight. “Finally we catch a break.”
Javier started shaking his head. “No. No way. I know what you’re thinking and we’re not going there.”
“What? Why not? Man, he was there when Memo died! He’s our only lead.”
“Rumor has it his mind is gone. He repeats stuff over and over. It would be a waste of our time.” Javier’s patience seemed to be wearing thin.
“Let’s see for ourselves! You know half the shit that gets talked around is fiction.”
“Who’s Ángel?” Lupe felt like she was five and trying to get her parents’ attention. They were talking over her. She hated that.
Javier was still shaking his head. “No way I’m taking Lupe to El Norte.”
“Um, excuse me? I’m sitting right here—”
“Yeah, man. I think she can make her own decisions.”
“We can go talk to him after I take Lupe home.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Spare me your sexist bullshit. There’s no way you’re doing anything without me.”
“You don’t know what El Norte is like. It’s a side of Puerto Rico you’ve never seen.”
“Oh what, are there drugs there?” She pretended to bite her nails. “You do understand that Vermont is the heroin capital of the U.S., right?”
Izzy snorted. “Maybe they should put that on the tourist brochures.”
Lupe shot him a look. “
You think Puerto Rico is special because of its drug problems? I can buy methamphetamine a block from my house.”
“And maple syrup. You could buy that, too.”
Lupe growled at her cousin.
Izzy grinned. “I mean, if you wanted to save yourself a trip.”
Lupe felt her jaw tighten, her teeth grinding against one another like a boat scraping along a dock. She pointed at Javier. “Drive.” Her voice was calm, scary calm, but forceful.
Javier’s hands twisted around the steering wheel.
“You heard the woman!” Izzy put his feet on the dashboard and crossed them at the ankles, clearly entertained by the tension in the car.
Javier appeared to reach a decision, and squealed the car toward the exit they were just passing, other cars laying on their horns as he veered across the other lanes.
As he steered the car back onto the highway in the other direction, Lupe chewed her lip and hoped her mouth hadn’t gotten her into something she’d regret.
July 8, 4:48 P.M.
Javier
JAVIER TRIED TO slow his breathing as the scenery began to change. The music got louder as they inched toward town, the colors more intense, the smells stronger. There was always something about El Norte that seemed, just, more. More everything. Except safe. The undercurrent was one of being on the edge, the precipice, of something happening, something about to be out of control, something dangerous. When he was using, Javier had welcomed that feeling. It was like riding a bike down a hill and letting go of the handles. Freedom, that’s what it felt like. Now he knew that it was pretty much the opposite, but it was still damn exciting.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Javier started repeating the Serenity Prayer from Narcotics Anonymous over and over in his head like an incantation. It was something he used to bring himself back, away from the edge. He waited for his breath to even out, his heart to slow its rhumba beat.
It wasn’t working.
Five Midnights Page 13