by Alfred Ávila
Cuco finally made it out of the high grass and out into the open. He was like a coyote, running blindly ahead to escape the hunters, pushed onward by a strong desire to live. He reached a hill and started up the dry grassy slope. Sensing danger, he turned his head to look back. In the distant valley, he saw two shadows rise from the earth. The witches! They had seen him.
He started to pray in a gasping voice. “Oh, gods of my Tarahumara fathers, help me! Help me!” he pleaded between gasps for air.
His lungs were burning, and the wind seemed to be pushing him back toward his deadly hunters. He struggled forward, fighting the wind. His body trembled. He was scared. His limbs were tight. The air was like fire in his lungs, searing, burning.
The shadows of death, the shadows of eternal darkness, the fangs of evil were gaining on him. Cuco was beginning to tire. He was slowly losing the race for life! He scrambled up the slope, but he was too tired. He stumbled and fell to the earth.
“No use, no use!” he said to himself as he lay on the grassy slope gasping for breath. The cold wind sent shivers through his body as it chilled his perspiring limbs. He could hear the sound of distant flapping in the dark. He felt his time was coming to an end. He felt like a small rabbit caught in the bloody jaws of a coyote, struggling, knowing the end is near, but still fighting to retain its precious life.
The sound of flapping wings was getting closer. He struggled to lift himself up. He looked into the early morning sky and spotted an owl flying in the pulsing wind. The owl was a totem of his Tarahumara fathers. A sign! The gods were with him. Hope arose in his tired body. The flapping of wings was drawing closer. He looked back into the sky and saw his tormentors. They were flying high, way up in the sky. They flew knowing they had reached their prey, and they had to move fast. The dark sky was beginning to turn light. Death was but a few moments away. They would taste fresh blood, and their fangs would bite deep into his tender flesh.
Cuco sat on the grassy slope, the wind hitting his face. His final moments were near. He clasped his hands and prayed to the god of the Spaniards, repeating the prayer the village priest, Padre Juan, had taught him. Then it came, like a thousand voices of angels piercing the early morning sky, roaring and echoing across the valley. It came from a distant village—“Koo-koo-roo-koo!”—a rooster’s crow
tant village—“Koo-koo-roo-koo!”—a rooster’s crow calling the people of the earth to the dawn of a new day!
He looked upward and saw the witches descending, their wings shredded into a hundred pieces. They came tumbling down from the windy sky, downward, down, onto the hard surface of the arid slope. He could hear the grisly sound of bones and gristle smashing on the ground. The evil hunters were dead. The deadly plunge sent them back to the pit that had spawned them.
It is said that the crowing of the rooster has magical powers. It takes away the witch’s ability to fly, robs her of her supernatural powers, and blinds her cat eyes. She becomes helpless. Woe to the witch who is caught wandering about when the rooster crows! Death becomes her reward.
Cuco lay there exhausted. He would live to walk the ancient land of his ancestors, and he would never again disobey his father and the teachings of his elders. He felt good in the gusting wind as he picked himself up and headed up the slope to his distant village.
THE PEPPER TREE
calling the people of the earth to the dawn of a new day!
He looked upward and saw the witches descending, their wings shredded into a hundred pieces. They came tumbling down from the windy sky, downward, down, onto the hard surface of the arid slope. He could hear the grisly sound of bones and gristle smashing on the ground. The evil hunters were dead. The deadly plunge sent them back to the pit that had spawned them.
It is said that the crowing of the rooster has magical powers. It takes away the witch’s ability to fly, robs her of her supernatural powers, and blinds her cat eyes. She becomes helpless. Woe to the witch who is caught wandering about when the rooster crows! Death becomes her reward.
Cuco lay there exhausted. He would live to walk the ancient land of his ancestors, and he would never again disobey his father and the teachings of his elders. He felt good in the gusting wind as he picked himself up and headed up the slope to his distant village.
THE PEPPER TREE
The old man lived in a weather-beaten shack on the road that led to the river. He had seen many good times as well as bad times, and the fires of life had made him hard and wrinkled. His one dream was to return to his home, a small town in Chihuahua called Meoqui. But he was poor, and for this reason, he had to accept an existence of hardship and exile.
“What a life! One of these days I’ll go back home,” the old man would mutter to himself, dreaming of a better way.
Sometimes, sitting on a stool in front of his shack, he would look toward the grove of cottonwoods and watch the crows cackling and flying among the trees. Here and there, like lonely sentinels, grew the old pepper trees. Their ancient gnarled branches and trunks made them look like old men beseeching the clouds to release them from the curse of standing in the fields to be scorched by summer’s hot sun and numbed by winter’s frosty winds. The ground beneath the trees was covered with messy piles of small leaves and berries.
The wind came that night, howling and whistling around the shack. “The Devil himself,” the old man mumbled as he lay down to sleep. “He’s searching for evildoers to carry away.”
At midnight, the clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than usual. The old man awoke suddenly and was seized with fear. Something was in the room. He peered into the darkness. A moan came softly from the other side.
“Who is it?” he asked fearfully of the moaning shadow.
“I have gold!” The voice echoed in the room. “I have gold!” it repeated again.
All the old man could do was stare across the room trembling. He wanted to say something, but fear was choking him and he could not utter a sound.
“I have gold! I have gold!” the ghost repeated again and again. Then it disappeared, and only the gentle howling of the wind could be heard.
The old man could feel the pounding of his heart. He felt faint, and his trembling hands could hardly grasp the bedding.
The next day he thought about what had occurred the night before. He told himself that he had to overcome his fear and ask the ghost about the gold and its location. “The ghost must return and reveal the secret of the gold so it can find peace in the other world,” the old man reasoned. And he silently assured himself that he would succeed that night in finding out the location of the treasure.
Again that night at the hour of midnight, the ghost returned. “I have gold! I have gold!” it repeated.
The old man overcame some of his fear and in a frightened, hoarse voice asked, “Where is the gold?”
The ghost slowly answered, “In a pepper tree. In a pepper tree.” And it again disappeared. The lonely hoot of an owl could be heard from the faraway pepper trees. The silence of the night returned to the shadows of the room.
“The gold escaped me again!” the old man muttered. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he consoled himself as he fell into the peaceful slumber of the living.
The following night the old man was determined to learn the secret of the gold. Greed had overcome his fear. “If I find out the secret of the gold, I could return home to Meoqui and Chihuahua, to my homeland. To my country!” he exclaimed aloud. He would find out tonight.
The ticking of the clock was loud that night. He could not sleep. He could only think of the gold.
Suddenly, he heard the low moan and felt the presence of the ghost. It stood by the window, pointing in the direction of a huge pepper tree that grew beside the large grove of cottonwoods. He could not see the features of the ghost, only its tattered shroud and the bony fingers of its meatless claws pointing in the direction of that tree.
“In the pepper tree. In the pepper tree,” the ghost moaned softly across the room to the now wide-eyed, greedy l
ittle old man.
As the ghost disappeared, the old man raised himself from his bed, quickly put on his serape and his leather sandals, and headed across the room. He looked out the window in the direction of the tree. “My treasure. My life!”
As he opened the door, the cold night air hit his face and a chill ran down his spine. But his mind was made up. The gold was beckoning him on. Not even the dark of the night nor its demons would stop him. The craze for gold possessed him and was the driving force that quickly moved him across the dry grassy field in the direction the ghost had pointed.
He could make out the silhouette of the pepper tree in the distance. He started to half run, looking around, hesitating at times as if he were expecting
THE DEVIL AND THE MATCH
someone to step out from the darkness and wake him up from his dream.
As he approached the tree, the sky seemed to get darker and the shadows faded. The remaining light was disappearing. As he got closer to the tree, he could hear the ghostly voice softly repeat, “I have gold!” The words inflamed his desire to move onward.
Now he could make out a figure standing near the tree. “It’s the ghost waiting to show me where the gold is.”
As the old man got closer, he said out loud to the shrouded figure, “Where’s the gold?”
The shroud slipped off the ghostly head. The old man was terrified by what he saw. A white skull gleamed in the darkness. “The Bald One, the Bald One!” he screamed in the darkness, his eyes riveted on the talking skull of Death, as the ground opened up beneath his feet.
“Your treasure is death,” the ghost said as the old man plunged downward into the bottomless pit of death, his screams piercing the stillness of the night.
Don’t be like the old man and let the lust for gold blind you or greed be your guide. Remember the saying that gold and greed go hand in hand, and that if you do not know when to walk away from them you could well meet their master, the Bald One, in the shade of the pepper tree.
THE DEVIL BABY
THE DEVIL AND THE MATCH
One night, while walking down the street after drinking heavily at the local cantina, Luis felt like having a cigarette. He stopped and searched his pockets for a match, only to discover that he was out of matches. With nowhere to go for matches at that hour of the night, he happened to see a man coming down the street in the dark. He walked toward the man and asked him for a light.
The stranger did not say anything, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box of matches. Luis put the cigarette to his mouth and moved closer to the stranger in order to light it. As the stranger struck the match, he held the flame close to Luis’ cigarette. It lit up the stranger’s face. Luis tried to scream, but fright had frozen his vocal cords. He jumped back and ran down the street in haste. What he’d seen by the light of the burning match was the face of the Devil himself.
THE DEVIL BABY
Two friends walked out of the cantina where they had been drinking pretty heavily. They had had their fill and were heading home to sleep it off. They felt good and happy as they walked down the street. Suddenly, the sound of a crying baby in an alley caught them by surprise. They went into the alley and started searching for the baby. The crying was coming from deep in the alley. There were no lights in the area, but they were not afraid of a crying baby. Perhaps someone had abandoned it.
They found the baby behind some broken wooden boxes and picked it up in the darkness. Both men were still a little tipsy from the tequila they had drunk earlier. They looked at the baby. It had stopped crying. It had a funny smile on its face and was making gurgling noises. The man who was holding the baby began to strain. The baby was getting heavy for him.
“What a heavy baby!” he said.
And his friend added, “What a cute baby!”
The baby looked at both of them with its wide pretty eyes and said in a very deep voice, “Yes, what a cute baby I am!” And fangs started to grow out of its mouth.
Startled, both men stiffened. The one holding the baby threw it to the ground in fear, and the men ran out of the alley and back to the cantina much wiser and sober than before.
THE DEVIL’S WIND
THE DEVIL’S WIND
It was a warm sunny day when the pigs were slaughtered in the arid brush-filled desert within sight of the town. The flesh was cut up in small pieces and placed in large iron cauldrons used to make fried pig skins or cracklings. The hard, crackly fried skin was a delicacy among the local people. Most of the people had started early, finished their cooking, and had walked back to town to sell their wares. Only Salvador and his friend Sebastián, with his dog Pansas, were still feeding their fire and stirring their cauldron.
Once in awhile a bit of fat would boil over the lip of the cauldron. It would sizzle and pop hideously when it hit the fire. This would scare the dog, gnawing the flesh off a deep-fried bone nearby. The animal would jump up startled by the sizzling sound and move back snarling with his tail between his legs. Salvador and Sebastián would laugh at poor Pansas’ fear.
Suddenly, a surge of wind arose not very far away and formed itself into a whirlwind, something quite common in dry desert areas where it is known as the Devil’s Wind. The cylinder of air picked up dust, and the two men were hoping it would not move towards them for fear it would dump the swirling dust on their boiling fat and cracklings. Meanwhile, they continued stirring their pot and feeding more brush to the fire.
Strangely, the whirlwind grew in intensity, spinning in wider and wider motions and making a high-pitched howling sound. As Salvador and Sebastián—who now sensed something was wrong—watched, it grew wider and wider. Pansas, in turn, had now forgotten about his bone and stared with bulging eyes, shaking violently, hair standing on end like a frightened cat, his tail between his legs.
Pansas darted and headed toward town in a cloud of dust, and the two men heard the sound of a woman’s screams churn within the howling of the wind. And as the funnel gained on them at a fast pace, the screaming face of La Llorona looked at them from the swirling wind.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Salvador yelled at Sebastián while both men grabbed their pot by its hot handle and started down the road, running for their lives. In spite of their terror, however, they would not drop their hot tub of cracklings and lard, and as they fled, the pot splashed and spilled, leaving a trail of grease and pork skins on the dusty road.
Filled with terror and with the screaming whirlwind right behind them and getting closer, the two friends ran. They were beginning to tire, but their fear gave them strength. They did not look back, but they could sense La Llorona closing in on them by the feeling of doom in the air. Still they moved onward with their heavy metal pot.
Finally, they were coming close to the town. They looked back at their screaming, howling pursuer. But then, La Llorona abruptly disappeared in a swirl of dust. The two men stopped and set their pot down. It was half-empty by now because with their running much of the fat and the cracklings had spilled out. Panting and perspiring, they looked around and discovered they had actually reached the church, the first building on the outskirts of their town.
They now understood what had happened. La Llorona could not approach the church. Because La Llorona was cursed for being evil, she was forbidden to come close to God until the end of the world. For that reason, the whirlwind vanished the moment Sebastián and Salvador reached the church. They bowed their heads and said a prayer, thanking God for saving their lives and their souls.
THE FUNERAL AND THE GOAT DEVIL
THE FUNERAL AND THE GOAT DEVIL
The river was rising and the heavens were puffed black with rain clouds that sent a million drops of water to the earth. Small streams of water, like so many slithering snakes, flowed endlessly along the path. Above the howling wind and rain, one could hear prayers respectfully chanted by the local folk from a dilapidated shack near the riverbank. A wake was being held for an old man who had recently passed on to his ancestors.
Within the packed shack, the only free space was a narrow aisle for those who wanted to view the deceased in the open wooden casket one last time. Women huddled under their mantillas, and men clutched their sombreros tightly and shivered under wet serapes. As the sky thundered and lightning flashed, some whispered softly that this was a night for the Devil and other evil spirits.
Everyone was praying loudly when out of the darkness of the storm there appeared a woman dressed in black with a black mantilla covering her face. The hem of her soaked dress dragged along the wooden floor, and the cold air from outdoors made everybody shiver even more. They stared at the stranger as she walked to the front and peered into the casket. Turning around, she gazed right and then left at the assembled people. Moaning softly to herself, she exited as mysteriously as she had come.
A few moments later, a long unearthly shriek from outside cut off the prayers of the people. The frightened villagers strained to see what was going on. They saw the woman in her black dress and mantilla standing in the storm. Against the bolts of lightning, they made out the silhouette of a goat standing on its hind legs. They were shocked and horrified. The accursed thing galloped away along the now overflowing river.