Mexican Ghost Tales of the Southwest (8 page)

THE WATER CURSE

THE WATER CURSE

T
here was an old lady in the barrio who was the local folk healer. She was known for her cures and prophecies. She was very respected by the folk in the community.

One day, while she was walking home along the potholed dirt road, she spotted two young boys throwing stones at a fence with a knothole in one of the boards. They were missing the hole and the stones were making a popping noise as they bounced off the fence. The dog behind the fence was barking furiously at the young hoodlums.

The old lady stopped and called them over. “Hey, boys! Come here, both of you!” They stopped throwing their stones and sheepishly walked over to her in a lazy uncaring manner. “What do you want, lady?”

The old lady stared at them with a serious expression on her face that scared them a little. They felt very uncomfortable and a slight tremor shook their bodies.

“What are your names, boys?” she asked.

“My name is Chava,” one boy spoke up, “and this is Chino, my cousin.”

She snapped at them. “You shouldn't be throwing
rocks at that fence and bothering the dog! I'm going to talk to your parents about this!”

Then she walked over to Chino and pointed her walking stick at him. “And you, why do you stare at me? I know you, Chinito! I remember the day you were born. You have the curse of the water on you! Stay away from the river! Your mother was cursed by the Witch of the Waters before you were born. So be careful. Avoid the river and always be on guard. You carry that curse! Beware, Chinito! Beware! You are still young and do not understand these things,” she said.

Chino and Chava laughed at her. They slowly turned around and ran away laughing. They could hear her voice saying, “Bad boys!”

The boys ran down the road toward the river. Beside the road they grabbed the branches of the pepper trees, pulled on them, and released them. The branches snapped away with a fast swinging motion, crashing upward into the other branches so that leaves and berries fell on their heads. The boys ran to a place where a sandbar dammed the swirling waters of the San Gabriel River, forming a large pond. A green mantle of watercress covered the serene waters of the pond. The large cottonwood trees on the riverbank cast dark shadows over the water while killdeer birds flew over the river screeching “ti-el-deo! ti-el-deo!”

From the bank, the two boys tried to skip stones across the pond into the river, but the watercress would catch the stones. Then, the stones were swallowed by the pond.

Bored with their game, Chava suggested to Chino that they go catch crawfish in the watercress, and after rolling up their pant legs, they entered the water
and eased their way slowly among the watercress. At their approach, the small minnows that swam in the shallow waters of the pond—knee-deep in most places—swam away.

Chino and Chava were having a great time. They would each capture a crawfish and wade out of the water to the top of the riverbank. There they would release them to see which one would move faster toward the water. They had fun watching and laughing as the crawfish moved, stopped, quickly crawled again toward the water's edge, and then darted into the watercress, tailfirst! The boys continued their game for some time. Then they tired and headed out of the water.

Something suddenly grabbed Chino by the leg, and the startled boy tried to shake it lose. He struggled and struggled with no success, managing only to fall into the pond.

“Help me, Chava!” Chino cried out to his cousin, so scared that he started to cry. “Something has grabbed my leg and won't let me go!”

Excited and scared, Chava leaped into the pond, and took hold of Chino's arms. But hard as Chava pulled, he could not break Chino loose from whatever was dragging him away.

“Help! Help!” Chava called out in vain for someone to come help him rescue Chino. In response, the killdeer birds filled the air with excited cries as if sensing the desperate struggle that was taking place, the daily struggle between life and death that is part of life.

Chino continued twisting and kicking with his one free leg as he tried to free himself. In the meantime, Chava kept pulling and screaming for help. But Chava was, after all, just a small boy, and
he was weakening. Finally, he lost his grip and broke away from Chino.

Now Chino flailed, his arms grabbing handfuls of watercress and his screams piercing the air. The force was slowly dragging him to where the water was deeper, to the deepest part of the pond. Chava, with water up to his chest, could no longer reach out to his cousin. All he could do was stand there helplessly and watch.

Suddenly, Chino's body was jerked viciously downward. His screams were silenced as he was pulled violently into the water. The watercress and water swirled angrily over the spot where he disappeared. Bubbles of air came bursting onto the surface. Then there was only silence. The ripples died out as the last bubbles burst on the surface of the water. The watercress was broken all the way to the spot where Chino had disappeared.

Chava stood there in the watercress with tears streaming down his cheeks. His body shuddered as his sobbing came bursting out from his chest. He moved out of the water, pushing the watercress from him as he made his way to the bank. He walked up onto the riverbank, sat down sobbing, and stared through his tearful eyes at the hole in the watercress, the spot in the pond where Chino was last seen. Then he picked himself up and headed home.

Later, the men from the barrio came with torches to search the pond. They tore down the sandbank to empty the water of the pond into the river. But they could not find Chino's body. Inexplicably, no trace of the boy was ever found.

Only the old witch understood what had taken place in that watercress-covered pond by the San
Gabriel River. These ignorant people, the old woman thought. They don't realize that along with their ancestors, they are to blame for what happened to the little boy. These mestizos accepted the god of the Spaniards, she said to herself, neglecting the gods of their ancestral Indian fathers, neglecting to offer them the sacrifices they demanded and received in the old days. For centuries, the gods who had looked after the people waited in vain for a sacrifice while the sons and daughters of the old Indians burned candles and sweet incense to their new god, prayed to him in a strange tongue and sang foreign melodies.

The forgotten gods decided to exact their revenge. They sent the Mother of the Earth and the Waters—Coatlicue—the goddess from which all things were born, to demand the forgotten tribute of sacrifice from the mestizos. She came with a vengeance to grab the sacrificial victim herself.

The gods had waited centuries for a sacrifice and would not wait any longer. They would now return and start the sacrificial rituals again. Their victims chosen would be born with the water curse on their souls. The witch knew what had happened, but she would not tell the people.

Now, in the summer when the watercress is in bloom, the people from the barrio, seeing the white gleaming mantle of flowers that covers what is left of the pond, call it Chino's Shroud.

THE BAT

THE BAT

I
t was a ghostly vaporous image floating in the night air. Suddenly, it transformed itself into a bat and flew through the window of the adobe house. It circled the room, then landed on a small altar hanging on the wall. From the family altar, wisps of smoke rose from candles that burned slowly for foreign saints and the long-remembered ancestors of the living.

The bat looked down at a sleeping young boy, who was awakened by the high-pitched screeching of the bat. The boy sat up upon his mat and stared at the bat. He was frightened and was still trying to wake up completely. The bat cast a huge shadow over him.

The bat slowly began to speak. “I was once a great Aztec warrior who was killed in the midst of a great battle against the despised Spaniards. Many of us perished in skirmishes against that hated, greedy foe. They only sought gold and the enslavement of our people. Even some of our Indian enemies joined them. They killed our beloved priests, burned our sacred codices, and destroyed our sacred temples. Nothing was spared by this evil, degenerate foe.”

“We the warriors who perished in battle are now forced to wander aimlessly in the darkness of the night. Our spirits can find no peace or rest, for there are neither temples to offer us sacrifices nor priests to ask our gods for favors. Only the sacrifice of a Spaniard or a mestizo with that cursed Spanish blood can help us. By wishing him sick until he dies, he then becomes our slave guide that will lead us to the other world.

“I have come and chosen you for my slave guide. I will come every night and watch your sickness grow until you perish. You will become my slave guide, and my spirit will finally rest with the gods for eternity.”

The bat quit speaking and stood there on the shelf looking down at the boy. The child was tired and lay back on his mat, falling into a deep sleep. With twilight approaching, the bat flew out the window and disappeared.

The next day, the mother sat down by her son and found him perspiring heavily and comatose. He had a terrible fever. She wet a rag with cold water from the well and wiped his face and upper body. She was fearful and prayed to her foreign Spanish saints and gods for assistance, but none was forthcoming. Her prayers went unanswered. The boy grew sicker and weaker despite her attempts to cure him.

Finally, she decided to call María Luisa, the town's healer, or
curandera
. María Luisa would know what to do. The child was very sick and lay dying, growing weaker and weaker by the day. The
curandera
told the mother that something evil had put a curse on her son. She placed ancient Indian charms beside the boy and lit an oil lamp to keep the unknown de
mon from taking the child's life. A battle was beginning between light and darkness, good and evil. The healer was not aware that she was pitted against a great force, and that force was Mictlantecuhtli, the Aztec god of death, and his cohort the bat who sought release from its sufferings.

Night was arriving. The light of the burning candles sent flickering shadows against the walls of the adobe room. The young boy was lying on the mat, and the healer sat on the floor beside him. In an instant of a flickering shadow, a bat flew into the room with a high piercing shriek, landing on the small altar. It stared at the boy with black, shiny eyes, finally settling its gaze on the woman who sat quietly staring at the beast. Her Indian eyes flashed in the candlelight.

“WHO … ARE … YOU?” the bat asked the
curandera
slowly, as if forcing the words out.

“My name is María Luisa,” answered the healer as she glared at the small beast, “I know that you are on an evil quest, but I, too, am on a quest to do battle with you for this child's life!”

The bat sized her up with its dark beady eyes. “You don't have the power to match wits with me, peasant woman! You shall not stop me in my sacred quest! I have the blessing of Mictlantecuhtli, the King of the Abyss. You are a foolish woman for attempting to thwart my wishes, and you will pay dearly for this interference.” The animal's eyes were filled with much hatred, as it flapped its membrane wings defiantly.