Latin American Folktales (28 page)

PART EIGHT

85. A Dead Man Speaks

My cousins Andrés, Francisco, and Santiago had wanted to come to the United States for a long time. They were coming to see us, but they got on the wrong train, and instead of coming to Austin they went to Oklahoma. While there, they worked as cowboys.

Once while the three were out on the range, one of their fellow cowboys became ill. They took the cowboy to the nearest house, which was a two-room abandoned shack. The cowboy died, and the others put his body on some planks in one of the rooms and placed a candle at the head of the body and another at the foot.

Then one of the cowboys suggested a game of cards to while away the time. My cousin Francisco objected. He said, “There’s a dead man in the next room. We can’t be disrespectful.”

The others refused to hear. They began to play cards and drink whiskey. One of the candles began to burn very low, and they had no other, so Andrés told Francisco, “Go into the other room and get one of the candles.”

Francisco went into the room where the dead man lay. As he clutched the candle, the dead man raised himself up slightly. Francisco tripped, threw down the candle, and fell against the planks. The candle at the head of the body blew out and the planks flew up into the air. As they did so the dead man was thrown forward on Francisco. His elbows pricked Francisco and he heard a shrill voice say, “You must respect dead men.”

At this, Francisco screamed, “Help, the dead man is killing me!”

When the cowboys heard this, they ran out of the shack. Andrés was the first to recover, and he went back to see what had happened to Francisco. Francisco had fainted. The cowboys revived him, but they didn’t go back to the cards and whiskey. They never again played or drank when they were around a dead man.

Texas
/
Mrs.
Charles
G.
Balagia

86. The Bear’s Son

A man and his wife were very poor. The man would go looking for wild honey.

One day when he’d had some success, he told his wife he was going off to make a sale. But then he said, “No, I’d better not. There’s a bear that comes out of the forest along the road I’d have to take.”

“Never mind,” said his wife. “I’ll go myself.”

“And if the bear comes out?”

“God prevent it!”

“Very well, if you wish.” He gave her six bottles of honey packed in a basket. She went out the door saying, “May the hand of God protect me!”

When she got to the forest, the animal was there. She could hear him coming. He seized her roughly, and the honey bottles fell out on the road. But the bear didn’t want the honey. He picked up the woman and carried her to his cave. It was a huge cave, big as a church. When she looked it over, she saw that it was quite nice, like a house.

The bear said to her, “I’m going out now. Stay here or I’ll kill you. Is that clear?” When he returned, he brought tidbits of meat, neatly wrapped in
guaruma
leaves. “I can’t eat this,” she said. “It’s not cooked.”

He understood. He made a little fire in a corner of the cave and grilled the meat. Every night he would go out, and before it was light he would return. During the day he stayed with the woman. They lived on. After a year she had a little boy.

“Dear God!” she thought. “What have I gotten into?” But she did her duty and brought up the child. His diet was raw meat, which he ate eagerly. Before she knew it, she had a fifteen-year-old boy on her hands, his lower body covered in fur, the rest of him human, except that his eyes were round like a bear’s.

“Look at me! Fur down to my feet! Is that animal my father?”

“He loves you. He loves your animal half, and he loves your human half, too,” said the mother.

But the boy knew the bear’s ways, and he had been told many times that the bear would kill his mother if she tried to leave. He said, “Mother, watch me!” He picked up a log and broke it in half. “Don’t kill him for my sake,” she said. “Do it for yourself!”

That night the boy waited until the bear settled down to sleep, then he beat him with half a log. He didn’t stop until the bear was dead. “Now let’s get out of here!” said the mother. “We’ve got to get you baptized.”

“What’s ‘baptized,’ mother?”

“It’s something that happens in a church.”

“It sounds good.”

They walked until nightfall and stopped at a deserted cabin. In the morning the boy said, “Before you take me to be baptized, you must let me see what a real man looks like.”

“My son, a man would kill you.”

“I’m strong.”

“But men have ideas that are greater than your strength. Even if they don’t kill you, with their ideas they make you do things you don’t want to do. Go, but I warn you.”

He made her promise to wait for him in the little cabin. She wept and said, “God protect you.”

He walked for a while, came to a clearing, and saw an ox. From his mother’s description he knew that men were smaller than this, but he decided to take no chances. “Are you a man?” The ox shook its head. Its master had just unyoked it after a day’s work.

“Look at the back of my neck,” said the ox. “All the hair’s worn off! It’s the man’s doing. You never know what to expect!”

“But you’re bigger than he is.”

“It doesn’t matter. He has the ideas. When he takes the yoke off, he puts me on a rope and ties it to that stake over there. Always another idea!”

“When I find him, I’ll kill him and set you free.”

The ox just shook its head, and the boy walked on.

He came to a pasture where a horse was grazing. This could be it. This could be the man. The ears were fairly small, as the boy had been told to expect. “Are you a man?” The horse spoke up, “The man is the one who just took off my saddlebags. Look where my hair is rubbed off. When he rides me, I can throw him, and I can kick him with my hooves. But it doesn’t help me. He has a whip and makes me carry heavy loads.”

The boy walked on. He came to a house with some outbuildings. There was a burro chained in the yard. The boy thought, “This is it. Look at that white belly! That worried face!” He said, “Are you a man?”

“The man is the one who puts me on this chain. Just look at it! It’s made of iron. He knows if he uses a rope I’ll chew it.”

“I’m going to set you free,” said the boy. “Not possible,” said the burro. And the boy walked on. A dog was barking. Could it be a man?

“Who are you barking at?”

“You, in case you’re a thief. Master’s orders!”

“And who’s your master.”

“The man.”

Already a man was running out of the house. He came and greeted the bear’s son, and they shook hands. He asked the boy, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to fight. One of us will kill the other.”

“Kill?” said the man. He was carrying an ax on his shoulder. “But aren’t you looking for work? I need help. Work first. We’ll fight later.” He lifted the ax and drove the blade into a pine log. “Here, put your hands next to the blade, so you can pick up this log. We’ll see how strong you are.”

“Both hands?” asked the boy.

“Yes, with your arms crossed.” Then the man removed the blade, and the log snapped shut on the boy’s hands. He shouted for help as the man put the ax on his shoulder again and slowly walked back to the house, ate his lunch, took his nap; got up, had his dinner, and went to bed. In the morning he freed the boy, sending him off to his mother with crushed hands. As he passed by the burro, it said, “Didn’t I tell you?” And the horse and the ox said the same, “Didn’t I tell you?”

When he reached the cabin, his mother greeted him: “Didn’t I tell you?” Then she rubbed his hands with grease and healed him. “Now enough of this!” she said. “I’m taking you to be baptized.”

When they got to the church, the priest eyed the strapping young man and said, “I’ll not only baptize him, I’ll be his godfather. Just leave him with me.” The priest found him a bed in a little room in the parish house and gave him food. That day the bear’s son became acquainted with tortillas. Whatever he was given he ate. And he worked without pay.

“Son, I have workers making a cornfield. Go give them a hand.”

“Yes, father.” And when breakfast was finished, he went off to the forest without any tools, not even a machete. He got to the little clearing, where the priest had twenty-five men. The overseer greeted him, “We’ve been at it for five days.” Yet practically nothing had been cleared.

The bear’s son stared at the enormous trees all around him. They reminded him of the forest where he had lived with his mother and his father the bear. He told the men, “I was born in a place like this.” He felt comfortable there, and he walked around, sizing up the trees.

When he got back to the priest, he said, “You have twenty-five men, and they’ve done almost nothing. Give me a fifty-pound machete and I’ll do the work myself.”

The priest went to the blacksmith and ordered the machete. “But who could lift such a thing?” asked the smith. “My beautiful godson!” said the priest. “He’s half a bear and half a man.”

The next morning the workers saw the godson coming with a fiftypound machete and fled in terror. In just one day he cleared the entire two-acre plot, leaving only the largest trees. “For these I’ll need a hundred-pound ax,” he said. So the priest went back to the blacksmith and ordered the ax. The day after that, the trees were felled. The following day he did the burning. The day after that, the planting. And then the weeding. Finally the harvesting.

“My son, you’ve done all this work without any payment,” said the priest.

“What do you mean by ‘payment,’ father?”

“Here!” He took two pesos out of the drawer. “Go get yourself a drink of rum.”

“What’s ‘rum,’ father?”

“Go over to the
cantina.
The
cantinero
will sell it to you.”

He went into the
cantina
and ordered rum. When he returned, he asked his godfather for two more pesos. Then two more, and two more after that. When he’d finished his last glass, he reached for a jug and drained it. “Enough of that!” said the
cantinero.
“I’m calling the authorities.”

“What are ‘authorities’?”

The
cantinero
sent his little boy to bring the police. But the police couldn’t capture the bear’s son. He pulled all the rum off the shelf, five kegs, and finished it up. When he got back to the priest, the
cantinero
and the police were running up behind him. “Don’t worry,” said the priest. “I’ll pay for it. You’ll get your money.” To himself he said, “Money? You won’t get any from me.” Then he thought, “I’ve got to get rid of this godson. What a worker! He’s good. But he’s an animal. I can’t keep him here.”

Out in the bush there were tigers, the worst of them a tigress that had given birth to three cubs. She dragged people to her den to feed the little ones. The priest said to his godson, “Tomorrow morning I want you out in the bush to bring back a cow I’ve got and three calves. Be careful of the cow. She has a hot temper.”

“Father, how do you get a cow to come to you?”

“Call to her,
ton-ton-ton.
”

He got his ropes ready, a long, heavy one and three lighter ones, and went out to the bush.
Ton-ton-ton.
Before he knew it, he’d almost stepped on the tigress. He lassoed her, but she wouldn’t lie still. “She’s just as mean as my godfather said she was.” He punched her, reminding himself, “Easy! I mustn’t kill her. She’s my godfather’s cow.” Punching her gently, he tied her up until she couldn’t move. He jumped! One of the little cubs was behind him, then another and then another. He tied up all three and dragged the four of them back to town. People were gasping. They couldn’t believe what they saw.

“Father, here’s your cow. What a temper! And these calves!” But when he turned his back, the priest called the police. Four shots, and the mother and her cubs lay dead. “Father, what have you done? Poor creatures! I brought them to you so they could live!” He held the animals in his arms. “The little calves, how I loved them! Father, it would have been better to leave them in the bush.” He went to his room and lay down on his bed, angry.

The next day he was still miserable. But the priest wasn’t finished. He said, “Tomorrow I have another job for you. There’s an old farmhouse I own, out in the country. Spend the night there and rid the place of ghosts!” Then to himself he said, “He’ll die of fright. No one who goes there comes back alive.”

The following day the boy set out with a blanket and a machete and reached the old farmhouse shortly after dark. He went in and lay down, and in less than a minute he was snoring. Suddenly he woke up. There was a light in the next room. “Well, it’s about time. My godfather said there were ghosts.”

He put on his shoes and went to investigate. A steer was being hoisted onto a huge dining table. “Whoever you are, out!” said the boy. “This is my godfather’s house.”

“Come eat,” said a voice.

“Not hungry,” said the boy. “I came with a full stomach. And you! Clear out! I’m warning you!” But he could see that the table was nicely set. There were knives all in a row, and already the steer was being carved. The voice kept urging him, “Eat!” He pulled up a chair and in spite of himself ate everything that dropped on his plate. When he’d finished the last mouthful, he felt sleepy again and went back to his blanket. This time he locked the door, but again he was awakened. The voice was calling down to him from the ceiling:

“I’m about to fall!”

“How did you get in here?”

“I’m falling!”

“All right, fall! And get out, so I can sleep.”

An arm dropped to the floor, then another arm.

“What’s this? Piece by piece? Get it over with and clear out, so I can get back to sleep.”

A thigh came down and hit the floor with a thud. Then a shank, then the other thigh and the other shank. Then the head,
pum!
And at once the pieces rejoined and made a man.

“All right, so you pulled yourself apart and now you’re together again. I’m trying to sleep!”

“Don’t you know I’m a ghost?”

“Ghost? I can’t be bothered.”

“Not even if there’s buried treasure? Go cut a pine stick and make me a torch. I’ll show you.”

“Make it yourself.”

The ghost cut a stick and made the torch as best it could. Then it led the boy to where the treasure was hidden. “Here it is, all my silver. It’s for the priest to say a Mass for my sake on the feast of St. Anthony. Whatever is left over is for you.”

“You mean you played those tricks on me just because of this?”

“Yes, because I am a soul in torment.”

“Then go. I’ll take care of the rest.” The ghost disappeared, and the boy went back to his blanket. The next morning, when he saw the priest again, he told the whole story, not forgetting the treasure, and together they went back to the farmhouse with iron tools. The boy showed the priest where he had eaten the steer and where he had slept on the blanket. The priest blessed both rooms, then got out the tools and started digging. The chest was so heavy the boy had to lift it for him. Then he carried it home to the parish house on his back.

When the feast of St. Anthony arrived, the priest said a Mass for the soul in torment, who years before had been owner of the farmhouse. Now the poor soul could rest in the hands of God; and the money, in the hands of the priest, for what was left from the Mass he kept for himself.

And this priest, mind you, did not pay wages. He said, “Dear godson! How hard I’ve made you work! You’ve done everything I’ve asked. It hurts me to think how you could have been killed.”

“It’s all right, father. I’m leaving now.”

“My dear son! If you must! Here, take a few tortillas.” But the boy refused. He was annoyed. He had gotten up angry that morning. And still he said, “Look, you are my godfather. You baptized me. My mother brought me to you for baptism, and you took me in. God protect you.”