Osprey - 10-5-2005 at 12:38 PM
El Requeson Journal
El Indio Obsesionado
There was some genius at work when the cabanas were laid out on the beach. They seemed to be just far enough apart for perfect insulation. One
could walk in front of the line of palm shades and greet and meet the campers as you passed. You could stop and chat, make small talk or not ? the
campers likewise could invite conversation or not with no more than a smile or simple body language. People were either drawn to each other in this
fashion or those that wished to stay completely alone with their own family group could do so with ease.
As for me and those in my company I enjoyed a campfire almost every night. Loreto the camp host was usually among my campfire guests sometimes
accompanied by his brother. His brother sticks in my memory because he was a silly goose of a man ? very effeminate and a little mean. I had to
threaten him with bodily harm to make him release the wing of an injured pelican ? he was dragging the poor creature along the strand, singing and
grinning as though it were great fun.
The beach, the place, may as well have had the name Two Worlds because as darkness fell I lost the joy of my sunny water wonderland; the whole
improbable movie set was replaced by the tiny circle of light from the fire - a world unto itself, all the mysteries a night can hold were pulled
in out of the darkness by our talk and our music. We felt safe by the fire. Whatever evil lurked out there in the darkness would not dare to come
near our fire.
We were wrong about that. A long-haired man in his forties, an Indian, made his way to this place and spent some time with our camp host. He was
naturally invited to share our beer, music and company at the evening campfire. The second time he joined in he drank too much and began to chant and
sing; he and acted strangely. The brothers told me he was recently released from prison where he had served a long term for murdering his friend.
They said he was haunted by the ghost of the man he had killed, that no matter where he wandered, the visage of the man would appear in the night to
set flame to his quilt.
As soon as I learned that the man said his ghost took on different characters I took the Indian?s machete, gave it to Loreto and asked him to hide it
until daylight. He left the circle of light and when he returned he was empty handed. He and his brother took the drunken Indian back to their
cabana to sleep it off. I put out the fire and retired. Around midnight I was able to interpret the ?drunken Indian murderer creeping around? sounds
as less chilling ?beach dogs in the garbage? sounds.
The next morning the man was gone. So was the machete. Loreto asked me how I knew the Indian had killed the other man with a machete? I had seen
his leathery fingers touching the knife as he chanted but I gave Loreto no answer.
bajaden - 10-5-2005 at 12:57 PM
Well thats the last time I'm camping at Requeson.
good stuff...
eetdrt88 - 10-5-2005 at 12:58 PM
i dig your writing style
Bedman - 10-6-2005 at 01:22 AM
"all the mysteries a night can hold were pulled in out of the darkness by our talk and our music."
A Wonderful turn of words and I liked the story too!!
Bedman