Osprey - 5-4-2009 at 06:42 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 who 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 – once I caught him dragging one 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 –
keening and swaying it was obvious he was no longer with us, in his own world. 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
the Indian’s long leathery fingers touching the knife as he chanted. Loreto waited just long enough to wave away the few bobos from his face, finally
walked away without an answer.
Neal Johns - 5-4-2009 at 07:29 PM
You are at it again! Telling good stories. Keep it up.
Neal
Pescador - 5-4-2009 at 08:17 PM
You know, for a little while, I forgot about all the doctor's visits, lab work and conferences, and ended up on the beach watching and observing. If
I wake up with sand in the bed, I really won't be surprised.
bajalera - 5-5-2009 at 09:16 AM
Another good one, Osprey.
DanO - 5-5-2009 at 09:44 AM
Hitting on all cylinders, as usual. Thanks.
GeoRock - 5-6-2009 at 07:52 AM
Enjoyable read!
sourdough - 5-6-2009 at 09:15 AM
Has the book already been published? Title, please!
Osprey - 5-6-2009 at 09:19 AM
sourdough, Not a book. I write a lot of these short fiction pieces. In this case the story was true, just a little snapshot of one of my camping trips
long ago to Bahia Concepcion. Want more little stories punch "Search", put in my name, Osprey and you'll find many about Mexico and Baja California.
Thanks to all for the compliments. (complements?), (couple of mints?). Not fully awake yet this morning.
[Edited on 5-6-2009 by Osprey]