El Jacho
Adaptation from Puerto Rican Folktale

Part I

Yauco, Puerto Rico, Summer 1898

That day, the blazing sun crowned the tropical skies in Sierra Alta. Venancio rolled the sleeves of his white cotton shirt and rubbed his forehead while staring at the mirage floating above the grassy path leading to his house. Frowning, he gazed up to the blue that was not blue anymore in such a clear day, instead, it was a gradient of yellow, ocre, scarlet, and pink. A jibaro (1) knew well, to decipher the language of nature was in his genes... The colors of an approaching storm.

Carrying on shoulders the sack filled with viands, the man hustled up the hill, machete in hand, towards his humble home. Above his head, herons flocked to perch in the woods. "Did you see the sky, Carmela? Allá viene el temporal (2)". Concerned, he told his wife.

"I'll go down to the well to collect some water. We must pile up some firewood. We have little time", there was an evident sense of urgency in her voice.

As predicted, five hours after, the tempest arrived. First, it was just evening showers, as it was usual in the countryside, but when the first gusts stroke, they knew it was not any kind of storm, but a hurricane. While the sun set down, they watched the circular movement of the grey and plump in rain clouds. Lightning breaking in the distance, rumbling, echoing on the mountain slopes. Venancio secured the best he could the door with la tranca (3), then rushed to sit next to his wife and son in a corner on the floor, far from the door and windows, already clacking to the wind, threatening to open anytime soon. Crying, Carmela prayed to all the saints she recalled while cradling her son in arms.

Outside the storm roared, winds howling like a mad wolf. Rain sounded like rocks being tossed to the house. Rumbling thunders echoed on the mountain slopes... Somewhere in the farm a tree cracked. Then another. Inside the house, the family, cuddled in the same corner, shivering by the feet of the large oak crucifix hanging on the wall. To the terrifying sound of zinc plates tearing off a neighbor's roof, Venancio fell to his knees, grabbing Jesus' wooden feet and prayed fervently to the Calvary to end, for his house to remain unharmed. From that moment to an hour more, the farmer prayed, when finally the storm eased.

With daylight, reality slapped heavily with mourn and sorrow. Despair was resonant, as it wailed and cried in the voices of the people. There was nothing but the devastation in the barrio. Across the dirt road, neighbors removed piles of debris to rescue those buried underneath, screaming for help, or to find their deaths. Atop the hills, a few roofless houses stood, when most were just shattered wood and hay.

Zinc plates curled like paper laid on the dirt, or hung from the tree branches. With tears in their eyes, people from the barrio stared at the once lushly cultivated hills, now barren soils, browned and burnt by ocean water sprayed all over by the forceful winds. Still, amidst so much desolation, Venancio and Carmela thank God their house was one of the few standing, and they were alive.

Storm passed, and so days went by, still it did not bring calm, but unleashed chaos for the islanders. With no fruitful trees left to give food or shelter, heat was unbearable. It was almost impossible to get water from the clogged with mud wells, and the little they got was not potable. When sun set it was that real martyrdom began. Swarms of mosquitoes plagued the nights while darkness brought all kinds of terrors: wild beasts roaming at their will, the same way as robbers, desperate people trying to find something to eat, or simply a good to steal.

Things worsened day after day, when food became scarce for Venancio's family and so for the rest of the devastated island. With no firewood or candles left, Carmela urged her husband to find some wood to cook some viands and to warm milk for their son.
Thinking of tearing off some windows or maybe chopping the table made no sense to them. There was only something left in the house that would work out... the oak carved crucifix.

Piece by piece, the relic served to cook or to make some light in the darkest hours. It was by times a torch, others a bonfire, or burned into charcoal to boil water and to prepare a soup until the last inch of the crucifix was reduced to ashes.

A month after the hurricane, to make matters worse, a plague hit the island. Lots of people perished to the epidemic outbreak. Many were the victims when death knocked at the barrio's door, amongst those were Venancio's wife and son. Inconsolable, the man buried them in the hillside, where mírame lindas (4) bloomed for the first time after the storm, only to mark the burial site.

Like a series of unfortunate events for the farmer, in the blink of an eye, Venancio's life changed from a happy humble life in his beloved campo (5) with his family to being alone and with little left. He'd lost everything he got. Poor man, sadness was a too heavy burden to carry on shoulders. Sorrow and penury was bigger than his faith, and there's was no crucifix to hold onto anymore. Venancio's health deteriorated with time, until one day, he was found dead, laying on the rug of mírame lindas over his wife and son's graves.

Part II

Adjuntas, Puerto Rico, Summer 2018

"Done. Tent is set", as if winning some sort of competition, being enough struggle to assemble that thing, a smile grew on the young man's face while boasting on completing the task.

"About time", arching eyebrows, his fiancée tested the shelter's stability by shaking it a bit.

"What. Next time you put the tent up Dennisse. Let's see if you can do it by yourself." Twitching his mouth, he approached her.

"Com'on, Jordan. Don't start with the machista thing. You know that anything you do, I'll do it better." Letting escape a chuckle, the brunette tied her long hair into a ponytail, sashaying her way towards the edge of the cliff. "Doesn't it look beautiful? See those colors in the sky. Sunsets are gorgeous." From above, she stared down at the coastal plains, where the sun kissed the horizon, beyond the sea.

Jordan wrapped his arms around her waist and both contemplated absentmindedly the stunning spectacle nature gave them. "Idyllic... just a preamble to what we will have tonight. This weekend is just for us babe." He placed a kiss on her cheek and turned her to face him with gentleness.

Soon the stars appeared like blinking freckles on the night's dark face. The moon, an opalescent crescent, peeped from behind the mountains. Sitting in front of the camping tent, the couple finished working on a bonfire when something glowing down the slope caught Jorda's attention. "Hey, what's that light down there. Weird place to light a fire... Oh wait, it's moving!" What seemed to be a floating torch, meandered in the darkness amidst bushes and trees, on the hill's craggy slope.

"That's el Jacho", stern her face, Dennisse neared to the cliff to have a better look.

"El what?"

"It's an urban legend... more than a century ago, a powerful hurricane hit the island, plundering and leaving behind only devastation and famine. It happened to a farmer, named Venancio, like everyone else in this region, he lost everything. Having no wood no make a bonfire to coof or to light in the desolated and dark nights in the countryside, he chopped, piece by piece a crucifix carved by his father and blessed by the Cardinal himself, a relic. Tragedy soon fell upon him, as it was a sacrilege what he did with the cross. His son and wife died of a terrible disease and, the poor man died of sadness, lonely... The story says that the day he went to heaven, God Himself received him, but cursed him, making his soul come back to earth. His wrecked ghost would not rest in peace until he'd collected all the ashes from the burnt relic."

"Wow, that's a heck of a legend. Never heard of it."

"People in the campo claims to see El Jacho pretty often. It's a common phenomenon in this part of the island. They see that floating torch, his torch illuminating the paths taken until he gathers the ashes from the cross."

"Jeez, it gave me goosebumps... Look! It's gone."

"Yup. Maybe it was just a swarm of fireflies... see, there's one on the grass... cutie little thing."

"Com'on, let's make some chocolate and s'mores. Enough with the creepy stories for the night." Looking in a backpack, the man took out a pot, a bottle of water and the rest of the ingredients.

Sitting next to each other by the bonfire, the young couple talked aimlessly, drinking hot cocoa and eating s'mores. "Be back. Need to go pee", Jordan put the mug on the ground and after taking the flashlight and the hiking stick with him, he went behind the bushes.

After exhaling a long breath, his body relaxed, relieved, he zipped his pants up and grabbed the lantern from the branch he'd placed it on. Behind him, Jordan heard some noises, as if footsteps on the leafy floor, breaking dry twigs on the floor. "Denisse?", he called... "Denisse, is that you? It's not funny babe." Slowly, he veered. Flashlight fell off his hand to the ground making a thumping sound, it's light buried into the rug of humid leaves and grass. In his shaky hand, he held the walking stick, pointing to the darkness. Footsteps came louder, closer, still he saw no one... nobody holding the approaching floating torch.

Jordan swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, someone was coming. Terrified, he retreated instead of running, but his back met a tree. He saw then, the torch didn't float, but it was a ghastly figure carrying it, bony fingers tightly holding. In his other hand, the specter dragged a sack, and a rustic axe. "El Jacho", the name choked in his throat.

******

WattMulticultural

(1) jíbaro - White skinned farmer (descendants from Spaniards) who lived in the countryside of Puerto Rico.

(2) Allá viene el temporal - There comes the storm.

(3) la tranca - heavy wood beam used to secure houses doors and windows.

(4) mírame lindas - Native flowers of the island of Puerto Rico. Small and colorful they grow in the countryside by the hills or mountain sides.

(5) campo - countryside