The Duende

Emerson Welch was a low-level bank associate working at a small neighborhood branch of a major financial institution. Each day he performed his responsibilities as supposed. At the end of each workday he’d return to a modest urban home where he resided with his mother. Once in his room he would sit in quiet contemplation, waxing poetic his indifference to his mother’s relentless nagging. Mostly about his not practicing enough.

He guessed she had a point. Then again, her premature proclamation of him being a child prodigy had overwhelmed him since middle school. And to his way of thinking, what doomed him right from the start. Lord knows it wasn’t from lack of trying. Eerily, no matter which instrument he chose he would always come to that dreaded stop. Right where achievement should give way to sheer natural talent. For him, no such luck.

Regardless, he understood his mother’s concern. Like any mom from Jersey, she wanted her son to be tough and adequately successful. To date, he was only in half compliance. Now, at the near over-the-hill age of twenty-seven, he admitted privately it was now or never where his aspirations of stardom were concerned. Why he had plans on going out for the evening.

There was a knock at his door after a while. Momma Welch enters, cocktail glass in hand. A well-preserved, pleasantly plumb, card carrying member of the Out-Spoken Mothers Society.

“So, what sad story do you have for me today? Still no promotion, I bet.”

Head already lowered in submission of the fact; Emerson need only nod affirmative. “No Momma. Not yet. But Mister Redman said I’m being considered along with two others from various branches throughout the area. Who knows, this might be the time. Hope so, anyway.”

“That’s BS and you know it. They’ll pass you over like always. Maybe if you showed some appreciation for all your God given talent, he’d allow you to make some progress with your music lessons. It would sure be better than that strange migration of sour notes coming from this room every night.”

Momma Welch pulled from her glass, then concluded her thoughts. “You know son, you could be writing an opera, or symphony…something. Hell, I’d settle for a Rap song at this point. Anything but you are wasting away at that lousy bank. You know you’d be president of that branch by now if you gave a damn about that type work. You’re not fooling me for a second young man. I know it’s music you truly care about.”

That said, Momma Welch walked over to where her son was seated and pulled him up by the chin to face her. “You’re smart and full of talent like your father was. Maybe not as worldly and self-confident. But not as full of shit either, thank God.”

Emerson showed a faint smile. “I know Momma, I know. You always say that. It’s just that when it comes time for me to play—especially in public—I get nervous. Right after that my fingers go numb and useless. I’m pretty sure the old-man didn’t have that problem.”

Momma Welch took another sip of her drink, considering, then pursed her mouth in disagreement. “Poppycock. He left us high and dry. Sorry bastard didn’t even come back for his own mother’s funeral. Not to mention your graduation from college. I know deep down your father loved me. But you can be so much better. Listen to your mother, I should know. I only let you have his brains and musical talent. I was careful not to conceive you with the slightest trace of his cold heart and selfish soul. Or any other BS inside of him for that matter. Just the brains and talent—remember that. The other stuff you got from me”

Emerson had to laugh. “And uncle Lou.”

Momma Welch frowned in agreement. “Oh yes, I forgot. Lord knows that’s where you got your bad temper. I suspect all that Karate has chipped his brain. Nowadays he’d just as soon smack you one rather than waste time arguing. I tell you sweetheart, there’s nothing more dangerous than a hippie with an agenda and a short fuse.”

Emerson looked at her indulgently and smiled. “As I recall, it was karate that saved you that night the muggers tried to rob you’ll on your way to the subway. You came straight home and told he was teaching me the martial arts, starting the very the next day.”

“Yes, I remember. I also remember you breaking that poor kid’s arm in the tournament he entered you into. Doubt that child’s arm ever healed right. Darn thing looked like a pretzel made of silly putty.”

Emerson looked away momentarily, then back at his mother, embarrassed now. “Well in all honesty, it wasn’t all by accident. Truth is, Uncle Lou and I didn’t like the way his father was checking you out at the weigh in.”

Momma Welch looked on in amazement. “Then that explains it.”

“What, Momma?” Emerson asked, not understanding her look of enlightenment.

“I always wondered why the man started out flirting like gangbusters. Then nothing after the incident. Evidently everyone knew you did it on purpose but me. And all this time I thought I was losing my sex appeal. When it was you and your crazy uncle scaring the bejesus out of every man that looked my way.”

“Pretty much Momma. But it really ticked me off. More than it should have I guess—and why I haven’t gone there in a while. I guess that’s why you stopped your instructions too.” Emerson paused for a second, then added, “Got my black belt though.”

“Yes, you did. And even with the incident I was still very proud. And you’re right. I lost interest after that.”

Emerson immediately turned serious. “Since we’re on the subject of Uncle Lou, I might as well tell you, he’s picking me up tonight. He has someone he wants me to meet from the Dojo. This lady from Brazil that teaches this different form of martial arts. She’s only been there a couple weeks and she’s already beaten every man and woman there. Uncle Lou said, him included. And stranger still…”

Emerson stopped abruptly, confused by the faraway look in his mother’s eyes. Baffled further when she stepped around him and sat down heavily on the side of the bed.

“Go on.” She said, using a thinly veiled exhilarated tone.

“Uncle Lou said he’d heard stories about such people for years. Then finally met one during his time in special forces training duty. He said, while his unit was doing some jungle warfare training in conjunction with the Brazilian military. Anyway, he told me this wild story about her having some type of influence over a person’s learning ability. That he’d seen firsthand how she’d change people for the better. Especially those in the arts. And if there was anyone who could help me, it’s her. And believe me, Momma—I’m only going because its Uncle Lou telling me this.” After that his words gave way to silent thoughts.

Now looking his mother straight in the eye, he asked, “What do you think?”

Momma Welch leaned forward, frowning in playful wonderment. “Well, if it’s true, she’s probably from Cleveland.”

“I’m serious Momma. Uncle Lou wasn’t joking when he told me the story.”

“Sorry Sweetheart. Go on, finish telling me what your uncle said.”

“So, where was I? Oh yeah, Uncle Lou says most people think—if they do exist—they’re not human at all. But some undying personage from the spirit world. But in a good way. And, sometimes not so good.”

Momma Welch only shrugged. “Don’t worry. Just see what happens. You never know. Your Uncle Lou knows a lot about this type thing. Just do what he says, sweetheart. But remember, when you meet her, be polite and pay attention.

With that his mother exited the room, heading for the kitchen to freshen her drink. She took a seat at the kitchen table afterward. Thinking. Hoping. Then praying. Not long after there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it.

“Hello Louis, good to see you.”

The man in the doorway wore jeans and a checkered shirt, a long-weathered leather duster concealing most of his attire. Hair hanging mid-way of his back.

“Hey-there Candice. Good to see you too.”

“Come in and have a seat. Emerson is getting ready.”

Momma Welch continued once they were seated. “He told me about the girl. Do you really think she can do it?”

Louis reared back in his seat, taking time to rearrange the position of the rubber band in his long hair. “Positive. But…”

Momma Welch didn’t care for his hesitation. “But what?”

“It’s risky Candice, I’m not going to lie to you. She’s very powerful. She has ways of getting deep inside someone’s mind. Then she punishes you if she doesn’t like what she finds there. But, judging by everything I’ve seen her do at the Dojo, I’d say yes.”

Momma Welch let out a sigh. “Well, we have to try. I wanted to tell him I knew about her, but he was so excited when he was telling me what you said I didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. But did she really beat everyone down there?

Louis was livid. “Hell-yeah. Smoked them all like it was nothing. She does the dance as though she invited it.”

Momma Welch reared up in her seat. “You mean…?” “Yes. That dance—Capoeira. And to tell you the truth, she found me. Walked in the Dojo as though she was seeking me out, rather then the other way around. Strolled right up to me and told me she wanted to teach a less intense version of it to my students. And that crap about them all looking like elves is Bullshit. This one is pretty.”

Getting to her feet, Momma Welch said, “Then let her teach him. Just try to look out for him. I’ll see what’s keeping him. Make yourself a drink. Bottle’s in the kitchen cabinet. You know where.”

Forty minutes later, Emerson and Louis arrived at the Dojo near the end of the last class. The instructor was a female, long straight hair, slight of build, her glaciated countenance on full display. Seeing them approach she clapped her hands to gain attention of the class. After the appropriate bows they quietly dispersed and gathered their things to leave. When the last student disappeared in the night, Louis latched the door.

As soon as the lock clicked tight the instructor’s head snapped toward Louis with the speed of a triggered mouse trap. His underwear shrank tight around his crouch right after. Her eyes dismantling his strains to resist. Now attempting to captivate him, control him, revoke all will to resist. His Jockeys ever tightening.

Seeing their expressions, she thought it best to explain. “Easy. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. But then, that may change…it’s up to you.”

Turning in a jet-propelled motion she faced a nervous Emerson. “Easy young one. Easy. I’m just explaining the possibilities. It’s up to you to decide on which road I take. So, calm down please. We must go easy or you’ll make mistakes.”

Emerson immediately felt a surge of unidentifiable emotion pass through his body. The feeling intensified as he drew closer to her. Stronger still when they came face to face. For the first few moments he remained fixated on her unorthodox beauty. Just gawked and stared admiringly. Until he realized he couldn’t disconnect from her glare. After exerted just about all his inner strength he finally pulled away.

He quickly surmised it was her eyes that overpowered him. Eyes the color of the Caribbean on the water’s clearest day. Eyes that took mere seconds to reengage him, this time moving him far out of reality as he knew it. mesmerizing him to a near catatonic state. So enthralling in their power of connection he hadn’t noticed his uncle had left and locked the door behind him.

Abruptly, she released him from his trance. Leaned in close to his face to speak, using a soft regal tone.

“My name is Maycan. And you, young man, think yourself worthy of talent improvement. Any you very well may. That is after all, what brought me to you. The question is, do you deserve such a gift? And what can you offer me in payment? At present, I am not sure of either. We will talk awhile to determine that. But believe me, young one, before you leave, I will know. And whether you leave with you request fulfilled, or, hopping like a toad is totally up to me. So—go slow. Choose wisely. You must be sure.”

“Yes ma’am.” Emerson did his best to appear relaxed, but even he knew Maycan believing it was a stretch.

“Don’t worry young-one, please—let me explain. Are you familiar with those known as the Duende?”

Having read an article or two on the subject from the bookcase at home, he was. “Yes ma’am. They’re elf’s kind of. Trouble making elf’s to be exact.”

Maycan had to laugh. “Troublemakers…okay, yes, more times than not. But tell me, young one—do I strike you as some pointed eared, insignificant life oddity that roams around tipping over flowerpots?”

Emerson took several steps back. “Oh, no ma’am. No. I’m just telling you what the books say.”

“I understand young-one. And books certainly have their place. But history books carry no guarantee it’s the whole truth that binds them. They sometimes leave things out. Important things. You see, a writer’s world will always be limited to the words available to describe it. The Duende’s thoughts have no such limitations.  

She paused, pointing to the dressing room. “Go change. Your wish is to gain control over the instruments you handle. Fine then, you will be better prepared to do so after you learn the dance. Now go. Your Karategi is where is always is.”

For the next four hours she instructed him in the martial art known as Capoeira. The Afro-Brazilian martial art that entwines elements of acrobatics and dance, set to music. Emerson was a natural and quickly mastered all the complex movements, inverted kicks and all. When the lesson was over they bowed and faced each other. Maycan was first to speak.

“Well young one. You learn fast. That is good. Now hold out your hands.”

Emerson complied immediately. Maycan did a Mach Speed pirouette, displaying a long sword as if from nowhere. She watched his reaction as she raised the deadly weapon above her head as if to strike. Emerson remained erect, eyes focused straight ahead, He stood there unfazed, arms still stretched out as commanded. Hands as steady as those of a neurosurgeon.

“Good young one. Good.”

With that she spun around again. Now, holding a Fender Acoustic guitar in place of the sword. Handing to him, she raised an eyebrow, causing the lights to go dim.

She took a seated position directly in front of him and said, “Play, young one. Play.”

And that he did. From instrument to instrument. Making beautiful music the moment Maycan made them appear. He played on until sunrise. Maycan observing him closely throughout. As the sun beckoned she got up and strolled over by the big picture window, gazing out into the street. Then she turned to him.

“So young one, are you satisfied with your gift?”

Emerson shot her a satisfied grin. “Oh yes ma’am. Very happy.”

“Good, Very good. Now, let us discuss the cost, shall we.”

Emerson approached her with respect. “Yes ma’am. What do you want in return?”

Maycan looked him up and down. “I have bestowed on you an unimaginable gift that will make you famous the world over. That is what you wanted, correct?”

“Yes.” Emerson quickly replied.

“Fine. And just to be fair, as my payment, I ask only for the second most valuable thing in your house. Whatever is second most important, that is what I will take. And you will never see or hear from me again. Agreed?”

Knowing his most valuable asset was his instruments Emerson saw no reason to refuse the condition. Knowing any of those items could be easily replaced.

“Yes ma’am. Agreed.”

“Good, young one. Good. You go home now and give the family the happy news. I’ll see you there in one hour exactly. Go now.”

Precisely one hour later Maycan appeared at the front door of Emerson’s house. He invited her in and introduced her to his mother. Anxious to be on her way, Maycan suggested they conclude their business in private. As soon as Momma Welch exited the room she went on.

“Young one, all I need for you to do is relax. This exchange will be fast, fair, and final. Now relax and close your eyes. Think of all things important to you. I will take only the thing that comes second.”

Emerson smiled agreement, then tilted his head back in peaceful consideration. He sat comfortably, for a time. Allowing all the possibilities to rush through his head. Finally opening his eyes after concluding his thoughts on the subject.

“Okay, I think I made my choice. The electric piano.  It’s in my bedroom. Let me get it.”

Maycan raised a hand to stop him. “No need. I saw your thoughts. I have what I came for. I’ll be leaving now.”

Emerson jumped to his feet, totally confused. “But I don’t understand, I didn’t give you anything.”

Maycan paused and put a hand on his shoulder. “Of course you did, young one. You gave me what was second.” Smiling, she added, “So did your father. Strange, I thought you’d choose as he did.”

Maycan closed the door behind her. Emerson called out to his mother, hoping she could shed some light on Maycan’s comment. She didn’t answer.