Outwitting El Duente

She ran happily with the river, trying to keep up with the floating little boats she made from twigs and cottonwood leaves. Stretching out her arms, she imagined herself as water, pouring over stubborn rocks, flowing with the fish, and making ripples to keep the creepy water spiders away. She was blissfully one with the river, until a few minutes later realizing the thing she feared the most was waiting just around the bend.

At 14-years old, Carolina still wore long braided pigtails. She lived her life in a duality of childlike adventure and adult responsibilities that reflected a motherless family. One hour she was running the fields barefoot and climbing trees, the next hour, she was cooking on the old wooden stove, serving her father and two little brother’s dinner. She made due from whatever she could pull from the garden, but worried about the fate of the farm and her father’s health.

He was old and because of this, her Aunt would soon come up from New Mexico to take over their care. Carolina had mixed feelings for her Auntie Lita. She dismissed her idea of going to college and called them “foolish Carolina dreams”. Auntie outlived 3 husbands and had 7 sons. Carolina never understood why her dreams seemed to be so absurd to Auntie. She vowed to never have the same pinch of bitterness that seemed to permanently rest between Auntie’s bushy eyebrows. She predicted that once Auntie Lita was settled on the farm, her first order of business would be to get her married off to someone from “a good family somewhere in the Valley.” Carolina brushed the thought aside, and picked up her pace with the river, running away from adult responsibilities and into the embrace of a playful summer day.

Sprinting around a tree to keep up with her cottonwood boats, Carolina abruptly stopped, spotting the old rickety bridge which lead to town. She never crossed it alone and always held her father’s hand while riding over it. The fear had nothing to do with the bridge’s weathered appearance and everything to do with the legend of “El Duende” (the Goblin). He supposedly lived under any given bridge in the valley. Sitting on a large boulder in the middle of the river, she generously cupped some fresh mountain water to drink and plan her next move. She certainly didn’t want to go near it and continued to dip her hands in, when all the sudden, she noticed her beaded bracelet was starting to unravel. Its intricate pattern of colored beads broke free, the symmetrical designs now flowing into a state of undress from a worn thread which held them together. She froze in shock for a few seconds, then frantically tried to catch them as they continued to spill into the river.

Despaired, she cried out, “Oh nooooo!” Her mother made her the colorful bracelet, which she never took off. Hopelessly, she watched as the beads created a surreal scene of multi-colored dots, carelessly bobbing up and down, swirling into small whirlpools, waving farewell as they tucked themselves into the rapid waters. Carolina waded in after them, desperately trying to get as many as possible. After minutes of wading through the river, she realized it was hopeless. Rubbing her wrist in consolation, she realized she was now waist deep in the river, and worse yet, surprised to find the bridge above her.

Gasping, she lifted her legs and sought refuge at a nearby river bank. The mud made each step deeper, but her determination was no match. Just as she was about to reach land, her intuition indicated it was too late. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up, as a tiny chuckle from behind grazed lightly at her ears.

“Hello there, Carolinaaaaaa.” She froze, unsure whether to turn around or run. The voice had a wet gurgle to it, making her feel uneasy. Quickly, she took a leap for land and swung around to face what she had always feared.

An odd little man was sitting, perched on a tree branch that curved over the river, just 20 feet away. His toes barely touched the water while he rocked back and forth in rhythm with the water. He lifted his chin to a nod, then he bowed his head as if she were an acquaintance from a formal time.

He looked exactly the same way the storytellers said he would. His skin was grey and grossly coarse with pot marks like the surface of a cantaloupe. He was short and had a prickly stature. Carolina moved her mouth to speak, but lost the courage to reply. Still swaying, he jovially stated, “No need to fear me child. I have no use to suck the blood out of your pure young heart.” His crass assurance made her gasp. He laughed at his remark and kept his eyes locked on her, knowing she wanted to run away.

She was mesmerized by his unusual features. His long grey hair oozed over his shoulders and formed into a smooth white beard, which was stained around the mouth.  His bright eyes were the same shade of grey found in burning coal. But it was his set of fangs that unsettled her. They were long, thin, and displayed a sickly hue of yellow. The fangs on top were longer than the ones below. The flatness of his face and wide nose only served as a canvas to all of his peculiar features.

At that moment, it hit Carolina that the story was true. The legend of El Duente was not a folktale, it was right here in front of her. No one warned her about what she should do if she ever came face-to-face with him. She just knew from all the campfire chats, that it would be a very bad thing. The story was that he collected souls. She wanted to run, but knew it wouldn’t help. He had finally caught her under his bridge. There was no getting out of what was about to happen.

Gathering up the courage to speak, she asked, “How do you know my name?”

“Carolina!” he replied in an offended tone. “I have been here since the day you were born on the farm. I know everything about you and your family”. Kicking away a water spider from his foot, he said menacingly, “I mean no harm.”

 “Are you El Duente?” she asked.

His white bushy eyebrows raised in sync with a playful shrug. Laughing, he replied, “If that is what you want to call me, then it shall be.”

Carolina was startled, but asked, “What do you want of me then?” She tried to come off as fearless, but intuitively she knew this was all just surface banter.

Amused, he stated, “I have a proposal for you Carolina.” With one leap, he swung up into the tree and grabbed a leather sack from another branch. “I am going to grant you one wish!” The way he said “one wish” made Carolina’s hair stand up again.

Holding herself up steady she replied, “I don’t want a wish, thank you.”

“Oh, you will want to hear me out! This will change your life forever.” Carolina watched in awe as he pulled out a large piñon nut and tossed it into his mouth. She had never seen piñon nuts that big before— it was the size of at least a ripe blackberry. Gnawing and spitting out a shell, he continued speaking. “All you have to do is cross the bridge…alone. By yourself. And when you meet me on the other side, I will grant you one wish for your bravery.” His enjoyment of the piñons gave him an air of arrogance and subtle gluttony.

Carolina squinted at him with suspicion because she knew it couldn’t be that simple. “There is only one thing you need to do for me—”

“No!” she yelled. The proposal was very familiar to her from the stories she heard. But she knew what was coming. She hoped her objection would miraculously lead to her getting to go home.

He ignored her and looked closely at an empty shell for inspection. “Would you like one? They are from a secret place known to only the ancestors of the land”. Carolina was tempted — she could see that the nuts were roasted perfectly with a thin powdery dusting of salt. Regardless, she shook her head no.

He shrugged and elevated his voice to a theatric delivery. “Imagine your wish coming true! You could be the richest girl in the valley. I could give you hundreds of acres of rich land! You could have as much as your heart desires. It will have plenty of water and rich soil. Your family would be the envy of all, for generations!” Carolina continued to shake her head no.

Dismissing her rejection, he looked up to the sky as if he was reading a list, pointing his finger at all the possibilities. “Oh, but of course! You’re becoming a young woman! I could make a great man fall in love with you! True love! It’s the only way to live a fulfilled life!” He clapped his hands and brought them to his heart in a melancholy fashion.

Carolina shook her head no again and replied, “I don’t need any of those things, I have my father!” He laughed but she noticed he seemed surprised that none of his offers were tempting her.

Sighing, he said, “Well, I have never given this wish before because no fool has ever thought to ask for it.” He paused, and looked at her intensely. “I could give you the map to the treasures that are hidden in the mountains of the Sangre de Cristos.” Carolina’s eyes grew wide. She read about the legend and it was her favorite one. Could this be yet another lore that could actually be true? she thought herself. He noticed her intrigue and was satisfied he hit upon something persuasive.

“You will need at least 3 mules to take out what is in a secret cave.” He pointed at her and stated, “This map is yours, but you must do me one favor after crossing the bridge.” They both stared at each other for a few seconds, knowing there was a catch.

 “You must designate a soul for me to take…but this soul must be someone who is very close to you Carolina.” She looked at him and said with disgust, “A soul? All for a wish? You want me to kill someone?” Although she was aware of the tale, hearing it out loud left her horrified.

He laughed and replied, “Oh, come on now. I don’t expect you to kill anyone.” He lifted his arms and waved in the direction of her home, “Just designate someone who is close to you, and I will do the rest.”

“There is no one close to me I would ever give away! You are terrible!” she replied. 

 “Think about it. Let’s look at your father…he’s an old man. He had you when he was already old. He will pass away from his bad health soon, so why not him?” Carolina was startled and yelled, “NO!” His head cocked to the side, letting her marinate on the thought. “Then what of your Auntie? She has taught you everything you will ever need, she is of no use to you now.”

“You are a sick man! Why must I even give you a wish?” she asked incredulously.

He replied calmly, and proclaimed, “I am not sick Carolina, just cursed from the witches of Los Sauces. I made them very mad at me a long time ago. Now I have to be the collector of souls.” With a deliberate pause, he added, “But I cannot bring back your mother, because she is already dead.” Carolina flinched at the reference to her beloved mother.

Carolina backed away and said, “No, I won’t. Please leave me alone. I don’t want a wish.”

Feigning sadness, he said, “If you don’t choose one, then it’s your soul I will have to take.” She noticed that the black pupils in his eyes seemed to go from round and large to vertical and slim.

Carolina’s knees grew weak when she saw there was no way to escape. Her heart started beating faster and she felt very uneasy. Taking another leap to a nearby boulder, and said, “I will give you a few minutes.”

Carolina wearily sat down and stared back at him. She now knew who it was who killed the rabbits around the garden. It was evident from the permanent reddish-brown stains on his beard.

 “How could I ever make such a judgement to give away a soul?” she asked him. He dismissed the question and announced, “I will give you a few more minutes.” She drew her knees to her chin and stared at the river. She then closed her eyes and thought about his words, “Give me the soul of whomever is closest to you.” The idea of giving one of her loved ones away was incomprehensible. And even giving her own life away was too frightening. “Papi needs me! My brothers need me!” she thought.

Her mother would know what to do. “Always look at the problem differently” she told her once while realizing they were out of butter, and instead reached for the lard she collected in an old tin can. “It is all about how you interpreted the problem”. Carolina imagined her mother saying that

to her at that moment. And it was then that she came up with the answer. She opened her eyes excitedly.

“Are you ready?” he yelled. He was now on the opposite side of the bridge.

“Yes, I am.” she screamed back.

“Marvelous! Come!” he said with a smile.  

Carolina’s knees became weak when she stood up, but the desire for the hidden treasure kept her strong. She proceeded slowly, carefully making her way up the bank and onto the bridge. With each step, she felt even more fear.  Finally, she was a few feet in front of him. 

“Very good!” he smiled at her. “Well then, what is your wish then?” 

Carolina held her chin high and replied, “I would like the map to the Sante de Cristo treasure.” His eyes lit up and he laughed. “It is all yours then.” He handed her a leather map with directions burned into the hide.

Rubbing his hands as if he were warming them over a fire, he continued. “Sadly, someone’s linage is about to stop. It is your turn Carolina. Whose soul shall be taken?”

Carolina took in a deep breath and clasped her hands together as if she were about to pray. Putting them to her mouth, she looked him in the eyes and asked, “You said the person closest to me, correct?” Impatiently he replied, “Yes, yes. Who is it then?”

She looked at him intensely and said, “The soul that I chose to take is...yours.”

His face dropped, but his fangs come out further. Arching his eyebrows, he yelled, “That is not allowed!” He was indignant, but Carolina noticed apprehension in his voice.

Taking a step forward she declared, “Yes, it is.” She felt his eyes burning at her, but continued,

“You said you would grant me a wish when I designated a soul who is closest to me, and right now, you are the closest to me.” She bravely kept her eye contact with him.

He jumped up and declared “No! That is not how it works! Closest meaning in the heart, not the location!” The grey in his face turned a hue of red. Carolina discreetly tucked the leather map behind the bib of her apron.

Furious, he reached for his bow and arrow. “Damn you!”. He drew back and took aim for Carolina. Out of nowhere, a large gust of wind took over, throwing them to the ground. A tiny tornado surreally headed their way and they both froze in shock, paralyzed in surprise. Within seconds, the gust took over as they reached for something steady to hold onto. Carolina grabbed an anchored root nearby. The odd little man screamed while the tornado swarmed itself around his body, furious and deliberate. With each turn, his skin turned into a thin layer of dust while he cried in anger. A dark cloud of grey lava dust blended in, whisking him away to a rocky meadow nearby. It was now quiet and even the river seemed to lower its own voice of trickling waters.

Carolina stood up, startled but relieved. It worked. She couldn’t believe her luck. Reaching for the map to make sure it was still there, she looked toward the meadow with a tinge of guilt. She looked toward her house and thought, “He left me no choice”. Turning around, she sprinted home,

bursting through the door breathless. “Look what I found Papa!” she announced excitedly.

“What?” he asked. Secretly however, he knew that nothing was found, but a wish was granted instead. He saw the whole thing from the window. Once she crossed the bridge alone, he realized that his end might be near. Because he too fell into the El Duente’s trap years ago. His wish was to ask for at least 20 more years of life, until all of his children were grown. His wife insisted they give away her soul, because she was already sick and was told by the doctor her life would be short. 

“A map, Papa! To the Sangre de Cristo’s treasure!” Carolina’s hair was still wild from the wind and her cheeks ripe like an august peach. Knowing he would ask, she continued “It was all a big adventure Papa! Mama guided me!” Looking at the map, he smiled sadly and said, “Yes she did my daughter, yes she did.”