El Caballero De Negro (The Gentleman in Black)
(As Once Told by Juan Eloy Quito Pizarro de Checa, Translated From Spanish By Marwin David Q)
My child, let me tell you about my father, a real man of the wood. I cannot tell you exactly when this all happened, because this story goes further back than the thought of my existence. Listen! This all happened at a time when your great-grandfather was building a new shed atop of the hills in Checa, Cuenca. These are the same hills that lie past the small creek in front of our house. He aspired to build a small house that could watch the fields on the other side of the hills. Those magnificent slopes, they were indeed my father's. Today those hills belong to your uncle and he owes much of his thanks to his grandfather. Listen!
I'd be lying if I told you that he built that house by himself. A man is a man, but he's only got two hands. That's why he found some workers at the town square. He says that they stood, as if they were waiting, in front of the church at the center of town. Your great-grandfather was very indebted to the Lord. Every Sunday, he was there in the pews ready to receive the mass and recite his prayers. That's why he knows that those men were a God-send. Not because of their availabilty, but because of the fact that they sought no payment from him. But like every honorable man, he resolved to compensate them in some manner.
At the end of one day, he and his men were still hard at work. So that same night he descended from the top of the hill and began walking up the dirt road that lay at the bottom. He was going to buy each of those men a drink. This was all he could repay them with. And so he walked up the road en route to the brewer's house. Need I remind you that it was night? He was walking rather fast. The bandits were there watching him and he knew it, but these men would only attack the valuable men. To them he was just another dirty man on his way to no place in particular. He was also walking fast because he was going to take another way back. A longer return trip lay ahead of him. Walking another road was the only hope he had of returning alive with a handful of drinks in his grasp. He was a smart man, my father.
Still en route, he eventually reached this rock at the top of the ascending road. My child, this was no ordinary rock. It was a rock of all rocks, a king among boulders. Today there is no rock. If you go there today you will only find a church in its place. It's construction was a pathetic attempt by the people to silence the spirits that were housed in that rock. Let me tell you that this very church is haunted by demons today. They roam inside its halls shrouded in veils and robes, and the priests themselves can confirm this to you. But before this church, there was the Devil's rock. The same rock of dark and cold visions, the same one with laden with spectral beasts.
Once my father saw the rock he ran as fast as he could on the road. It was best for him not to stick around for too long. So he continued his treck on the road as it began to go up a hill once again. Even darker by now, he was halfway up and almost at the brewer's house when he reached the entrance gates of the town cemetary. My father was perplexed to see an older, pale-haired man with a concerned look on his face standing at these gates. This man was perhaps a creole. Draped in an upper class cape, he wore a sharp, black suit, and a top hat was fastened on his head. It was then that he caught my father's eyes and called out to him.
"Good evening sir! Can I trouble you for a short while?"
And my father as reluctant as ever just shook his head. But this gentleman was somewhat persistent in his tone.
"Listen, I am a man of good wealth. I swear to you, that I will make it worth your while if you can help me out."
From the looks and the gallantry of the man, he did in fact seem true to his word. My father slowly walked towards the gate. "What do you need sir?"
"My friend, I have a box here. I was wondering if you could carry it for me."
My father looked down on the ground and to his surprise he spotted a wooden box at the man's feet. From the looks of it, it seemed like this box held a body. His mind went wild with thoughts as to what the box held. But perhaps this man was just too old to carry a loved one's coffin to the right place. If things were good, this was surely the case.
"Look sir. I want to help you, but I'm merely travelling the road to get drinks for my workers, and it's getting late."
With an odd disposition, the gentleman smiled at my father.
"My brother! You are in such luck. You see, the brewer you seek is all out of drink, but I know of another house further back on this road. The drinks there are cheap and if you help me, I promise that I'll make it worth your while."
My father confided in his words and agreed to help.
"So tell me. Where am I to take this box?"
"I just need you to take it down the hill on which we stand. But we won't be able to take the road back down. Trust me son and just pick up the box."
A little nervous, my father leaned over to pick up the box and found it surprisingly heavy. The box was definitely filled with something.
"Good. Now just begin to go downhill. I'll follow you from behind and help you out if you need me too."
It was a long trip down the hill and my father feared dropping the box. But for some odd reason, at times, the box felt empty. At other times, the box weighed a little bit. Then it would be heavy again. Something strange was afoot. Then my father reached a big rock at the foot of the hill. A rock that you should know well by now. My father was frightened at the sight of it. He quickly began to make his way around it, but the gentleman had other plans.
"Sir! Where are you going? We are here!"
My father wanted to just leave the box and run, but he obeyed humbly.
"Do I just leave it here?"
"Not just yet. We need to get it on top of this rock."
"I'm sorry?"
"Are you alright boy? Listen, it won't be too hard. I'll be right behind you to give you a hand with it so don't worry about falling."
Despite the gentleman's assuring tone, my father was afraid. But he was a strong and courageous man. With his hands gripped on the boulder, my father began to climb the smaller rocks around it, heaving himself upwards effortlessly. Once he reached the top of that rock, he realized how on the way up the box had felt like a bag of air on his back. He was mystified at what he had done. His mind was racing with fear as the old man made it to the top of the rock as well.
"My brother! You can place the box right there were you are. I am very grateful for this favor you have done for me."
My father reluctantly put down the box and felt like jumping off the rock without thinking.
"I had told you that I would make this worth your while and I will be true to my word. Listen to me well. You will head back down this road until you reach a certain bridge over the creek on the side of the road. This particular bridge will have a good set of bottles on the ground nearby. You will know it when you see it. Take these bottles, cross the bridge, and follow the small path until you get to the home. The drinks there will be free."
Dumbfounded, my father thanked the gentleman with a handshake. He then climbed off the rock and slowly walked away in amazement of his safety. Not too long afterward, he heard a hysterical laugh emanate from the top of the rock. This was followed by the sound of a box being kicked and tossed into a deep pit. My father turned around to see the man atop the rock gone, along with the box. Without thought, he ran down the road as fast as he could. Scared for his life he ran like a wild horse. He continued, until he saw the bridge, with the bottles on the ground nearby. Today, bottles are worth nothing to your generation, but in my day bottles were a treasure. It was a miracle to find a bottle lying around, especially a whole set of them! My father took the bottles and rand down the bridge and the small path ahead. He was eager to get this over with. The men inside the home there were already anticipating him as they gave him enough drink to last the whole night. After further running, he eventually reached his hill once again. By some miracle, the bandits had not touched him this time either. And so he repayed his workers with drink, and this incredible story of the Gentleman in black.
-Juan Eloy Quito Pizzaro was my grandfather and told me this story when I was sixteen. His father died when he was only eight years of age. My grandfather passed away in 2005 and was buried in the same cemetary mentioned in this story.
Information on CuencaPhotos and Visuals of Ecuador
Posted by bornofchicago
at 12:30 AM CST
Updated: Sunday, 2 April 2006 1:02 AM CST
