3 Page Essay based on 3 short stories

WHERE AND HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS PONCHO

So there you are, my dear fellow. I lost my head, and

went about riding wild mule with the stirrups dangling

over a girl that came from the country where the devil lost

his poncho."

This was the way my friend Don Adeodato de la

Mentirola concluded the account of one of the adventures

of his youth. Don Adeodato is an old fellow who took up

arms in the royalist cause with Colonel Sanjuanena and

who even today prefers the paternal rule of Fernando VII

to all the republican forms of government, theoretical and

practical, there ever have been or ever will be. Aside from

this weakness or peculiarity, my friend Don Adeodato is a

jewel of great price. There is no one who is better informed

on the subject of Bolivar's philanderings with the ladies of

Lima, or who can quote, with chapter and verse, from the

history of all the old scandals that have taken place in this

City of the Kings. He relates the things with a frankness

and familiarity that is amazing; and as I have an insatiable

curiosity about the life and doings, not of the living, but

of those who have turned to dust and are pushing up the

daisies, I stick to him like a button to a shirt, and I wind

him up, and Don Adeodato unlimbers his tongue.

"Now how and where was it that the devil lost his pon-

cho?” I asked him.

"What! You who write verses, and pretend to be a his-

torian or story-teller, and have things printed in the public

newspapers, and have been a congressman, don't know

what in my days even the two-year-olds knew? That's

what literary fame has become since 'the birth of a na-

tion.' Dry leaves and chaff! Tinsel, nothing but tinsel!"

"I'm sorry, Don Adeodato. But I confess my ignorance

and beg you to enlighten me; to teach those who do not

know is a precept of the Christian doctrine."

Apparently my humility flattered this last leaf upon the

tree from the times of Pezuela and La Serna, for after light

ing a cigarette and sett1ing himself comfortably in an arm-

chair, he began with the story that follows. Of course, as

you all know, neither Christ nor His disciples dreamed of

crossing the Andes (although there are learned historians

who affirm that the apostle Thomas preached the gospel

in America), nor was there such a thing as the telegraph

in those days, or steamboats or printing presses. But just

overlook these and other anachronisms, and here is the

story, ad pedem littere.

I

Well, sir, when Jesus Christ Our Lord was traveling

about the world, riding a gentle little donkey, restoring

sight to the b1ind and the use and abuse of their limbs to

the paralyzed, He came to a region where there was noth-

ing but sand as far as the eye could see. Here and there a

slender, rustling palm raised itself aloft, and under its shade

the Divine Teacher used to stop with His favorite disciples

who, seemingly absent-mindedly, would fill their knap-

sacks with dates.

That stretch of sand seemed eternal, sort of like God,

without beginning or end. Night was falling, and the

travelers were heavy-hearted at the idea of having to spend

the night with only the starry sky for a canopy, when

with the last ray of the setting sun the silhouette of a bel-

fry appeared upon the horizon.

The Lord, raising His hand to His eyes like a visor to

see better, said:

"There's a town there. Peter, you know about navigation

and geography, could you tell me what that city is?"

St. Peter licked his chops at the compliment and an-

swered:

"Master, that city is Ica."

"Get along, then, get along."

And all the apostles fetched their donkeys a kick with

their heels, and off the cortege trotted toward the town.

When they were just outside the city, they all got off

to slick themselves up a bit. They perfumed their whiskers

with balm of Judea, tightened the straps of their sandals,

brushed off their tunics and cloaks, and the continued on

their way, not without a word of advice from the gentle,

Jesus to His favorite apostle:

"Remember, Peter, you're not to go losing your temper

and cutting off people's ears. Your hotheadedness is always

getting us into trouble."

The apostle blushed to the whites of his eyes, and no-

body would have said, to see him so kindly and contrite,

that he had ever been so handy with a knife.

The people of Ica rolled out the red carpet, so to speak,

for the distinguished visitors; and although they were

anxious to be on their journey, the inhabitants found so

many ways to detain them and they were the object of

such attentions and celebrations that a week had gone by

before you could say scat.

Wine of the finest brands, Elias, Boza y Falconi, flowed

like water. Dring those eight days Ica was like a fore-

taste of paradise. The doctors sat idle, the druggists sold

no medicines; there wasn’t even a toothache or the mildest

case of measles.

They notaries’ pens got all rusty because not once did

they have a complaint to draw up. Not a cross word was

heard between man and wife, and even those rattlesnakes

known as mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law-and this

really was a miracle! -lost their venom.

How apparent it was that the Supreme Good was dwell-

ing in Ica! The city breathed peace, joy, happiness.

The kindness, charm, and beauty of the ladies of Ica in-

spired St. John to write a sonnet with an envoi which was

published on the same day in El Comercio, Nacional, and

Patria. The Icans, between drink and drink, made the

Apostle poet promise to write the Apocalypse,

A Pindaric poem, a work immortal,

If lacking in sense, with genius glowing,

as a poet friend of mine says.

So with one thing and another the eighth day had come

to an end when Our Lord received a telegram urging Him

to return to Jerusalem at once to keep the Samaritan

woman from pulling out Mary Magdalen's hair; and fear-

ing that the people, in their affection, might put obstacles

in His way, He sent for the patriarch of the apostles, closed

the door, and said to him:

"Peter, you handle this any way you think best, but we

have to leave here tomorrow without a soul knowing it.”

There are circumstances under which one has no choice

but to take French leave."

St. Peter drew up his plans, informed the others, and the

next morning the guests had disappeared from the house

where they had slept.

The city council had prepared a surprise serenade for

that morning, but they were left all dressed up and no place

to go. The travelers had already crossed Huacachina Lake

and had disappeared beyond the horizon.

Ever since then the waters of Huacachina have the prop-

erty of curing all ailments except the bite of wild monkeys.

When they had put several miles between themselves

and the city, the Lord turned back for a last look and said:

“You say this place is called Ica, Peter?"

“Yes, sir, Ica.”

“My, what a fine place!"

And raising His right hand, He blessed it in the name

of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

II

As the correspondents of the newspapers had written to

Lima describing at length, in detail, and with flowery

phrases the celebrations and banquets with which the

visitors had been honored, the devil received the news by

the first European mail-boat.

They say that Cachano bit his lips with envy; the rascally

old snout-nose, and exclaimed:

"What the devil! I'm just as good as He. The very idea!

. . . Nobody is going to get ahead of me!"

And calling up straightway twelve of his courtiers he

disguised them to look like the apostles. For, that is true,

Cucufo knows more about the art of make-up and fixing

over faces than an actor and a coquette put together.

But as the journalists had forgotten to describe the attire

of Christ and His disciples, the Maldito decided that he

could get around the difficulty by looking at the pictures

in some travel book. And so, without further ado, he and

his comrades dressed themselves up in high boots and

threw over their shoulders a four-cornered cape, the

poncho.

The people of Ica, when they saw the group coming,

thought the Lord was coming back with His elect and

rushed out to meet him, prepared to throw the house out.

of the window this time, so that the Man-God should have

no cause for complaint and would decide to establish Him-

self for good in their city.

Until then the Icans had been happy, very happy,

superlatively happy. They never mixed in politics, paid

their taxes without a word, and did not give a hoot whether

Prester John or the Moor Muza was in power. There was

no gossip or tale-bearing from one neighborhood to an-

other or from house to house, All they thought about was

cultivating their vineyards and doing as much good as they

could to one another. It was a land 50 flowing with happi-

ness and well-being that it made the other regions jealous.

But Carrampempe, whose teeth begin to chatter with

rage when he sees anybody happy, made up his mind the

minute he arrived to stick his tail in the pie and ruin the

whole thing.

EI Cornudo reached Ica just as a marriage was about to

take place between a young man like the flower of the flock

and a girl like a ewe. They were a couple that seemed made

for each other, they were so well suited in disposition and

character, and they gave promise of living out their lives

in peace and in the grace of God.

"I couldn't have come more opportunely if they had

sent for me," said the devil to himself. “By St. Tecla, the

patroness of out-of-tune pianos!”

But unfortunately for him, the couple had been to con-

fession and had taken communion that morning, so the

snares and temptations of El Patudo could not prevail

against them.

With the first toasts drunk to the happy couple, the

wine went to everyone’s head, producing not that fine,

genial, harmless exhilaration of the spirit that reigned at

the banquets Our Lord honored with His presence, but a

gross, sensual, indecent frenzy.

One young fellow, a Don Juan in his salad says, began

to make insinuating remarks to the bride; and a middle-

aged woman, with service stripes, began making eyes at

the groom. That old girl was pure gasoline, and with one

spark of willingness from the young man a blaze would

have started that the Garibaldi fire-engine and all the fire

companies would have been unable to put out. And things

did not stop here.

The lawyers and notaries got together to drum up trade;

the doctors and druggists went into cahoots to raise the

price of aqua fontis; the mothers-in-law decided to scratch

out their sons-in-law's eyes; the wives began to whine and

beg for jewelry and velvet dresses; the upright citizens

began to talk about larks and hot times; and, to put the

whole thing in a nutshell, even the town council began to

shout that they would have to tax people ten cents for each

sneeze.

That was anarchy with all its horrors. It was as plain as

the nose on your face that El Rabudo was at the bottom of

the business.

And the hours went by, and drinking was no longer by

the glass but by the bottle, and people who used to get

mildly mellow that night went on such a bender as had

never been seen before.

The poor bride, who, as I have said, was in a state of

grace, was in complete distress, and was doing her best to

get people to separate two groups of rowdies who, armed

whit cudgels, were tanning each other’s hide.

"The devil has got into them; that’s what it is,” the poor

girl. kept saying to herself, and her guess was not far off.

Going over to Unas Largas, she took him by the poncho,

Saving:

"But, Lord, don't you see that they're going to kill one

another?"

"And what's that to me?" answered El Tinoso coolly.

"I'm not from this parish…. More power to them. Let

them. So much the better for the priest and for me. I’ll act

as sexton."

The girl, who of course could not take in the full im-

plication of these gross remarks, answered him:

"Jesus! What a hard heart Your Excellency has! By the

sing of the cross, you must be the devil!”

El Maligno had no sooner seen the girl’s fingers forming

the croos than he tried to rush off like a dog with a fire-

cracker tied to its tai1; but as she had hold of his poncho,

EI Tunante had to slip his head through the opening, leav-

ing the four-cornered cape in the bride's hands.

El Paton and his acolytes evaporated, but it is said that

since then, every once in a while, His Satanic Majesty

comes back to the city of Ica looking for his poncho. When

this happens, the elbow-benders go on a proper spree

and…