“Señorita Larkin, I will ask this in English since you seem to have extreme difficulty understanding the language of the country in which you chose to study. Please conjugate the verb ser in the imperfect?”
Molly Larkin squirmed in her desk. She loathed the rotund man who seemed to glare at her from his podium. He looked like a comic book version of Pancho Villa. She wondered if one day he might actually take out a gun and shoot her for never being able to get the hang of the difference between the to be’s in Spanish. What possible reason could there be for any language to need two verbs that mean the same thing? Just another reason she should have stayed home.
She imagined the arrogant professor twirling his mustache as he stood over her dead, bullet-ridden body, his cigarette-stained fingers numb to the sensation of his own facial hair. He would be nodding at the other students from under a broad sombrero, letting them know that the same fate would meet them if they didn’t study their conjugations.
Molly would give about anything to be rid of the man and this godforsaken country. How had she let anyone talk her into thinking that studying here was a good idea? Sure it was great to be missing the subzero temperatures back on her home campus, but right now she could stand some cooling down. She was sure it was going to take her most of the afternoon to de-stress after this class.
Who taught foreign language from a podium anyway? What a little dictator! She wished she could spit out “I hate you” in Spanish, but the vocabulary escaped her.
Right about the time she thought she might either explode or die of embarrassment as the professor stared at her, Luke Miller, a fellow gringo, spoke out in his typical ego-based way. Despite his Midwestern origins, his Spanish was always eloquent, if slightly affected.
Professor Lopez responded to Luke and glanced toward Molly: “Ah, señorita, you are saved by Señor Miller’s need to once again explain to the class why he was absent yesterday. We would hate to run out of time before we hear of his latest adventure.” The professor swept open his arm as though he was presenting Luke on a Broadway stage. “Señor Miller, por favor.”
Molly sighed. It was now someone else’s turn for Professor Lopez’s version of the Spanish Inquisition. What business of his was it how students chose to spend their time? However, Luke Miller never seemed to mind. Explaining absences was just another way for him to show off. She wondered how he did it. He missed class at least once a week and still blabbered in el español as if he were a native. Sometimes it was hard to know if she despised him or Profesor Lopez more. The entire class was a nightmare!
Lopez finally set the class free. Luke sauntered out of class. “Hey Larkin, how about a hook up tonight to pay me back for saving your butt in there.”
“Drop dead, Miller.”
Luke rose to the suggestion. His hands flew to his own neck in a choking motion. Always the performer, he strangled himself, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes. He twisted his legs and slowly spun himself around as though he were about to fall to the ground in a dead heap. Just as quickly he recovered his usual savoir faire and headed toward the cafeteria.
Molly could hear him chuckling as he wandered off. She sighed and then breathed deeply. The sun beat down on her bare shoulders. Imagine, not yet March, and she was wearing a tank top. A semester away from the Great North’s winters almost made the torture she endured in Lopez’s class worth the while—almost.
La Universidad de las Americas located near sunny, vibrant Puebla, Mexico. It had all looked so attractive six months ago on that poster in the student union. While she had no particular interest in Spanish, she certainly had an interest in escaping Waukeon, Wisconsin, and finding some fun adventure before she got old. She had just turned twenty with a life of having to earn a living looming before her. Sure the state college she attended back home was better than Waukeon, but even that campus was beginning to seem a little same ‘ol, same ‘ol. Besides, it was so close to Waukeon that Molly went home almost every weekend to help on the farm.
Soon Gina Nowicki came scurrying toward the campus plaza. Molly had never known a time when her life-long friend hadn’t been in a hurry. Maybe that’s why Spanish worked so well for Gina. It was a language in a hurry, too. It was Gina who had gotten this whole semester abroad business going.
Gina, a Spanish major, had a gift for convincing people to do her bidding. She had talked Molly, an agri-business major, into going along, assuring her that lots of Americans attended the Mexican university. There would be classes in English that would transfer seamlessly back home. It would be great—except there was a requirement to study some level of Spanish. Who would have thought second level would be this difficult for someone who had three years of high school Spanish under her belt? Of course, she had barely passed those classes with a C-minus.
Gina could rattle words out in English pretty fast, too. “Molly, you won’t believe this. We’re finally going to get to go somewhere off campus pretty much on our own. Remember Teresa, the Mexican girl we met at orientation night. She’s in my Mexican culture class and she’s invited us to visit her family in Catemaco. The best part is there’s some sort of celebration there next weekend. It’s so cool. Her uncle is a warlock and he’s like major in the town. We will get to see some real Mexico.”
It was going to take Molly a little while to catch up. “Where the hell is Catemahoo?”
Gina cast her eyes to heaven. “Catemaco. God, Molly, you’ve got an ear like a rock. It’s about seven hours from here on the bus, so we’ll have to skip classes on Thursday to get there for Friday’s celebration. It’s always the first Friday in March. It will be like partying in a Latino fantasy land. We can salsa while we get our fortunes told.”
Molly was truly astounded at Gina’s ability to rattle on without seeming to breathe. “There are real witches and warlocks. It’s sort of a national convention for them. We can take the bus back on Sunday and be in class on Monday.”
Finally Molly had to stop the flow of verbiage. “Whoa, mi amiga. Lopez will have a fit and make me get up in front of class and explain why I wasn’t in class on Thursday. How do I explain a Halloween adventure in March when I can’t even explain oversleeping?”
“Look, I’ll coach you on the way home. Even you can spout a minute of Spanish with seven hours of practice on the bus. How many times are we going to get to visit an authentic Mexican witch convention? You’ve got to come. Wait a minute, you aren’t seriously scared? You’re not turning into a mouse like Emily Olsen, that loopy accountant lady my parents use, are you?”
Molly rolled her eyes. Emily Olsen was Waukeon’s most notorious weirdo, and there were a lot of weirdos there. “Please, don’t ever compare me to that nut case. The only thing I’m scared of is missing Lopez’s class. He’ll embarrass me in front of the whole class, and Luke Miller won’t let it go until we’re on the plane back to Wisconsin.”
Gina just gave Molly one of her puppy dog looks. Molly often envisioned Gina like a human bulldozer. She always got things moving even when she had no idea where she might end up. They had met Teresa like once and now they were going to spend the weekend with her family in some town that prided itself on being the center of Mexican witchcraft.
Molly looked at her watch as they rolled along in the bus. Right about now Fatso Lopez would be looking at her empty seat and rolling his eyes. He would be making some snide comment about absences from his class and how interesting it would be on Monday to listen to Señorita Larkin’s explanation about what could have been important enough for her to have missed HIS class.
The bus climbed mountain after mountain. The girls dozed on and off. Teresa tried to explain about the festival. Gina translated and Molly contemplated a queasy stomach. Finally, the bus passed a glistening lake and rolled into Catemaco. The bus station bustled with visiting witches and tourists mesmerized by the whole event. A spooky blend of graphic Catholicism and dark arts swirled around them. It was like a festive nightmare designed by Frida Kahlo.
Molly found it all a little tacky. “Hey, Gina, ask Teresa, which witch is which. It’s a little hard to tell, don’t you think?”
Teresa looked puzzled and Gina just groaned.
They grabbed their bags and elbowed their way through the mayhem. Outside the depot, Teresa searched the street and then waved frantically, yelling “Don Roberto.” A middle-aged, debonair man waved back and ushered the girls toward his vehicle. Gina whispered in Molly’s ear, “I wonder if that’s Uncle Warlock. He looks a little bit like that old horror actor, what’s his name. Vincent something.”
The girls climbed into an old black Cadillac, and Don Roberto eased into the frenetic traffic making his vehicle move like a ballerina dancing through a mosh pit.
As car horns honked and brakes squealed around them, Teresa explained that they were going to her uncle’s house first, so he could explain more about the festival. Then he would drop them at Teresa’s house. Her family was very fortunate to have such a powerful and elegant brujo in the family. The powers ran deep in the family. Teresa was proud to be one of her uncle’s most promising protégés.
The Cadillac rolled to an elegant stop in front of a rambling stucco hacienda. Molly ventured out of the car and whispered to Gina, “It looks like a Mexican version of the Addam’s family mansion. La casa de doom.”
“SShh, Molly, you’re being rude.”
“Better rude than dead. Who is this guy?”
Don Roberto led them through a darkened library and down a set of spiral stairs.
They wound around twice to end up in a laboratory of sorts. Musty cement brick surrounded several shelves and tables. Molly watched Gina’s eyes grow wide. Suddenly she wished she were back on the bus. The only thing worse than this would be sitting in Lopez’s class. One wall was practically a full mural of Jesus bloodied by his crown of thorns and crumpled under a cross. Something that looked like a Celtic cross was painted on the floor. Several sets of rabbit’s feet key chains hung on an adjacent wall.
There was no light in the room except that generated by a myriad of burning candles, one for each statuette lining an altar-like table. Don Roberto swept his arm open, introducing the figurines as if they were performers. “Ah,” he crooned, “these hallowed saints beckon me to help them intercede in the lives of deserving mortals.”
There were photos of grinning faces covering a huge bulletin board on the third wall. Teresa explained, “These are the pictures of the many people Don Roberto has assisted over the years. Some requested cures. Others have wished for lovers.” Her voice lowered, “And some asked Don Roberto to work with the spirits of darkness to remove evildoers from this world.”
The candlelight bounced eerily off bottles filled with rainbow colored liquids. Other containers were stuffed with various types of plants. Molly’s thoughts began to take on the aura of the experience and she found herself imagining that one of the bottles was about to ooze out blood.
Molly shivered as her eyes took in a small cage filled with tarantulas and another crawling with scorpions. Jars were filled with an assortment of bugs, frogs, and toads. It became clearer and clearer to her that Don Roberto wanted his gullible, but desperate clients to take his craft very seriously.
Roberto stood observing the girls, twisting and rubbing his hands together while he waited for them to fully appreciate his lair. In a melodic tenor that belied his dark visage he finally spoke, “Teresa, mi querida, please go and find some refreshments for our guests. I will entertain your lovely friends until you return.” Teresa obediently headed back toward the stairs. Molly and Gina watched their friend exit, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind her.
After a pause, Roberto interrupted the quiet and spoke in English with only enough of a Latin accent to sound convincingly dramatic. “Now, ladies. What would you like to know about my work here?”
Molly couldn’t help herself and blurted out, “This isn’t for real. This is sort of like a haunted house for the fun of it, right?”
Roberto frowned. “This is my life’s work, señorita. I heal people, bring lovers together, and remove obstacles from people’s lives. I work with both God and the dark spirits as my clients require. I have a remarkable gift for fixing wrongs.”
Molly nodded seriously, but then turned to Gina and mumbled under her breath, “Ya, right.”
“Since you are Teresa’s friends, let me offer you a free sample of my powers.”
The girls remained silent.
“Oh, surely there is some young man whose attention you wish to attract or some bodily blemish you wish to cure.”
An evil thought wound its way into Molly’s mind. “Well, there is one person who makes my life a living hell. If I could get rid of him, my stay here in Mexico would be a lot more enjoyable.”
“Is he truly an evil person?” questioned Don Roberto
“He is a horrible person. He ridicules people, especially the girls in his class and makes us feel, well, you know.”
Roberto stared analytically at Molly’s face. “If you are truly serious, I have methods that will lead to his just retribution.”
Molly put on her best actor’s face and managed to wring out a few tears. “Seriously, this man belittles and torments young women like myself for his own personal amusement. He thinks because he is a teacher, he is all powerful and we must bend to his will in order to pass his class.” Her performance took on a victim’s stance. She paused, and continued, “If you know what I mean.”
Roberto pulled Molly into a fiercely protective hug. “You young women are so vulnerable. Poor lambs. No teacher should take advantage like that.” He released Molly who turned and grinned an “I-got-him” smile at Gina while he clucked his tongue and contemplated his shelves of magic.
Gina grabbed her friend into a conspiratorial clutch and whispered, “You’ve made him think Lopez molests you. Set him straight.”
Molly hissed back, “What difference does it make? It’s all a bunch of mumbo jumbo anyway. Just play along and have some fun for a change. Besides, it’s verbal molesting for real.”
From a high shelf, Don Roberto brought down a miniature black cloth doll. “Let us ask permission of the Prince of Darkness.”
With the doll in hand he drew back a curtain and led the girls through to a dark cave. They wound around for a minute or two until they came to an altar lighted with only one candle.
“You must solemnly give the dark prince the name of the evildoer.”
Molly couldn’t decide whether she wanted to giggle or scream. This guy was just so good. Steven Spielberg needed to know about him.
In as solemn a voice as she could muster, she spoke the name, “Professor Antonio Lopez.”
The candlelight flickered once, then three more times. Finally, the light went out. “For God’s sake, Molly, let’s get out of here,” Gina whispered, barely managing to squelch her terror.
Suddenly, a light filled the room. Roberto held a flashlight up to his face. “The Prince of Darkness has accepted your plea. We return to my laboratory.”
Gina grabbed Molly’s hand and whispered, “Molly, put a stop to this. It’s really creeping me, out.”
“Now, don’t freak out on me. This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. This guy is great.”
Back in the lab, Don Roberto laid the doll on a table. Then he reached in a drawer and came out with two bonelike needles and some thread. He plunged his hand into one of his jars and snagged a huge toad. The toad squirmed and wiggled, but Roberto held him with expert firmness. His face was grim. “Señorita Molly, take the thread and as I hold this creature, lash him to the bone I placed next to your hand.”
Molly worked very hard to stay in the game. It was getting creepy, but it had gone too far to pull back. Plus, she was enjoying the drama. So she took the thread and wound it around the toad’s limbs until it looked like an amphibian martyr.
Don Roberto pinched the gigantic toad’s jaws until they splayed wide open. He plunged the black doll into the toad’s mouth. “Now, hold the creature down for me,” he quietly instructed Molly. Molly obediently slapped a hand over the toad while Roberto sewed the mouth shut.
The toad lay thrashing about helplessly on the table. Now, you must learn the chant. As though he were in a trance, Roberto made them recite, “muerto al malo, muerto al malo” over and over as they marched back through the cave.
Roberto held the exhausted limp frog in front of him as though making a sacred offering. The cave’s mouth opened into a graveyard. Roberto solemnly lay the toad down on a gravestone. Molly could almost sense the frog’s heart winding down to a halt like the ticker on her grandmother’s old windup clock.
“This Antonio Lopez is a marked man. His evil will be no more.” With this, Don Roberto bowed his head and walked back toward the cave, a drained man.
Molly breathed deeply. She could almost see her nemesis’s eyes in the bulging eyes of the expiring toad. Then she started to laugh euphorically as Gina hyperventilated next to her. “Oh my God, Gina. That was great. It was just like sticking it to old Lopez. I’m getting one of those dolls before we go back to school, so I can nail him whenever I feel like it. Maybe I’ll even be able to breathe in his class.”
Gina held back tears, “I don’t think God had anything to do with this, Molly.”
Teresa came up from behind. “What is this?”
She spied the toad and her face drained of all color.
“Oh come on, Teresa, don’t you recognize the evil Professor Lopez?”
“You did this to Professor Lopez? Oh, Molly, what have you done?” stammered Teresa.
For once Gina was speechless.
“Oh come on you guys. You don’t really believe in any of this stuff. I admit Don Roberto is pretty convincing, but get real. I’m having a blast here.”
Even amid the chatter of Teresa’s large family gathered around a social dinner table, Gina and Teresa remained subdued all evening. Only Molly feigned a festive air. The bus ride back to Puebla was quieter still. When Molly tried to remind Gina she needed some help with the spiel she would need to give Lopez about her absence, Gina merely mumbled, “Figure it out for yourself,” and turned away.
Molly grinned while she and the rest of the class waited for Professor Lopez’s arrival on Monday. Today’s special harassment would all be worth it. The feeling of utter control while she pinned the gasping toad to the table would make the rest of the semester bearable. Every time Lopez taunted her, she would simply imagine that toad.
Luke Miller wandered in late as usual. He gazed at the lectern, expecting a lively exchange with the professor. Not seeing his sparring partner, he cruised by Molly’s desk. “Donde is el professor? Oh, that’s right, Miss Molly no speaka da Spanglish.”
“Drop dead, Miller.” Molly couldn’t help but think that somewhere out there was a toad with Luke Miller’s name on it; it would have to be a better than average looking toad, but a toad nonetheless.
“You know, Molly, some day you’ll have to learn how to say “drop dead,” in Spanish.
Molly smiled sweetly at Luke. She thought, “If you only knew, Luke Miller, the extent of my powers, you wouldn’t be so arrogant.”
Students were beginning to get restless. Some started chattering about being able to leave if the prof didn’t show up by the ten-minute mark. A few were gathering their books and papers when the classroom door opened, jolting Molly out of her toad reverie. But it was not Professor Lopez who walked through the door. It was one of the deans. “Señores and señoritas, I am sorry to have to relate to you that Professor Lopez passed away this weekend—a heart attack. Class is dismissed.”
