Alfonso's statue had a spooky, otherworldly quality
In a dusty garage in the dusty port town of Moyagalpa, a local witch-doctor and incurable eccentric, Alfonso Ramón Gutierrez, lifted the sheet on his most treasured possession – a four feet high pre-Columbian idol of unknown, shadowy origin.
Exposed to a shaft of afternoon light, the statue was instantly illuminated. Although its form was humanoid, the exact nature of the idol – animal or supernatural – was unclear. Its pale stone surface was heavily weathered. Its features were barely discernible. And it seemed to emit a glow that was not of this earth.
The idol gazed at us from shallow eye sockets, head tilted on distended neck. I sensed it was female – or feminine at least – and that centuries of obscurity had left it hopelessly melancholic.
“Beautiful, no?” said Alfonso, eyes glinting with pride and barely concealed mischief.
The rustic island of Ometepe – rising from Lake Nicaragua with numinous twin volcanoes – is one of Mesoamerica’s great repositories of ancient artefacts. Its treasures are so many, in fact, that scores of relics end up in private homes and courtyards, invariably employed as impressive doorstops, or more respectfully, as garden ornaments.
Throughout the countryside, anthropomorphic statues litter the earth, hinting at a vast shamanic tradition that once embraced bloodthirsty jaguar, eagle and snake cults.
Rotund and suggestively ‘pregnant’ funerary urns evoke memories of a deeply ritualistic culture with a well-developed notion of the afterlife. No less than ten different types of burial were practised by the island’s inhabitants.
Then there’s the petroglyphs – giant rocks and boulders etched with inscrutable, abstract shapes, patterns and designs – all hiding in the undergrowth and demanding interpretation.
Ometepe’s rich array of artefacts, barely studied by archaeologists and nominally organised in national museums, all indicate that a highly organised and deeply religious society once prospered there. But today, what remains of this archaic culture, forged over millennia by waves of migrating Chorotegas and Nahuas? I soon began to wonder if something more than dead rocks and pottery had survived the ages.
Convinced of a living link to the symbols and gods depicted in the island’s ancient stonework, I began asking questions about the island’s spiritual life. My search led, inevitably, to the world of witchcraft and sorcery. It led to Alfonso.
‘Medicinal Plants for Sale’
The sign was crudely etched on a piece of torn cardboard. Above it, a large goat’s skull, bleached white in the sun, was loosely fastened to the door. I rang the bell and waited. The neighbours glared at me. Finally, Alfonso’s wife, Maria, answered my call. I introduced myself as a journalist and entered inside.
The interior was ramshackle and cluttered – an airy, lightly dilapidated hovel of wood and concrete. There was a tangible atmosphere of chaos, of mental agitation. Words like ‘salvation’ and ‘eternity’ were scrawled on the walls in charcoal.
A small colour TV relayed some fuzzy telenovela with intermittent bursts of static. Alfonso was not home. Maria showed me to a plastic chair, then set to work on her laundry, scrubbing and soaking articles in a large stone basin. Two small children, semi-naked and curious, watched me open-mouthed as I waited for the master to return.
As I sat quietly, a large black dog emerged from the garden with a rigid iron collar clasped around its throat. Resembling a piece of medieval apparatus, a crude ‘L’ shaped protrusion extended beneath the dog’s snout. Upon the protrusion hung a bell. It rang incessantly every time the dog moved.
“Ding-ding-ding-ding.”
The beast approached, sat down, and gazed at me with deep, black, peculiar eyes. I stoked his nose. His ears flattened. A long, low, barely audible growl issued from his throat.
Heckles up, he erupted into a frenzy of barks and snarls, snapping at my fingers. In a moment of singular uproar, Maria shrieked and dropped her laundry. She rushed over, reprimanded him and administered a few sharp punches. The dog retreated with a groan.
“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.”
A moment later, Alfonso entered the scene, tall, wiry, and wildly effervescent – like an actor before adoring crowds. He greeted the household, kissed his wife, his children and shook my hand in a crush. Maria quietly informed him about the dog, igniting a reaction of fury and disbelief.
Eyes blazing, Alfonso marched over to the hound, now quietly growling beneath a plastic garden chair. Emitting a few Spanish expletives, he punched it three times. The dog yelped.
“He didn’t like you.” Said Alfonso. “But that’s a good thing. Better he doesn’t like you.”
“Why is that?”
“If he likes you then he pisses on you. Crazy bastard.”
“I see. Tell me, what’s the bell for?”
“It wards off evil spirits.”
“Ah-ha. Of course.”
We retired to the garden. A hectic array of terraces, patios and growing beds was strewn with medicinal plants and potted vegetation. On the ground, a large black cauldron simmered with an indiscernible brown mush, drawing a small crowd of chickens who took turns to perch on the hot rim, take a peck and jump down in a noisy flap.
Nearby stood a decrepit old oven without a door. A makeshift fire smoked and smouldered on top of it, heating a second pot of mysterious food stuff. Nearby, a large hog with testicles the size of grape-fruits grunted at us from his pen.
“Maria,” Cried Alfonso, snapping his fingers flamboyantly. “We have a guest. Bring tea. The good stuff!”
Moments later, Maria emerged with two tall, silver-coloured beakers. They were filled to the brim with a milky-coloured brew.
“This tea is very good for erections.” Said Alfonso, gulping it down.
Neither did I have, nor did I want or need an erection, but it seemed impolite to refuse the hospitality. I took a sip. It was ice-cold and tasted strongly of ginger. It was okay.
“Roll up your trouser leg.” Continued Alfonso. “Let’s see what’s what.”
I complied and he immediately grasped hold of my shin. He began squeezing and prodding it, scrutinising the reactions of the flesh.
“You have a lot of heat in your mind.” He said, peering at me through his spectacles. “Unfortunately it’s terminal. But lucky for you I have something.” He dug his nails into my shin-bone. “It’ll make you vomit all night, get that stuff right out of you.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t come here for cures. I wanted to talk to you about spirituality.”
“A-ha!” cried Alfonso, releasing my leg. “You are a seeker!”
He commenced telling me his story, growing loud and animated with each convoluted turn. Ten years of studious devotion had bestowed all kinds of esoteric secrets unto him. Verily, he’d plumbed the depths of occult lore. He’d endured the abyss. And now he knew the angels and devils by name. By number too. The invocations, the evocations, the rituals and prayers were irrevocably burnt in his mind.
But mostly he was into medicinal plants… and poisons. You see, a man can’t be too careful on this island. He needs to protect himself.
“My brothers tried to kill me!” He exclaimed, leaping to his feet suddenly. “They poisoned me, just like they poisoned my poor mother. They put it in the cream-cheese and soon I was riddled with cancer. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t stand.”
Face contorted in mock agony, shoulders hunched, he acted out his sickness.
“Oh, oh, oh.” He sobbed, grimly shuffling across the patio. “So much pain. So much fear. Poor Alfonso, the doctors could no nothing. The churches neither. So he started looking for a cure. He started reading. He started studying.”
He dashed inside and returned with a stack of books. He threw them on my lap and I carefully inspected the spines:
‘An Encyclopedia of Witchcraft’
‘Ultimate Occult Compendium’
‘Darkest Secrets of Sexual magic’.
The books contained detailed instructions for scores of obscure spiritual operations. Page upon page of inscrutable Latin verse. Illustrated demons and other infernal creatures had been rigorously reproduced from the annals of medieval grimoires. And Alfonso had scrawled thousands of tiny black crucifixes on their image.
“Alfonso read, Alfonso studied. Like a madman. After all, his life depended on it. Soon he learned the secrets of plants… the secrets of spirits, guardian angels, the astral plane and the elementals. He learned and he got strong. He fought off the devil. Can you imagine? The devil himself! Right here in this garden!”
In a sudden dramatic flurry, Alfonso withdrew a concealed ceremonial dagger and commenced a mock battle with invisible enemies, slicing and punching the air with ferocious glee.
“He kicked him out!” He cried. “The devil! The unclean one! The cancer! He kicked his ass from here to hell! And now – gracias a dios – Alfonso is cured. Now he is strong as an ox!”
He took in a lung-full of air and punched his chest with pride.
“Now the devil knows what’s what!”
Visibly drained, Alfonso sat back down and lit a cigarette.
“But my poor mama.” He sighed. “I could not save her. Curse those brothers of mine. They have it in for me, you know, all twelve of them.”
He retreated indoors and returned with a handful of papers. He thrust them under my nose. Police reports. The words leaped out at me:
‘Kidnapping’
‘Attempted murder’
‘Discharge of a firearm in a public place.’
And Alfono’s mugshot was plastered all over them.
“Lies, lies, lies, all of it.” Cried Alfonso with sweep of his hand. “And now I can’t leave this island. They’ll kill me. Oh they are evil my brothers. They eat children, you know. But don’t worry. Two years from now Alfonso will know how to travel outside of his body. Then, then he will take revenge and kill them all!”
I nodded in sympathy and tried to steer back to spiritual matters. The old gods of Ometepe, the ancient spirits, the entities carved in the petroglyphs, did they exist? Had he encountered them? Did he know, perhaps, how one might perceive them?
“Ah!” Cried Alfonso excitedly. “You’re looking for a spiritual experience. That’s good. I know a place, just the place, a special place up on the volcano. I’ll take you – no charge. We’ll spend the night there. There’s so many spirits in this place, you’ll have an encounter for sure!”
The name of this place?
“The Inferno.”
The hog began squealing from his pen. A chicken leaped inside the decrepit oven. A small green parrot in a small black cage started banging a plastic bowl on the bars. And from the distance came a noise:
‘Ding, ding, ding, ding.’
“I’ve been there many times.” Continued Alfonso. “I’ve seen lights. Great, fiery orbs that light up the forest like the sunrise. And giants too. Enormous men made of shadow, striding around in the darkness. But all this is dangerous.” He said. “The things you’ll see are so terrifying they’ll pull the shit right out of you!”
He illustrated this last point with a violent gesticulation.
“… PULL IT RIGHT OUT OF YOU! So when we arrive, we have to draw a circle on the ground. And we cannot leave it. Under no circumstances can we leave it. And when the spirits come, we have to say prayers. Perfectly. Word by word. Or it’s all over. But most important of all, most essential for success, we need to be purified.”
“Purified?”
“Yes, purified! With magic water!”
Alfonso shot up and disappeared into the house. Moments later he returned with a bowl of murky brown liquid. Orange peel, leaves, herbs and various unknown ingredients floated on the surface.
“Take off your cap,” he cried. “Give me your skull.”
Slowly, carefully, I did what he said. Seconds later he emptied the bowl, rinsed my head and emitted some unintelligible, feverish prayers. I stood for a moment in the drip, drip, drip, hair filled with debris, wondering exactly what had had happened.
“There, there,” he said proudly, snatching my cap and dunking it back on my head. “All better. Nice and clean. Christians think they invented baptisms, but we all know that isn’t true.”
I felt strangely light-headed. Dizzy. I wondered vaguely – aren’t baptisms supposed to clean your head, not put more shit on it?
Standing upright, I saw Alfono’s family staring at me. It was time to go. I paid Alfonso fifty cordobas for his work, and under duress, promised him I would return soon.
Outside, the sun shone brightly. I rapidly made my way to the bus stop, leaving a trail of drips behind me. It was good to be free. Alfono’s heart, I reflected, was not a black one. But his mind – thoroughly in the grip of the devil – was ruined beyond repair. I would not be joining him in the inferno. And my search for authentic spirituality continued…
