***STORY OF THE MONTH***

THE SKULL IN THE ROAD

An Hispanic Folktale Heard in Childhood and
Retold by Richard Alan Young
PART TWO
[From September 1 to September 29, 2010, you can still read Part One
by clicking on “Here’s Another Story,” at the bottom of this web-page.]

The blanket Juan had hung as his door was pulled suddenly aside. By the flickering firelight Juan saw the skull lying just outside the jacal, its hollow eye sockets staring at him. Then, a skeleton stepped into view from the darkness beside the doorway. The skeleton's hand was holding the blanket back. With his other hand, the skeleton lifted the skull and set it on his empty neckbones. The skeleton was wearing a long red and black gabán*(5). From the pocket of the gabán he pulled a jawbone and hung it onto his skull.

Eyeballs rolled up into the skull's empty sockets and stared at Juan. The jawbone moved as the skull spoke. "I have come for supper at your kind invitation, Don Juan."

Juan offered the skeleton the only chair, and filled a bowl with stew for him. Laying his only spoon on the table, Juan stood nervously watching, waiting for the thing to eat.

The skeleton sat at the table. He lifted a spoonful of stew to his teeth and poured the stew over the jawbone. Incredibly, the stew disappeared, but Juan could never figure out where it went!

When the bowl was empty, the skeleton stood and said, "You have made a fine supper for me in your home. I now invite you to come and sup with me in mine." The skeleton bowed politely and walked suddenly out the door. When the blanket dropped shut, Juan breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Four quiet days passed, and on Sunday Juan walked nine miles down to the town on the river. He bought supplies and paid with nuggets of precious metal. On his way home at sundown, as he always did, he ducked into the old abandoned mission graveyard and hid behind a gravestone...to see if anyone was following him to learn the location of his diggings and steal from him.

Watching the road, he saw no one.

Waiting, he heard no one.

He was alone.

“ Don Juan!"

A hollow voice behind him spoke his name!

Terror filled his heart as he slowly turned...

...and saw the skeleton in the gabán standing among the ancient gravestones and tilting crosses. The skeleton gestured for Juan to come to him. A supernatural power that Juan could not resist lifted him to his feet, and pulled him forward.

The skeleton stood beside a grave covered with a capstone of hand-hewn granite. The power drew Juan to the foot of the grave. The skeleton bent down and lifted the foot of the thick heavy stone as if it were a feather pillow. As the stone rose up, like the trapdoor to a basement, a deep red light poured out, turning the low clouds above them to the color of blood. Thick yellow smoke with the smell of burning sulphur billowed up from the grave.

"You made me welcome in your house, Don Juan," said the skull. "Now I make you welcome in mine."

Orange flames danced out around the head of the capstone, where hinges on a trapdoor would be. Juan stood, paralyzed with terror, his dusty face streaming with sweat from fear and the horrible heat of the fires before him.

With great effort, Juan begged, "Is ...there...any way...I could...decline...your kind invitation?"

The skeleton stood motionless for a long time, as roaring flames licked up out of the grave. Then the skull said very slowly, "Never again show disrespect for the dead."

Juan shook his head, slinging sweat in two directions. He cried out...louder than he had intended..."I swear I will never again disrespect the dead!"

For a moment it seemed as if the skull had not heard him. Then suddenly the skeleton let go of the capstone, which slammed down with a resounding "thud," smothering the raging flames. The skeleton fell into two-hundred-six separate bones that rattled and clattered as they hit the earth. The long red and black cloak dropped to the dirt, empty.

The deathly silence of the high mountains returned. Juan held his breath, shuddering. In the darkness, he knelt down, his face dripping with sweat and tears. Slowly he picked up each bone, laying it gently on the gabán. Reverently he rolled the gabán into a tight bundle. Straining, he lifted the heavy capstone, under which there was nothing but a shallow hole, cold and stinking. Holding the capstone with all the strength in one trembling arm, Juan gently placed the bundled cloak into the shallow hole.

He lowered the capstone with both hands, slowly and respectfully. The sharp edges of the stone cut into his fingers and blood ran down his hands and dripped off, but he did not drop the stone.

The capstone touched the earth as gently and silently as falling rose petals. Juan painfully drew his bleeding fingers from under the stone and made the Sign of the Cross in blood on his white cotton shirt.

Juan remained on his knees for a long time in the silent darkness, then solemnly rose and walked slowly home in the light of the full moon rising over the high mountains.

NOTES:

*(5) gabán meant, in olden times, a long, heavy winter cloak with a high collar, open down the sides, a sort of black "zarape tuxedo." Today it is used to mean a man's modern overcoat.

This folktale variant is copyrighted 2005 by Richard Alan Young, and the rights to it are controlled by August House Publishers, Atlanta, Georgia.