El Duende

Ok, so take a grown man that is the size of a small child. Give him pointy ears and paint a permanent menacing scowl on his face. Now, remove every nice bone from his body and give him an unsettling appetite for livestock. Before you finish, turn his feet around a full 180 degrees and make him just a tad faster than Marion Jones in her prime. What you have created is the “duende,” one of the most feared mythological creatures in Ecuadorian folk culture.

I hear every culture kind of has one. One friend tried to explain the Ecuadorian duende to me by comparing him with our leprechaun. (Or Ireland’s. Whatever). This came as a shock to me because Lucky Charms had given me the impression that leprechauns were nothing but charming creatures with a healthy sense of humor. Sure the Lucky Charms man has been known to pull a prank or two, but if every morning you woke up to discover that someone had taken off with your breakfast, how would you react? No, I do not think the duende can be accurately compared to the leprechaun. The duende has been known to be far more ill-behaved than any silly leprechaun. In fact, based on the stories that I´ve heard, the duende makes the leprechaun look like Mother Teresa.

No matter who I try to talk to about the duende, everyone has a story. Whether it be their own personal account of an encounter with the duende, or an event experienced by a family member or friend, stories about the duende are as much a part of small town culture as Michael Jordan is a part of athletic history. A neighbor told me that the duende was responsible for the deaths of two pigs and a cow on his cousin’s farm last summer. Someone told me that if you have a tendency to hang your feet or arms over the side of the bed at night, the duende will knock them back on top of the bed. My friend Moisés recounted a time when he went to a cabin for the weekend, and the duende sat in the window and watched him sleep for most of the night. Moisés attempted to wake up one of his cabin mates to point out the intruder, only to realize that the duende was nowhere to be seen. Did I mention that this guy is fast?

To me, the oddest physical trait about the duende is not the permanent scowl on his face, or his elf-like ears, rather his cheetah-esque speed despite the fact that his feet are turned completely in the other direction (not pictured).  Then again, I guess that’s how you can tell whether you are dealing with the duende, or just a quick, angsty teen with pointy ears.

I also hear that the duende has a decent track record with the ladies. Not being much for looks, he has had to resort to throwing enchanted perfume-covered rocks in the direction of beautiful women – ie: big eyes and long hair – causing them to fall in love with him. I heard this from an eight-year-old. Like I said, almost everybody has something to say about the duende.

“The duende starts houses on fire.”

“The duende steals valuable keepsakes and hides them.”

“The duende eats farm animals.”

“The duende shuts off the T.V. when I am watching and should be doing my homework.” (Nobody can completely dedicate their life to evil I guess.)

I would probably never share this fact with an Ecuadorian but just between you and I, I like to imagine what it would be like if I were to have a run-in with the duende. Maybe this makes me naïve, but I think I would take a whole different approach to dealing with Mr. Mischief.

I would hear his little feet sprinting around outside my front door and whip it open before he had a chance to knock. There I would catch him with a perfumed rock in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other.

“Now you listen HERE, Mr. Duende…I rolled my eyes when I heard that you accompanied Moisés on his camping trip. I laughed when I heard that you shut the T.V. off on little Mario, and I looked the other way when I heard that you were hiding things again. But this is taking it a little too far even for you, don’t you think? Why don’t you come with me to have a talk with the boys at the station.” (I reserve the right to replace that last sentence with whichever dramatic movie line I feel appropriate at the moment.)

Extremely caught off guard, the duende would take a second to contemplate whether or not he still had time to throw the perfumed love rock in my direction when he would notice I was prepared with a perfumed rock of my own. (Sans the love spell, but he won´t know that.) He would shoot one last “this isn’t over” look my way and take off leaving only a few rose petals and a cloud of dust in his wake. San Vicente would never hear from said duende again.

So do I believe in this duende guy? Of course my first instinct is to scoff and say “absolutely not,” but I have found myself proofreading every word of this blog out loud except for the parts were I have written the word “duende.” I mean, is this like Candyman or Bloody Mary? In the midst of all of these stories, nobody has explained to me what exactly it is that causes a duende to strike. (Except for neglecting your homework, of course.) So before I laugh about this whole thing I will probably wait until I’m not alone in my apartment at midnight listening to only crickets and the screaming baby next door. Yeah, probably best to wait until morning.