Monthly Archives: July 2005

Natalia, one of my morning students, told about how one morning she was at home, in her bedroom putting on her socks when she heard the door open behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young woman wearing a beige skirt and a white sweater. It looked like a school uniform. Natalia assumed it was her niece and said, �entra, no mas� (come on in), but the girl simply left the room. Natalia looked up finally and called after her niece. There was no answer. She had thought it a little odd, because her niece doesn�t like to wear skirts; when she followed after her opening the door the girl had just gone through, she couldn�t find her anywhere. She finally went downstairs and asked about her niece and they told her she had left an hour ago. They say that when a person dies, they wander around lost for a while until they realize what has happened.

Juan Carlos tells great stories. It is truly our biggest regret of the year that we didn�t spend more time with the Ordo�ez family because they are really a lot of fun to be around. Anyhow, one night not too long ago, when Juan Carlos and Francia (his wife and the Ordo�ez�s youngest daughter) were in bed, he looked out the window and thought he saw a pair of legs. He woke up Francia and told her someone was outside climbing onto the roof. They whispered and crawled over to the phone. They looked again. Sure enough, there were a pair of legs still silhouetted against the curtains. They whispered some more and decided to turn on the light and then call the police. They flipped the switch, opened up the curtains and discovered a pair of pants hanging on the clothesline on the roof of their neighbor.

A few years back, Juan Carlos was on the trole when he ran into an old friend/acquaintance. They talked for a while about what they were doing now, and then they somehow got around to asking each other how they know one another. �Wait, wait, I know, the other guy would say, you studied at Central University.� �No,� Juan Carlos would answer. �Oh, I know, you took a design graphics class at EDG.� �No.� They went back and forth like this five times, completely unable to recall how they knew each other and then finally said to one another, �Well, it was nice to meet you again. Hope things go well for you.� And they said their goodbyes.

And one more from Ana. Years ago, she used to work in a bank. Several of her colleagues were going to take a trip to the beach and invited her, but she declined because she didn�t have enough money. The day they left, she came back to her house and discovered that in her bedroom, her nightstand had been knocked over. She had a little model car on the nightstand and it too had been overturned and was lying on the floor. The next morning, she learned that her friends from the bank had gotten in a car accident and all five or six of them were killed.

On Friday night, I was reviewing present perfect verbs with my students and I got stuck on this sample sentence: �I have never seen a ghost.� I used variations of this ghost theme in several other sample sentences, and such was the frequency of my ghost utterances that after class, some of my students started talking about ghosts. None of them had seen a ghost with the exception of one, Ana. She told us about how when she was in high school, she lived in a long, narrow house, which had a long hallway running through it. She was in one room studying when she heard these quick little footsteps in the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a little boy, almost just a shadow, run by the doorway, and then she heard his continued footsteps as he continued running down the hallway. About 15 minutes later, she heard an ambulance. Apparently, right outside her house, there had been a car accident of some sort, and a little boy had died.

My students in the morning took and developed a picture of me; in the picture, they claim, you can see a ghost. On the white board, there is a face. It is the face of a gringa teacher who used to teach at SECAP, they claim. Their story is completely unbelievable, but on Friday night, in the aftermath of Ana�s story about the little footsteps in her hallway, I got a serious case of the willies after I locked up the office and started heading down the stairway in the very quiet, mostly dark building. I basically started jumping down 6 or 7 stairs at a time.

On Saturday night, Eileen and I went to the Ordo�ez family�s house for an evening tea. It was a lot of fun, listening to their stories and relaying a few ourselves. I told them the above ghost stories, which kicked off an evening full of such stories. I need to write some of them here before I forget them. Warning: this entry will be pretty long.

Rocio, one of the Ordo�ez daughters, told of when she was a kid and she and her sisters and cousins were together on Christmas Eve one year. They lived pretty near our neighborhood, LaGasca. Anyhow, sometime around 7 or 8 at night, the kids got the idea that they should go out and buy some candy. They asked their parents; their parents refused; they asked again; their parents refused; so they went anyway. They walked pretty far up LaGasca, bought the candy and then started heading down the hill. Well, on their way down, they saw this little guy in a tree, whistling at them to come over. He claimed he had some candy for them. A couple of them started walking over, but Rocio saw his hat and big shoes and recognized him as the �duende.� The duende is more or less a troll. He�s an evil, dwarf-like figure. Rocio shouted, �es el duende, corramos!� (It�s the duende. Run!) and they all took off for the house. Unfortunately, when they got home, the duende was in the garden, still beckoning to them to come over. They went inside, told the story, and cried.

Juan Carlos, the Ordo�ez son-in-law told us about a strange happening at Unibanco, a bank near El Parque El Ejido, which is supposedly built on the graves of the soldiers who died in the Four Hours War (not a war I know much about — sorry). There was a guard who worked at the bank and quit after two days. Why? Well, apparently on his first night, he was on the fourth floor and the lights and computers were flickering on and off. Doors were opening and closing. Naturally, it freaked him out a little. But the next night was worse. On the fourth floor, the same stuff was happening. The security tape even shows the lights flickering on and off. Then you see a door open and the guard freezes with an expression of utter fear on his face. There is no one else on the tape, but there is a shadow on the ground. The guard claims he saw the duende.

Victor told us about one of his two encounters with the �viuda,� or widow. Once when he was much younger, prior to his marriage, he was out at a bar with some friends after a soccer game or something. It was getting late and he announced he had to go; so he headed out, walking toward his home. To get to his house, he had to cross a big empty lot. Quito in those days was much smaller and much darker. Anyhow, across the lot, he saw a woman dressed completely in black. She may have beckoned to him, as the viuda often does, attempting to lure young men to their deaths with a �can you accompany me home?� When he reached the door to his house, she was pretty far away, still across the empty lot. He got out his keys, unlocked the door, and boom, there she was, right in front of him. He could see her fiery eyes through her veil.

Rocio and Mercedes relayed a popular legend about a young man who one night was riding home on his motorcycle. He saw a woman on the side of the road trying to thumb a ride, and he stopped for her and decided to give her a ride. Since it was a little cold, and they were on a motorcycle, he lent her his jacket. When they got to her house, she offered him the jacket, but he said, no, keep it, I�ll pick it up tomorrow. So they say goodbye, and the next day, he went to the house to reclaim his jacket. An older woman answered the door, and he explained that he was here to get his jacket back from her daughter. �You must be mistaken, � she said. And (yes, this one�s similar to an urban legend in the States) she brought him inside and showed him a picture and asked, �is this her?� Yes, he replied. �My daughter died five years ago,� she said. �If you don�t believe me, you can go to such and such cemetery and see her tomb.� He went, and sure enough, there was his jacket.

One more: Juan Carlos told us when he was a kid, his father took him and all his brothers to the �Castillo del gringo loco.� (the castle of the crazy gringo) They walked through this park filled with trees and they were expecting to see a castle, but they saw nothing. �Where�s the castle,� they asked. And their father answered, �it�s under us. It�s completely underground.� As they entered the strange underground castle, their dad told them about how this crazy gringo had built this underground lair and had placed various tubes throughout to supply air to the various rooms. He had also placed a few hidden entrances here and there. Above ground, there was a park and a sort of pavilion where teenagers would have dances. He would grab a girl by the feet and drag her underground and kill her. They never caught him. When Juan Carlos and his brothers got home that night, already thoroughly spooked, their dad told them to be sure to keep their feet under the covers. After all, the never found the crazy gringo, and he always grabbed his victims by the feet.

I should mention that all of the above stories were told with seriousness. They believed the tales they were telling. They were not just stories to these storytellers. I should also mention that during this creepy storytelling session, the 100 year-old abuelita (grandmother) was sitting in an armchair near the table. She seemed relatively with it, actually � answering questions and carrying on conversations that made sense � but she had a habit of laughing to herself at one-minute intervals. It was a little freaky in the light of the fact that we were telling ghost stories.

Yesterday Tim and I had lunch in the Mariscal so I didn’t leave the neighborhood after my morning classes. We ate at the very gringo but safe and tasty Magic Bean. After lunch we stopped at Lucky’s work and picked up the deposit for the computer. He was giddy: it was pretty fun to watch. By the time we left his job, it was about 2:30. I decided I’d rather kill an hour down in the Mariscal than bus it back home only to have to come back to teach the night classes I’ve been subbing for this week. So Tim and I went to El Espiral and bought about 6 new DVDs, for a grand total of $15. Tim headed back home at about 3:00 so I decided to go to the politechnica (where I’m teaching this cycle) and plan a little in the teacher’s lounge before class started.

As I entered the teacher’s lounge my heart sank: The Whistler was there. The Whistler is an older Ecuadorian guy who teaches in the morning. Back when I taught at the other building I would get to school at about 6:30 when the building would open so I would always have enough time to be ready for class. The Whistler would also arrive early. Every morning he’d say, “Buenos d�as” and then some form of “how are you?” I’d usually reply in Spanish with the appropriate, “Good, morning. I’m good, how are you?” One day a few months ago though, I said, “I’m ok.” He ranted in Spanish for a couple of minutes about how everyone should be good, and life is wonderful, etc. So after that I stuck to the “good.” The most irrtitating characteristic of The Whistler though is not his morning chat but, of course, his whistling. After the formalities are done he starts. Usually it’s an unidentifiable but occasionally he’ll break out with something like Beethoven’s Ninth. Oh, and it’s always out of tune. Always. When I found out that this cycle I had to work at the other building I was disappointed because new I wouldn’t see the other teachers that I’d made friends with as frequently. Also, there isn’t free internet at the Poli. But I thought at least there’d be no Whistler. First day of class this cycle, yep, he was there.

So you can understand my disappointment when I saw him sitting at the teacher’s table. However, I noticed he was eating a sandwhich. Since you can’t eat and whistle at the same time I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. So I got out my books and started figuring out Monday’s lesson. I couldn’t help but notice The Whistler is a LOUD eater. He was smacking his lips and making plently of other noises. I just tried to ignore it. When he finished eating he did start whistling a little. Ach. But then, miraculously, he stopped. Only when I looked up he had lit a cigarrette! The teacher’s room is small and smoking is not allowed. I gave up. I packed up my books and went and sat out on a bench out in the hall until I had to teach.

Who knows when the The Whistler will strike again…

Well, it’s been two weeks now with the new Preeti Imports. My students have been organizing a “despedida” (going-away party) for me to take place next Friday. They’ve been having these unproductive, clandestine meetings after class because for a while they really didn’t want to invite the new students. At first they were talking about going to some resort that has hot tubs and swimming pools and volleyball courts and all. But it was too expensive. They looked into another resort, but that’s a no-go for some reason. Then they started talking about going to Papallacta which is a hot springs resort town in the mountains. Supposedly really beautiful. Some of my students say it’s 3 hours away. Others say it’s an hour and a half. Yesterday, they were throwing around ideas of places to go in Quito; maybe the teleferico (the new sk-lift-like thing they just constructed); maybe the Parque Metropolitano; maybe Mindo. In yesterday’s post-class meeting, I said, “just invite everybody, otherwise I’m gonna have to offer a make-up class for the students we don’t invite, and it’s not fair to exclude people.”

Most of the class has seen that the so-called “really bad” Preeti Imports are not at all bad. And most people agreed with me. Today, at the end of class, one of the students made an announcement, but no decision was made. I’ll do whatever, but I’d prefer some place closer, I think, simply because it will inconvenience people less and more people could come. What a drama. We’ve been discussing this off and on for about three or four weeks. Planning things in Ecuador is difficult.

What else?

Eileen’s feeling much better.

We sold the computer to Lucky.

I’m giving a huge test on Wednesday; I’ll be writing it this weekend.

I’m also frantically writing another short story which I started last fall and recently got re-inspired to finish before I leave.

Seeing as how we’ll be losing the computer soon, there won’t be many more photos posted until late July or August. We’re still taking photos, though.

By the way, Eileen gets back on the 30th of July. Set aside the 31st for a welcome-home party. When and where? No idea. But on Sunday the 31st.

In Ecuadorian Spanish, when you’ve got a cold, you say, “estoy con gripe.” When translated, it ends up being a very British-sounding proclamation: “I’m with cold.”

This week, Eileen has a really bad cold, leaving me “with cold” in the more literal sense of American English, as in “I’m with stupid.” It’s a bad week to have a cold, as she is subbing today, tomorrow, and Friday for four hours each day, doubling her work schedule.

I’m in the midst of perparing the computer for an Ecua sale. We’re gonna try to sell it down here to avoid the hassles of 1) carrying one more bag back home, and 2) selling it on ebay when we get back. We’re hoping to get about $1100 for it. Today, I meet with a prospective buyer named Lucky. He’s Bill and Andy’s roommate.

In the meantime, we’ve started advertising it via word of mouth at our gym and at Eileen’s school. The gym will also allow me to post a sign.

My brother Will has a flight out of Lima for Quito on the 16th. He’ll come back, spend a few days with us, help us clean the place, and then fly back on the 20th, same day as I do. Once home, he’ll be helping me re-roof my house!