(08/28/23)
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Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
"Well, It Must Be A Duppy... or Miss Carmen"
Our little son had become a force of nature. Having grown up “back-a-bush,” he was fearless. But, after coming home from his first day of school, I found he had acquired some extracurricular “education” that turned out to be less-than-helpful. Night time had become a problem. He had become “afraid of the dark.” Now, at bedtime, he was suddenly reluctant to go to sleep. He insisted that I had to go ahead of him first, and flip on the light switch. And now, for the first time in his life, he wanted a nightlight in his bedroom.
This was a little boy who had grown up in a simple wooden house in the bush, miles from anywhere. We had a little generator but didn’t use it at night, as fuel was far too expensive to use for lighting alone. Instead, we would sometimes use it during the day to run various electrical appliances: the Dremel tool for my pendant carvings, the bandsaw and router for the crescent moons, my sewing machine for whatever needed mending, and maybe the blender for fruit smoothies. The idea was to use everything electrical, all-at-once, and then turn off the generator. After dark, we’d light the Aladdin lamp, with its glowing white mantle of delicate ash, and a single kerosene lamp. That was it. Outside, there was either starlight or moonlight. But, either way, it was still night. And he had always been fine with it. It took a while for him to tell us, because there also seemed to be an element of shame.
“I don’t want to go in there, Mummy. There’s duppies. Duppies in the dark.”
I cuddled and soothed him, trying to reassure him that “duppies” weren’t real. I told him “there was nothing in the dark that wasn’t also there in the light.” But he seemed unconvinced. Like many kids, it would take years to overcome a fear that had been planted in his head by merely attending ONE day of school.
However, in the not-so-distant future, I would experience an unexplained phenomenon in Miss Carmen’s house. [No. Really. I mean it.] That kind of full-bodied fear. The kind you can't deny. The kind of synaptic response that makes an icy chill run up your spine. Gringos called it “goose-pimples.” Belizeans called it “cold seed," or "chikin-skin.”
It was the first time I started to seriously reconsider what I’d told my son.
Perhaps “there WERE things in the dark that were NOT also there in the light.”
Perhaps “there WERE things in the dark that were NOT also there in the light.”
It was maybe 2:00AM, and I was in a deep sleep in the blackness. Suddenly, I realized that the overhead light in the other room was on. Because of my position in bed, it wasn’t shining directly in my eyes, but it sure-as-heck shone though the doorway. At first, I was merely confused. Then I sprang into full wakefulness. Instantly, my heartrate doubled. My husband was asleep beside me. No sound was coming from my son’s room.
Months before, my mother, in Pennsylvania, had sent her grandson a little Mickey Mouse night light. Although we used it at bedtime, I still turned it off each night, once he was asleep. He always peed before bedtime and, once the mosquito net was tucked in around his bed, he never got up again till morning.
Nowadays, we ALL slept under mosquito nets. Funny how we never needed them in the bush. People automatically assume that *jungle=mosquitos* but it wasn’t true. It depended on the terrain. Where we lived, high on the mountain above the Macal River, nature had struck a natural balance between cave bats and mosquitos. Because the soil was rocky, there was good drainage, and rarely did water stand long enough to spawn larvae.
Months before, my mother, in Pennsylvania, had sent her grandson a little Mickey Mouse night light. Although we used it at bedtime, I still turned it off each night, once he was asleep. He always peed before bedtime and, once the mosquito net was tucked in around his bed, he never got up again till morning.
Nowadays, we ALL slept under mosquito nets. Funny how we never needed them in the bush. People automatically assume that *jungle=mosquitos* but it wasn’t true. It depended on the terrain. Where we lived, high on the mountain above the Macal River, nature had struck a natural balance between cave bats and mosquitos. Because the soil was rocky, there was good drainage, and rarely did water stand long enough to spawn larvae.
Living in San Ignacio was different. Here, amongst the many and sundry houses of town-humans, there were enough random ditches, ponds, and puddles in which mosquitos would breed. So, although Miss Carmen’s house had glass windows (and heavy wooden storm shutters) there were no screens. Like my son’s, our master bedroom mosquito net was also carefully tucked in each night.
So WHO had turned on the light?
There was only one switch for that overhead light, and that was on the other side of the living room, right next to the front door. The position that switch occupied was not on the way to, or from, anywhere. Not unless someone was exiting or entering the house through the front door.
ALL of these thoughts had gone through my mind in milliseconds. And, honestly, yep, I was rattled. Yes, during my time in Belize, I had been through earthquake, flood, fire and hurricane, but at least those were real. This was more of the realm that Dicky Simpson had told me about. Spirits and such. And yet, the dwendes in the bush had always kept their distance from me.
So. Now? In the world of people?
In TOWN? That’s when I’d finally face the supernatural?
So WHO had turned on the light?
There was only one switch for that overhead light, and that was on the other side of the living room, right next to the front door. The position that switch occupied was not on the way to, or from, anywhere. Not unless someone was exiting or entering the house through the front door.
ALL of these thoughts had gone through my mind in milliseconds. And, honestly, yep, I was rattled. Yes, during my time in Belize, I had been through earthquake, flood, fire and hurricane, but at least those were real. This was more of the realm that Dicky Simpson had told me about. Spirits and such. And yet, the dwendes in the bush had always kept their distance from me.
So. Now? In the world of people?
In TOWN? That’s when I’d finally face the supernatural?
OK. So I squared my shoulders -- silently damning the fact that I didn’t have my machete -- and walked across the lighted room – sure that I would find the physical switch in the down-position.
But. No. The switch was UP. It was UP…
Only flesh-and-blood could do something like that.
Right? RIGHT?
I turned to my left, and stared at the slightly-faded rectangular spot on the wall that had previously featured the “creepy Jesus painting.” I shuddered, and tried to get a grip. I must have stood there for ten minutes before eventually doing the only thing I could do. I flipped the light switch off, walked back through the living room, and I went back to bed. But, I did not sleep…
But. No. The switch was UP. It was UP…
Only flesh-and-blood could do something like that.
Right? RIGHT?
I turned to my left, and stared at the slightly-faded rectangular spot on the wall that had previously featured the “creepy Jesus painting.” I shuddered, and tried to get a grip. I must have stood there for ten minutes before eventually doing the only thing I could do. I flipped the light switch off, walked back through the living room, and I went back to bed. But, I did not sleep…
The next time I visited Rosita, she gave me some dried leaves that Don Elijio recommended for nudging away unwanted spirits. She helped me design a cleansing ritual that would involve: 1) burning these herbs on a clam shell, 2) allowing the smoke to permeate each room, 3) sprinkling salt around the perimeter of the house, and 4) teaching me a Mayan prayer to recite over and over.
So, do you think I took the time to engage in any kind of internal debate between my emotional and logical self? Did I decide to question the practice, or its possible efficacy?
Hell, no. I just did it.
So, do you think I took the time to engage in any kind of internal debate between my emotional and logical self? Did I decide to question the practice, or its possible efficacy?
Hell, no. I just did it.