Latest / Sandman Stories Presents / Ep 291: Ecuador- The Curse of the Guava; a Ghost (Conde)

Transcript

Ep 291: Ecuador- The Curse of the Guava; a Ghost (Conde) · Sandman Stories Presents

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  Welcome back listeners to Sandman Stories Presents, a
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  folklore podcast where I read you to sleep or until the next
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  story. I'm your host, Dustin.
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  And if you're wanting spicier tales, head on over to Sandman
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  After Dark, where for as little as no money, you can hear me
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  read stuff that is too hot for here.
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  Today we are on the last two stories from the 13 Ecuadorian
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  legends written down by Mario Conde.
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  I owe him a big debt of gratitude for letting me share
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  the stories of the peoples of Ecuador.
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  And also to the Byzantes, I send a big thank you.
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  Much love from Michigan. They're the family I visited
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  down in Ecuador. The first story is about curses
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  and cruelty, and the second story is about a famous man who
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  just happens to be dead. OK, let's begin.
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  The curse of the guava. Although it is hard to believe,
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  one of the greatest environmental threats to the
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  Galapagos Islands is a plant that seems harmless, a sweet and
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  fragrant fruit, the guava. While in other tropical zones it
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  is a valued crop, on these enchanted Isles it is an
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  aggressive and harmful pest, almost impossible to eradicate.
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  In the Galapagos, they say that the guava is a curse.
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  According to legend, one day a boat named the Star of the Sea
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  came to the islands. The ship carried slaves,
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  provisions from the continent, and one guava plant, all
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  property of the cruel master who owned Chatham Hacienda, now
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  known as San Cristobal Island. Once sown in the vegetable
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  garden, the plant grew rapidly. After a year it bore its first
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  fruit, so tempting and fragrant that it drew the attention of
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  the slaves and workers. Warned of this fact, the
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  landlord ordered the garden to be enclosed with a wire fence.
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  As if this were not enough, he also warned that whoever dared
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  touch a single one of the fruits would be punished with 300
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  lashes. Then came disaster.
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  A young boy crawled under the fence and with the innocence
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  that accompanies childhood, began to devour the prohibited
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  fruit, not realizing At that same time, a jealous servant was
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  running to the master's house. By the time the snitch could
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  tell the master of the estate about the boy, the master was
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  already in the garden, accompanied by two overseers.
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  He took one look at the little intruder and mercilessly ordered
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  his punishment. The boy went with the henchman
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  calmly, not understanding what awaited him.
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  Then, once tied to the whipping post, he shrieked in anguish and
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  called out for his mother. Slaves and workers gathered
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  around among them. A woman beside herself with
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  grief and tears begged for them to take mercy on her son.
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  Everyone watched the scene with heads bowed and glazed eyes.
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  The master was just as cruel as ever.
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  No one could prevent the child's execution.
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  The master called out each one of the lashes 5101520 and he
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  demanded more. But the executioners had stopped
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  whipping the child. He was already dead.
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  Tears rolled down the slaves and workers faces.
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  Even the executioners dried their cheeks with their fists.
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  The master smiled, furious and uncontrollable.
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  The men had still not united her son before she ran to his side,
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  fell to her knees and put a hand on his body and cursed the
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  heartless master. You will pay with your life, she
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  told him, and your plant will be a blight.
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  It will grow uncontrollably, and the smell of its fruit will
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  attract the people that will kill you and take possession of
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  your land. Legend has it that it did not
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  take long for the Mother's prophecy to be fulfilled.
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  The Master was murdered in his own home.
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  The Chatham plantation was divided up.
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  The guava became a burden to the enchanted islands,
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  uncontrollable to this day. The end.
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  OK, and the final story of this book Unphantasma or a ghost?
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  They say that in the city of Waikil, in an area near the foot
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  of Garmin Hill, an elegantly dressed man goes for a stroll in
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  the evenings. The gentleman's dress, a black
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  formal suit and an old top hat draws the looks of the nocturnal
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  passers by. However, what really catches the
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  attention is that the gentleman approaches all the parked taxis
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  in the area and, paper in hand, ask that they take him to the
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  place written down on the paper. The strange thing comes when
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  almost none of the drivers agree to take him on the journey.
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  One night, Don Leandro Acevar, a taxi driver of the Oriana line,
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  did the same thing. Only a few people were out on
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  the streets in those late hours, so parked at the intersection of
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  Quito Ave. and Mashallah, Don Leandro just waited for some
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  client to walk by. Then, around 11, the
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  streetlights illuminated a distinguished figure as he
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  approached the taxi. At first, Don Leandro thought he
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  would pull away and save the hassle of telling the man that
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  he would not drive him. But the night had been so slow
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  that he decided to stay there and save the gas.
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  Not a minute passed before the elegant man came to the open
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  window of the cab and, waving a piece of paper, asked for a
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  ride. It would be my pleasure to drive
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  you, Sir, but I don't even have enough gas to get there.
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  The gentleman in the top hat was visibly annoyed and asked if he
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  thought some colleague would be ready to take him.
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  I don't know, said Don Leandro. They should be working very
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  little since the city has gotten so dangerous.
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  The gentleman asked. Why?
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  For a second time, the taxi driver was ready to drive off,
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  but he felt pity for the man. He took his hands from the
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  steering wheel and started chatting.
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  You know, no one trusts anyone else anymore, neither the living
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  nor the dead. The gentleman's features, lined
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  and markedly pale, showed his interest.
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  He asked what the cab driver meant.
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  It's like what you hear, Don Leandro said.
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  Look, they say that in the cemetery, at exactly 11 each
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  night, a ghost leaves up from his tomb and goes out to act up.
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  The gentleman laughed. That in any case, you had to
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  praise the ghost's punctuality. It's not that he leaves for the
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  fun of it, Don Leandro explained, but because there are
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  two demons that wake him up. At that hour, it was almost
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  midnight. A few cars pass through the
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  light from the street lamps lining the Ave.
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  It seemed that the gentleman was interested in the conversation.
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  He had stopped trying to get a taxi.
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  Don Leandro kept talking about history.
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  According to legend, an upper class man who had lost his
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  fortune made a pact with the devil.
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  Through the pact he became rich again, powerful and influential,
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  going as far as becoming the president of the public.
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  But when the hour of his death came, he had a copper tomb made
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  to keep the devil from taking his soul.
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  The gentleman's face expressed his disbelief like he was
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  hearing a tall tale. Even though you don't believe
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  me. Don Leandro settled into his
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  seat. This president had a copper tomb
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  made, the biggest in Waiakeel Cemetery at the time.
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  And they say that when he died, the devil could only take the
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  body. So he left two demons to make
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  sure the soul would never rest in peace.
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  A breeze rising from the Wyest River blew the branches on a
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  nearby tree. The tree's shadows seemed to
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  back away. The lonely light lit the
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  intersection. A taxi and an elegant figure
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  together at the driver's side window.
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  It all made for a mysterious night.
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  Suddenly, the man asked the driver if he thought the story
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  was true. Perhaps he had personally seen
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  the ghost, Don Leandro assured him.
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  Many of my comrades have, only they don't say anything because
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  they don't want people to think that they're crazy.
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  They say that they pick him up at midnight and took him to an
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  address written on a piece of paper just like yours.
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  Then the guy told them that he didn't have any money and that
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  they would return the next day. Can you believe it?
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  The driver going to charge into the House of the dead president
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  and discover that he's not only a creditor, but there's a
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  mountain of taxi drivers that the ghost has ripped off.
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  The gentleman took off his top hat and smiled to the
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  disappointment of the taxi drivers.
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  He put his hat back on and asked who the ghost was in life.
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  This time Don Leandro got ready to pull off definitively.
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  He started the car and responded before driving off Emilio
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  Estrada. He said the ghost that leaves
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  his tomb to talk with the people or hail a cab is the ex
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  president Don Victor Emilio Estrada.
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  The taxi faded into the lights of Quito Ave. one block down
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  from the general cemetery. The figure of the fine gentleman
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  vanished. The end.
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  Well, I do like how this book has finished.
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  I love the story of the man waiting for the taxi.
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  The peasante family lives on Carmen Hill, but I did not see
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  the ghost. But maybe my friend Leandro has.
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  Still, I've been to that spot and I've seen the taxis.
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  I just was not about to be out there at midnight when the Milan
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  DROs and all the peoples are out on their errands.
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  And the first story was so sad and I hope that the cruel man
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  got what was his. Thank you again Signor Conde for
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  letting me share Ecuador with the world.
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  And the podcast shout out goes to the Tales from the Enchanted
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  Forest hosted by Fox and Sparrow.
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  Probably not their real names. These two friends go through and
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  cover myths and legends and lore.
• 11:18
  They talk about Baba Yaga's house, they talk about 1001
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  nights The Little Mermaid. They cover folklore from around
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  the world. I really like the show because
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  they cover stories that I haven't covered yet, but they
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  also cover the big name stories. They're they're all over the
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  place, but, and I really just enjoy listening to their show.
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  It's more folk tales, it's more stuff from around the world.
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  What's not to love? And so if you love their show as
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  much as I do, go and give them a like a rating and a review.
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  And the listener shout out is to Calabria, Italy.
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  This is a region, not a city. The capital of this region is
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  Cantesaro. Interestingly enough, the area
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  is where the name Italy comes from.
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  Some of the earliest inhabitants were Greeks that colonized the
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  area. In fact, the Greek speaking
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  inhabitants of the area call themselves Italiotes.
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  There are three substantial linguistic subgroups in the
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  area, the Greek Calabrians, the Oxitans, and the Italio
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  Albanians. It is a beautiful area of Italy
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  and if I get a chance to go back there I will certainly visit
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  there. I tried to look up phrases in
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  Grico, the Greek Calabrian language, but alas I couldn't
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  find any. So in regular Italian I say MI
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  le grazzi Y bueno notte. Thank you and good night.