Friday, January 16, 2015

Tres Navarre vs. the Chupacabra Chapter 3: Lessons My Abuelo Never Taught Me



Tres could barely keep his eyes open as he prepared to leave the UTSA campus after the day’s classes.   As he passed the fountain, he had to blink to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things.   There in the fountain was a familiar looking boy.   He shut his eyes tight and then opened them.



“Nope.  I didn’t go away,” said the boy in the fountain.   “I’m really here.”

“I was hoping last night was just a bad dream brought on by too many tequila shots.”

“No, you weren’t drinking and if I do say so myself, you shouldn’t.  It’s a bad habit and has been the downfall of many of the Olympians.  But I am not here to lecture you on the dangers of strong drink.   I am here to deliver a message.”

“Since when is the son of Poseidon in the business of delivering messages?  Isn’t that some other guy’s job?”

“Well technically yes, but there is a push for more cross-training on Mount Olympus, so I am doing some contract work for Hermes.    If I do well, my next job will be with Athena.”

“All right, already.   Just deliver the message and leave me to my headache.”

“You failed in your first encounter with the chupacabra because you forgot the lessons of your abuelo.   And also, relying on Felix and his penguins is always a tricky proposition.”

“What lessons from my abuelo?   I don’t even speak Spanish?”

“Are you sure?   According to my briefing, the secrets of the chupacabra were passed down from the Aztecs to their descendants in Mexico, passing from grandfather to grandson.”

“The only problem with that theory is that I’m not Mexican.”

“Well, I’m sure the proper term is Mexican-American or Latino.   I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, it’s not Mexican or Mexican-American or Aztec-American.    My family is Spanish even though I don’t speak a word of it.   My father was elected Sheriff of Bexar County because people thought he was Mexican-American.   However, he wasn't and I’m not.  There are no secrets passed down to me from my abuelo.   As a result, I was just winging it out there.  I figured that when a kid showed up talking about penguins and magic that that was my clue.”

“Oh dear,” said Percy.   (I am assuming that the reader picked up the hint that the boy in the fountain at UTSA was demigod Percy Jackson).    “If you are not the keeper of the secrets of the chupacabra, we have a big problem.   Once the chupacabra eats all the goats, it will turn to eating humans and there will be a terrible carnage unless it can be driven back to its lair.   Think.   Is there someone you know of Mexican descent who is unusually wise in the ways of San Antonio, who always knows everything from where to find the best bowl of menudo to where the bodies are buried?”

“Yes,” said Tres, “that would be my friend, Ralph Arguello.    The only problem is that he died in Mission Road.   Tres’s throat caught for a moment as he recalled the image of Ralph’s lifeless body, clad in his trademark guayabera shirt, size XXL, in his coffin.   “Look. unless you can conduct a séance, we’re not going to be talking to Ralph.  At least not in this lifetime.”

“Don’t be silly.   Seances aren’t real.   What you have to do is go to Hades to talk to Ralph and gain the secrets of the chupacabra.”

“Is that all?”    

“I realize that it’s not done that often.   As a matter of fact, Hercules and Dante are the only persons I can think of who crossed the River Styx and came back.   However, you have one advantage they didn’t have.   You have me to tell you the way.”

“Are you coming along?”

“Oh no, there would be Hades to pay if I did.   But I can show you the way.”

“Go away kid,” said Tres, who promptly got in his truck and drove home.

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