Encantado
The large boat sat moored on the north bank of the Amazon. The town spilled its light down onto it. The dark rainforest surrounded both the boat and the town. The river flowed on in the night, its waters hiding many secrets, both modern and arcane. Amazonia held its own charms and wonders for those lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to find them.
The boat belonged to an American anthropology team from the University of Pancor. At this particular moment the team was in the town, partaking in an evening party. They had come to this place, many miles up river from the coast, to study the ancient customs and traditions that were beginning to die out from extended contact from the civilized world. These legends spoke of many things both good and evil, both terrestrial and aquatic, that dwelt outside of the rules of humanity. The university wished to collect and archive as many of these myths as possible for the purpose of history.
The party was in full swing. The band was playing lively, festive music. Judy Frenshaw, the undergraduate who had fought to get to go on this trip, was enjoying the night. Niles Wescott was in one corner looking very uncomfortable, the party lights casting strange reflections off of his spectacles. Pete Harrison was dancing and very drunk. The townspeople carried on despite the presence of outsiders among them. Any time was a time for celebration, in their eyes.
“Excuse me,” someone said to Judy in near-perfect English. She turned, surprised. A well-dressed man stood there. He wore a very elegant white suit and a very fine hat upon his head. “You are not from here?” he asked her. Judy shook her head. “No,” she said, “I’m with the university. How do you know English?”
“Belem,” the man replied, “I was among the right people there to learn a good part of your language. Shall we talk?” He gestured to a nearby table. Judy nodded and walked over to it with him. “What’s your name?” she asked the stranger. “Victor Juan,” the man replied, “I am what you might call a party boy. I love parties, I simply cannot resist one when I am around it.” Judy smiled. “I like them too,” she replied. “Ah,” Victor said, “Then we have something in common, don’t we?”
“So what are you doing here, Victor?” Judy asked. “Oh, just passing through,” Victor said, “I travel up and down the river on various bits of business. Why are you here?” “Oh, the University of Pancor sent us out on an anthropological expedition,” Judy explained. “I am a simple man,” Victor said, “Could you tell me what that means?” “Excuse me,” Judy said, “It means we’re here to study the people who live here. Namely, we’re here to collect various folklore tales.” Victor nodded.
“You have heard the tale of the encantado then, I assume?” he asked her. Judy nodded. That was one of the more widespread tales of Amazonia. According to the legend, encantado were an enchanted variety of the freshwater dolphins that lived in the river. They would assume human form and attend parties in the hope of wooing a beautiful human. Then they would return to the river with the human and make them an encantado as well. That was the most common story anyway. There were many other versions of it, all different from region to region. Some claimed that the encantado were also powerful shamans, capable of frightening acts of magic. Others said they were demons who stole the souls of those who fell asleep on boats.
Victor smiled. “That is the only one I am familiar with,” he said. He waved to a man in the crowd who bore a striking resemblance to him. “Who’s that?” Judy asked. “My brother,” Victor replied, “We travel together. He is good to me.” “You like him then?” Judy asked. “Of course,” Victor said, “Who does not like their brother?”
“So you like parties?” Judy asked. Victor nodded. “Yes, very much,” he said, “The music, the dancing, the pretty girls.” He looked at Judy as he said this. She giggled. “You’re very nice, Senor Juan,” she said to him. Victor laughed. “I try to be,” he said, “There’s nothing a nice lady needs more than a nice man, now is there?” Judy had to admit that there was not.
The band began to play a new song. Victor’s eyes lit up as he heard it. “I love this song!” he exclaimed, “Senorita, will you not dance with me?” Judy was about to object, citing the fact that she had barely known Victor for five minutes, that he did not even know her name. But he was handsome, and so sweet, and he was already literally sweeping her off her feet. They moved to the center of the dancers, their bodies swaying rhythmically to the music. Victor was a very good dancer. Judy was finding it very hard to keep up with him. But somehow she did. Soon the other dancers had cleared away from the two of them and watched. Judy and Victor danced their hearts out beneath the party lights, moving faster and faster as the tempo of the music picked up. Finally the music built up to a crescendo finale and ended. Judy and Victor held each other for a moment, then let go. “You are not a bad dancer,” Victor said to her.
Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass, then a scream. All turned towards the source of the noise. Pete was standing over a bloody body, an equally bloody broken bottle in his hand. Everyone gasped. Judy saw that it was Victor’s brother who lay upon the ground soaked in blood. She turned to him, but he seemed to have mysteriously vanished. There was another gasp from the assembled crowd. Judy turned towards the bloody scene again. Victor’s brother no longer lay there. Instead a bloody freshwater dolphin clothed in weeds was in his place. Pete stood over the thing, drunkenly blubbering.
The crowd parted. An old man, the resident shaman, came forward. He looked at the scene for a long time. Then he walked up to Pete. “What did he do to you?” he asked him. “What ya think?” Pete blathered, “He come up on me. Freak. Took care a him.” The shaman shook his head. “I doubt he did,” he said, “And even if he did, I would not want to be in your place American. To kill an encantado is a bad thing.”
Niles got up from his place in the corner. “What did you say?” he asked the shaman. “Your friend has killed an encantado,” the shaman replied. “That’s just a story,” Niles replied. The shaman shook his head and pointed at the corpse. “Do you call that just a story?” he asked. “It’s a joke,” Niles said, “Someone here has played a very good, very convincing practical joke. That’s all that’s happened. Pete’s just the butt of a very good joke.” The shaman shook his head. “No one makes light of the encantado,” he replied, “I suggest you take you two take your friend here and leave. Now.”
