Here’s a little story for you. When I was a kid, I learned about the so called horrors of my country. Just like little kids tend to do, my friends and I use to tells stories about ghosts, specially about the most know ones. There where some that sounded more scary than others, of course.
I remember a name that sounded scary to me, it was “La Leyenda Del Horcon”, now here is the thing, the suffix “ito” means something small, and the suffix “ote” or “ato” means something big, but also something ending in N could also mean something big, in this case, “ahorcador” or “ahorcar” means “strangler”, so a way to translate this would be “The Legend Of THE Strangler” (emphasis on THE, is way better than saying the big strangler).
Though the name kinda impressed me, I never knew what the legend was about, and honestly, I never cared to investigate it, being a young kid, I took it for granted, and always though El Horcon was a mean Ghost (a terror, a threat) just because of the name.
Fast forward almost thirty years (yes, that much), one day just looking at random stuff on internet, I found out a page about legends in Venezuela. Every supossed legend had a small summary, explaining what said legend was about, there I saw the Horcon legend, wich I totally forgot it existed, and it said “poem”.
That was the only thing it said, so I searched and it turned out to be just that, a poem…
Being a little kid, I assume that the word “horcon” meaned “ahorcador” wich means “strangler” (I though thats what it meant as they were similar), but actually an “horcon” is a tool used by countrymen.
So yeah… almost thirty years later I found out that one of the horrors I though was scary, turned out to be a poem about an old man confesing a crime. And in the case of the poem, the Horcon is a place, is the name of an Inn where the crime was committed.
When I tell people about this silly story, of course they laugh , but I have noticed that the majority doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I mean, when I say “The Legend of the Horcon” they don’t know it even existed. Same thing goes about some local folklore, we have notions of the most popular ones, but there a lot of this folklore, stories, myths, etc. That we are forgetting. I could understand the youngest generation, but actually people older than me didn’t know.
So, as I have an honest curiosity on the subject, I have decided to write about it, maybe as a collection of stories. So I will be writing also here on Steemit, so I can gain some experience.
Thanks for reading me, and before I go, I’ll post the poem of the Horcon I am talking about. Just in case anyone is curious. The poem is writed with a lot of “country slangs” of the venezuelan countrymen, so I needed to change a few things.
THE LEGEND OF HORCON
It was raining torrentially,
and in the Horcón lounge,
as decorating the stove,
There were all the people.
An old man suddenly said:
"I'm going to tell you a story.
now that water and wind
have brought to my memory
things that no one knew
and that I will say at the moment.
Maybe I have to fight
with more than one inconvenience
so the mind can resist
the story without tearing apart,
but God, who knew how to give
patience to my heart,
maybe this time comes
to shine with its reflection
the soul of the old gaucho
to whom the urn is already waiting for
Do not be scared if my story
Reminds you on this day
something that could no longer
hide my feeling.
Turn around all a moment
the memory in the pass,
that there you will see portrayed,
with all its details,
a tragedy of love
that silence has buried.
There are things that I cannot
detail as it should:
some, because they have been lost
and others, because I am afraid;
but since in the mess
I already put you in, I ask attention,
that, if the imagination
help me at this time,
you will know by my story
THE LEGEND OF HORCON
Spread a bitter drink
to soften my chest,
that I'm going right
to the matter, because it is long;
I will make force, however,
To reach the end,
and if each one attends
with serene spirit,
you will see how a good man
became a criminal.
Seventy years, who would say,
that I lived here in these lands,
without knowing more compliments
that my great sadness;
seventy years is not a day,
you can have it by the way,
Well, if my joys are dead,
now I have the virtue
of being to this youth
the same as an open book.”
They were going to hit the hands
for what the old man said,
but a cold tear
stopped the countrymen.
"There are human feelings
said the old man, moved
that the years with their noise
they do not erase from my memory,
and this story is a story
that for me has no forgetting.
Back in my years as a youngster,
and forgive the distance,
it happened that in this lounge
was a mysterious crime.
In a lovely sorrel
a stranger came here,
handsome man, very fulfilled,
that when talking to the employer
stayed in the place right away,
being later very loved.
Soon after
Love piqued him,
and the little boy got married
with the foreman's daughter;
everything marched to the beat
of bliss and love,
and for greater greatness,
God sent him with affection,
a white and beautiful boy
more beautiful than a flower.
The years were passing
very happy in his hut:
she, cheerful and good looking;
he, strong and without disappointment.
But strange mysteries
they arrived ... and betrayal
got rid of the boy’s
dearest wishes,
and the ghost of jealousy
stuck in his heart.
Silently, the man endured
until he could find the evidence,
and one day he faked an absence
that he had never thought.
He said he had a cattle
to bring to the plank,
that it was a good opportunity
To earn some money,
and so between laughter and kisses,
He said goodbye to his beloved.
At one in the morning
Of the other day,
the man suddenly arrived
turned into a human beast;
at one blow he pulled the window
to the ground in a thousand pieces,
and advancing at a great pace,
blind with rage and pain,
he saw that his only love
It rested in other arms.
Like a deaf movement
It felt immediately;
then a body fell,
and another body at the time;
neither a whimper nor a lament
left the room;
and to complete his mission
when he saw them deceased,
he buried them both together
There, where that Horcón is
In the Inn was knew
that the ungrateful deceived him,
but nobody dare told him
the disgrace in which he lived;
that's why the police
ignored most,
They said: "The innocent
Went away with her lover ...
and instead, the two are
Resting eternally. "
"Ahijuna!" Shouted a countryman.
if this is what the old man talks about,
That was a male, canejo!
I’ll kissed his hand! ...
"I am," the old man shouted.
Come, my son, kiss me! ...
I was, my son, the one who killed
your ungrateful mother,
because in bed embraced
I found her with another man.
-You did good, dear tata
-the son shouted without anger;
Come on, old man, I forgive you
for what you had suffered so much;
but now, tata, I ask
Do not curse her anymore,
that if she was bad and daring,
for me, forgive her, father,
that a mother is always a mother.
Let her sleep in peace! ...
The two men embraced
as they had never done before;
joining chest to chest,
like two children they cried;
father and son kissed,
but with such feeling,
that the human thought
could not paint now
the touching scene
of that tragic moment.
The eyes of those people
with crying they flooded,
and all muted were left
under an imposing silence;
He said again:
-There they are, on the Horcon.
And putting his heart
the old man in what he said,
he apologized to the son
and the son asked for forgiveness