The Legend of Francisco Sojuel

Martina opened the wooden gate to her family’s home just as her mother set the last plate on the table for dinner—baked potatoes—to complete the spread of tortillas, beans, and corn. She sat next to her two younger brothers, across from her older sister and brother. They began eating, and her father started rambling about something that happened at work while her brothers kicked at each other under the table.

Martina zoned out and reflected on her strange dream. She had a feeling it had to do with her new book. She looked at it in her lap and noticed faded golden symbols around the edges. She flipped through it, scanning illustrations. The next thing she knew, the goddess from her dream stared back at her—the book had a perfectly accurate drawing of the dueña from her dream! She rummaged back through the pages trying to find it again.

“Martina!” her dad said.

“What?” she said looking up.

“Your mother asked you a question.”

“I asked how your day was,” said her mother.

“Oh, it was okay. I got a new book to read from school.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “You should put the book away at dinner—it’s not polite.” She took the book away.

Before Martina could say more, her sister piped up about her upcoming fútbol game, and the conversation moved on. After dinner, Martina rushed through chores so she could get her book back. She cleaned the last dish, got the book back from her mother, and went to her room to read for the night.

She found and read the story with the image from her dream, titled “Story of the Goddess of the Lake.” Every detail from the wind storm to the underwater village matched her dream perfectly. She grew sleepy—her eyelids drooped heavier and heavier, and she started needing to reread some paragraphs.

Next Martina decided to read a story with an illustration of a hummingbird titled “The Legend of Francisco Sojuel.” The first page explained the history of San Simón, or Maximón, and his sons . By performing the correct rituals at San Simón's shrine, any woman could become pregnant with his son. These sons of San Simon could outperform others at any task with their strength and intelligence, and they were also better looking. At will, they could turn themselves into animal or spiritual forms called naguales. Many claim to be the true sons of San Simón, but few are. San Simón will actually come visit the real ones in his human form.

Before she could turn another page, Martina fell fast asleep.

She opened her eyes in a cold, dark room, a stone floor replacing the soft mattress underneath her. It took a second for her eyes to adjust, and then she noticed the bars of a jail cell. The room contained another person, a man of about thirty, sitting against the opposite wall. He stared at her.

“Hello?” Martina said.

“Hi,” he said. “Who are you? Are you a nagual?”

“A what? My name’s Martina. I don’t know how I got here—are we in jail?”

“You don’t know what a nagual is?” he said. “Somehow a little girl just magically appears in this jail cell.”

“Yes! Well, no, I don’t know. I don’t even know where I am right now. I think I’m dreaming.”

“Interesting. Well, we are in jail.”

“Why? And what’s a nagual?”

“I don’t know why you’re here, but they locked me up months ago. I can leave if I want, but I come back every now and then so they don’t find out.”

“What do you mean you can leave if you want? Aren't you a prisoner here?”

“Yes, but I shouldn't be. I tried to warn people about disease and famine and tell them to repent, but my enemies claimed I was evil and talking to the devil. I’m Francisco Sojuel, and my father is San Simón. I talk to saints, God, and dueños of heaven and earth and perform every sacred ritual. The saints told me when to plant my crops to avoid the famine. I tried to tell everyone in Santiago, but they called me a drunk and didn’t listen. Now they are suffering, and they threw me into jail instead of reforming their ways.”

“Are you a nagual? Since you’re a son of San Simón?”

“Yes—I have thirteen naguales. That’s how I escape. I turn into a hummingbird, fly through the bars to my family, and San Simón takes my form in this cell. The guards never know. But I need to be careful. Some people have seen me outside, and rumors are flying.”

“How do you turn into a nagual?”

“I don’t know how to explain it—it comes naturally. If you’re here, even in a dream, I bet you have at least one nagual.”

Suddenly, the stones of the cell started rattling. The entire room trembled like an earthquake. Martina jumped to her feet. Another person appeared in the room—a large, burly man wearing ripped brown clothing.

“Hello, Francisco,” he said. “I’m the dueño of earthquakes. Because of your devotion, I’ve come to set you free from prison. Take your nagual form and escape, and I will make the jail crumble to the ground once and for all.”

Martina started breathing very fast, and she felt certain she would die in the earthquake.

Francisco turned to her and said, “Do it now! Turn into your nagual so you can fit through the bars and escape.”

“I don’t know how!”

“Yes you do. Trust yourself.” He turned into a vibrant blue and purple hummingbird and flew through the bars, hovering just outside the cell. The walls and ceiling shook more and more, and some parts began to crumble. Martina took a deep breath and threw herself at the bars to the cell.

Her vision sharpened and lowered to the ground; she had morphed into a cat. She slinked through the bars and ran outside, trailing the hummingbird. They just made it out the door when the whole building collapsed behind them.