I’ve learned over time that all change is a form of transgression. It assaults and upsets what we know, in one way or another.
I want to tell you why I’ll never go back camping to “El Avila”, my city’s mountain. It used to be my favorite activity, and through it I met my best friends.
Years ago, in 1990, we organized a “reunion” with our beloved mountain. Our high school graduation, along with the beginning of university, had kept us from visiting it for months.
The climb to our favorite spot, “The Devil’s Plates”, was accompanied by the sundown. The bushes gently scratched our forearms and calves, and were later soothed by the fog, so thick that it seemed to make the trail along the hills vanish. Just like when we were kids.
We talked the whole way through. Six months without climbing had fortunately not stripped us from the ability to do so without running out of breath. Everyone provided an update of their new life, and on his turn, Javier asked if we were “still up to try ayahuasca tonight?”
I secretly wished he had forgotten, but we all halfheartedly replied “yes”. The preparation, which included a vegan diet, had been so strict we didn’t want to throw away the effort.
But this alteration to our favorite activity troubled me. I pretended to laugh as I felt my childhood pastime being dealt its first blow. The first transgression.
Later, at the campsite, Javier worked on completing the hallucinogenic brew. I anxiously hoped the infusion would spoil, so I stepped away from the group to enjoy my favorite view: Caracas, and the distance which sheltered me from it.
The city I grew up in resembled a vast lagoon of lights tucked in a blanket of clouds.
That thankfully hadn’t changed: I could still leave my troubles down there, far behind and far away, and enjoy this trip alongside my childhood friends.
“Juan!” screamed Samuel from far away. “Stop jerking off and come try this thing!”
Javier took on (or rather played) the role of “shaman”, offering to remain sober and “guide us through our journey”. The small details of how it felt aren’t all that important. If you are into vomiting and feeling like you’re about to soil your pants, I guess you would enjoy ayahuasca.
You would also enjoy it if you crave to witness things both marvelous and fearsome. Life multiplied infinitely upon itself, and my surroundings suddenly seemed like a massive beehive without exit… Except through a tunnel, which led to the vision of a beach house being obliterated by a nuclear bomb. The mushroom cloud, colored in purples, oranges and cyans, swarmed by lightning, reached the sky, space, and the stars…
The stars… I somehow found myself lying on my back, watching the night sky rotate like a kaleidoscope, alongside my friends. Luisa lay next to me, cuddling on my chest.
I remembered then how years ago we had liked each other. We’d get excited every time we were alone, without the rest of the group. But that joyful complicity seemed to dissipate that summer when I visited the UK with my family. Or so I believed.
That thought led me to realize that this reunion, which was supposed to warm me like an old friend’s embrace, had instead managed to make me feel terribly restless and bitter.
I fell asleep sometime after soaking on that sadness and the resplendent sky.
I woke up gasping, still full of anxiety and not feeling sober. My hands felt the sleeping bags as my eyes detected the shapes of my sleeping friends. I sighed with relief: I was inside my tent.
I sat, looking to settle down, and tried to breathe like the breeze pushing the clouds, as if attempting to imitate the breathing of this mountain, known as “the city’s lung”.
Trying as well to shake off the heartache of knowing I had ruined an idyllic and innocent experience. I wasn’t having a bad time, not at all. But it would never be the same.
Among the four people in the tent, I made out the outline of the only person with curly hair: Luisa, sleeping next to me. Her being there eased my mind. Perhaps something good was beginning on a night that had, thus far, felt so final.
Suddenly, Luisa grabbed my arm. I turned to her, and after a brief pause, she hugged me. And I hugged her back.
I had never smelled her that up close. I sensed a slight aroma of sweat, and of the mist’s dampness. She squeezed tighter, and my fingertips felt it:
Luisa’s back was bare. Her whole body was naked.
I tightened, and noticed the pasty dryness of my palate as I thought, “this can’t be real”. I had never even kissed another person, so how could this be happening to me of all people?
The darkness, and my nerves, only allowed me to see the shape of Luisa’s curls as she held my face, and gave me my first kiss.
My lips froze. It sounds funny, but her breath was unnatural. It reeked of spoiled meat, of swamp, of chronic filth.
“Sorry, I don’t-'' I whispered as I backed away, but Luisa kissed me again, now with greater intensity. But something in her mouth, veiled by the lack of light, had changed.
It widened and turned viscous, spewing even more of that stench. I held my breath, hoping to escape the stink of guts and manure as I gently tried to push her.
It was then that, yet again, the texture of what I was kissing turned. Her throat expelled something solid and furry. Something that moved.
And it bit me.
I forced Luisa away, feeling scared. Her shape remained still, watching me. Whatever that thing on her face was, I could make out how it shaked from side to side, and how it squealed.
I somehow found a flashlight on the floor, and turned it on.
The light revealed a rat, stretching out its small claws as it tried to escape my friend’s mouth.
No, it wasn’t her mouth. I couldn’t make it out at first, but I quickly realized that the rodent was struggling to escape from the trachea of a snake with its jaws open wide. They glistened with its spittle, and mine. The eyes of the animal protruded from the side and looked at me with greed.
And the face, from whose mouth the snake peeked out, didn’t belong to my friend, but to a stranger staring at me with a pair of loathsome eyes.
I let out screams, kicks, punches. Everyone got up and tried to calm me down. There were no longer four people inside the tent. Just three, all men. Luisa slept in another with the other girls.
Most of my friends tried to convince me I was still hallucinating, but my bloodied lips had the unmistakable marks of a rat’s bite. There was also no doubt of how real my terror was, and that scared everyone.
Javier, the only one who hadn’t taken the drug, remained silent, staring at the ground. Concentrated on his breathing.
“I also saw her”, he finally confessed. “Juan screamed, and for a second there was someone I didn’t recognize inside the tent.”
We packed up and bolted back to the city, still hours ahead of the sunrise.
I remain close with that group of friends. We just don’t camp like we used to when we were in school. We’ll go for a weekly hike, but will always return to the city before 5 o’clock, when the sun begins to set. I believe that, once we graduated, nature exiled us from our beloved hobby.
Ever since, I’ve heard stories of a witch that roams the mountain.
