Daniela Doncel

La Madremonte

Nick hurled the golden medallion at the rain-soaked grass as he ran toward the rainforest of Antioquia’s mountaintops, away from his grandmother’s home. The petrichor of last night’s thunderstorm clung to the lush leaves of the jungle as he brushed past them. He stomped onto the rackety two-planked trail, drowning out his mother’s voice.

“Nico!” his mother, Sofia, cried out from under the untidy teja roof of the white farmhouse. “Come back, Nico!”

His father, Michael, rubbed her shoulders, her black curls brushing against his beard.

“Ay!” Sofia snapped at him. She pointed toward the trail, looking at her husband. “Can you, please–”

“Yeah,” Michael said and trotted after his son.

From the open doorway, Mamita Fernanda, in her ruana of pink, purple, and gray stripes, eyed the opening Nick took into the jungle. She then looked to the sky. 

“Dios mío, cuídalo… Keep him safe.”

The hunch-backed woman took her cane and mumbled to herself, “En el nombre del padre, del hijo y del espíritu santo,” as she made the sign of the cross with her right hand while shuffling back into her home.

In the tropical forest, Nick kicked at the brush and vegetation as he continued down the path. The young teen tightened his fists, crushing the plastic bags of Choclitos and Maní Moto in his cargo shorts’ pockets. Sweat sheened his face and dark skin as he huffed and puffed.

“Nico!” 

At the sound of his father’s voice, he dashed behind a tree, crouching away from sight. “It’s Nick,” he whispered after the upper left side of his lips twitched upward in disgust. 

“Come on, man,” Michael said, bending over as he exhaled. As he straightened himself, he spotted the white tip of one of his kid’s Nike sneakers through the heavy vegetation. He spoke out, making his voice loud and keeping his eyes on the shoe, “You don’t know how lucky you are. I never even got to meet my family in Puerto Rico.” 

Nick rolled his eyes.

Michael sighed. “All right, man, I’ma let you blow off some steam, okay?” He walked ahead a bit as he shouted out. “Don’t be out too long.” He stole another look at the tree where he knew his son was hiding before heading back toward the house.

After a couple minutes, Nick got up, brushed the dirt off his shorts, and flipped the bird in the direction of the house before heading deeper into the jungle. He grunted in frustration as he recalled what happened back at the house, deafening himself to the groan coming from beyond the trees. He focused only on his hatred for Colombia. When he first arrived, his hate had the strength of a caged jaguar. Now, the jaguar ran loose with fury fueling its roar.

Two weeks ago, Nick boarded the American Airlines flight bound for Medellín with crossed arms, furrowed brows, and an angry pout. His attitude endured the nearly six-hour flight. It didn’t fade away during the two-hour drive to the small town of Titiribí. It didn’t even ebb during his first full day up in the mountains.

The gag-inducing smell of freshly-brewed coffee and warm arepas overwhelmed him when he first entered his grandmother’s farmhouse. With a glare, he eyed the old-fashioned furniture, the shrine for Jesus by the vintage TV, and the spiderwebs in the top corners of the room. He tucked his limbs tighter against his body to avoid touching anything in the house. All the while, his mom talked to his grandmother with baby Gabriella on her hip. The Spanish his mother used sounded like sandpaper scraping his eardrums. He kept close to his father, the Americanized Puerto Rican who never learned Spanish as a fifth-generation New Yorker, but as soon as he heard his father speak his broken Spanish, he backed away, grimacing at the betrayal.

“Y este es su nieto, Mama,” Sofia said as she yanked her son toward the hunch-backed woman. “Nico, this is your grandmother, Mamita Fernanda.”

“It’s Nick, Mom,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” Michael said. “Show some respect.”

“We talked about this,” Sofia whispered under her breath. “We’re going to try and embrace the culture, remember? This is your heritage, and she’s family. Come on, I taught you this on the plane.”

He sighed with a dramatic shrug of the shoulders. “Hola, Grandma. Yo soy Nick.” The words drooled out of his mouth like cement paste.

Mamita Fernanda placed a hand on Sofia’s shoulder. Nick watched the old woman’s thin lips move in odd ways. The wrinkles made his stomach churn and the garbled words coming out of her made him feel worse. Then, she smiled at him with kind eyes. He did a double-take as he felt something bubble up inside him. It tickled at his lips, as he noted how cute this little old lady looked, like an elderly Who from Dr. Seuss’ Whoville. 

 He cleared his throat, keeping his own smile from surfacing. He looked at his mom. “Can I go to my room now?”

Sofia was about to protest when Mamita Fernanda stopped her, speaking foreign words. Sofia then nodded, and said, “Yeah, all right, go on.”

Nick then walked to the room Mamita Fernanda pointed out to him, locked the door behind him, and stayed there for three days. He stayed on the rockhard bed, head squishing the flat pillow, and dreamed of his room in the Bronx with the Yankees bedspread and the body-length stuffed jaguar he used as a pillow every night. It took him a while to fall asleep, the cicadas and crickets outside the window loud in his ears, but once his subconscious took over, he started to hear the cars, the barking, the muffled music, and the sirens of New York City. He’d imagine himself walking over to the baseball field just past his favorite bodega where his friends would be playing a casual game. His friends would wave and shout as he jogged to the back of left field. They’d play until their stomachs growled, and they’d talk about the next game at Yankee Stadium on the walk back home for dinner. 

What little help the jungle offered in easing Nick’s mind dissipated once he remembered how he’d wasted two weeks of practice. Nick and his friends were starting high school this fall, and they planned a whole summer of baseball to get ready for team tryouts. Yet, here he was, stuck on a mountain that reeked worse than the rotten water dripping out the back of the garbage truck passing by his place back home. 

“Aghhhh!” Nick howled as he stomped on the wildflowers and ferns around him. Petals and leaves crumpled up under his sneakers. He crushed the empty plastic snack bags in his pockets, turning his knuckles white, and then flung them at the trees. The wind caught the four plastic bags and they floated down, littering the rainforest floor. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed a few rocks and threw them. The stones splintered the wood of the trees, uprooted a couple of loose plants, and startled a few birds that flew away with a squawk.

A groan rumbled from beyond the trees. 

Nick froze. He whipped around, looking for signs of who it might’ve come from, but the greens and browns of the forest swirled in his vision. He rubbed away the dizziness in his eyes and looked around again, spotting no one.

“Mom? Dad?” He called out. Hearing nothing, he shoved his fists back into his pockets and kept walking deeper into the rainforest. “Stupid piece of—” he said with another kick at a plant by his foot.

He walked down the path with his head cocked—he didn’t remember the path being so overgrown with moss and lichen—and his frown unwavering. After about 10 minutes, he spotted a small stone statue that rested on top of a waist-high rock by the trail. It was of a woman lying on her side, her palm under her chin holding up her head. Her chest was bare, but the rest of her body was covered with wild animals, including a python, a frog, a monkey, and a capybara. Her hair was a tangled mess of plants and moss, and fangs rested on her upper lip.

The first time Nick talked with his grandmother was when they came across the statue earlier in the week. His parents had forced him to spend time with Mamita Fernanda while they ran some errands on the promise that they’d buy him a PS5 once they got back home. It was an easy trade in his mind, seeing how the old woman spent most of her time praying, cooking, and watching telenovelas. That day, though, after lunch, his mamita bundled up his baby sister in a second-hand stroller and motioned for him to join her for a walk outside. He ignored her at first, shaking his head and looking back at his Nintendo Switch. She poked at him again and again, a gentle smile urging him on, but he kept swatting her away. He thought she had finally given up until he smelled the blend of crispy corn starch and queso costeño. He turned to see a plate of warmed-up buñuelos under his grandmother’s smirk. Nick had joined the whole family in making a fresh batch of buñuelos the night before, after he found out just how delicious these cheese fritters were. When his parents weren’t looking, Mamita Fernanda snuck them the smallest buñuelos to eat. She winked at him as they shared a few stolen bites before dinner.

Accepting the bribe, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and got up.

He kept in one earbud the entire time they walked together. After finishing his second buñuelo, he kept his hands glued to his pockets while trudging along behind her. Mamita Fernanda pointed to plants, teaching Gabriella Spanish words and phrases. Every once in a while, she’d nudge Nick, repeating the same words to him, but he’d offer a quick smirk and tilt of the eyebrows before looking down at his phone to switch to the next song.

When they came across the statue, Nick stopped and stared, drawn to the nipple-less breasts first. 

Mamita Fernanda stood by his side and said, “Madremonte,” pointing at the statue.

“Mah-dray-monty?” Nick asked.

She chuckled before correcting his pronunciation. “Madremonte.” She gestured to the jungle around them, suggesting that this Madremonte resided in the jungle. Mamita Fernanda then reached into her breast pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him.

Nick found a vintage sepia photo when he unfolded it. He saw a couple standing behind a young girl with short tight curls. 

His mamita pointed to the young girl and said, “Tu mama.”

He scoffed with amusement. “That’s my mom? Woah…” He then pointed to the young woman standing behind her. “So, is that you?” he asked as he pointed at her.

Mamita Fernanda nodded with a toothy grin.

Nick then pointed to the man standing next to her. “Is that grandpa?”

The grin faded. “Tu papito, si…” Her voice turned breathy with a sigh.

Nick hadn’t met his grandfather. As far as he knew, only Mamita Fernanda lived in the farmhouse. “What happened to him?”

Mamita Fernanda looked at the statue of Madremonte. She pointed to it, then brought her index finger to her neck and mimicked slicing it with her nail. 

Back at the house, Nick’s mom shook her head when he told her what Mamita Fernanda did. “Your grandpa’s not actually dead, mijo,” she explained while folding clothing. “He just found himself a pretty blonde and left.”

“Wait,” Nick said, “Why would she say that then?”

With a long sigh, Sofia sat next to her son and said, “Because people in the campestre still believe in that kind of thing.”

“Campe-what?”

“Countryside. Make an effort, Nico.”

“It’s Nick, mom.” He rolled his eyes.

“You want me to call you Nicolás instead?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.

He crossed his arms. “No,” he muttered.

“That’s what I thought.” She got up and started folding the next pair of jeans in the pile.

“So, what kind of thing do they believe?” he asked.

Sofia shook her head with a laugh. “In myths and legends like Madremonte. They say she lives in the mountains, protecting nature and controlling the wind and rain. She punishes invaders of her territory by making them get lost up in the mountains, never to be seen again. They say she does the same thing to unfaithful, wicked men, which is exactly what your mamita thinks. According to her, your papito is still up in the mountains, cursed to be lost forever.”

“She actually believes that?” Nick asked.

Sofia nodded. “As much as she does God.”

“That’s so stupid,” he said as he pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“Hey,” Sofia threw a bundle of socks at him. When his shocked eyes met hers, she said, “It’s not stupid… Ok, it’s a little silly, but it’s their way of life. You gotta respect that. This is where your family is from.”

At that moment, Mamita Fernanda wobbled into the room with a plate of hot empanadas in one hand and a dented golden medallion in the other.

“Mija, dile a Nico que aquí le traigo un dije ya bendecida. Si le da por ir al bosque, lo va proteger,” she said as she pushed the medallion into Nick's hands.

“Ay Mama, por Dios…” Sofia groaned.

“Uno nunca sabe, mija! Con la sangre de Juan Pablo en él, la Madremonte lo puede coger, esconderlo detrás de una cascada, como es un niño nada más.”

“What’s she saying?” Nick asked.

“She says this is a blessed medallion to keep you safe from Madremonte if you decide to go on that hike again. Since you’re her ex-husband’s grandson, she thinks the Madremonte might hold a grudge against you and trap you behind a waterfall like she does with all children.”

Mamita Fernanda kept talking as she motioned for Nick to put it on. Hesitant at first, Nick looked at his mom, but with just an expectant look on her face, he sighed and placed the leather cord around his neck. The smile that blossomed on his mamita’s face brought a warm feeling to his chest. He did not realize that he had mirrored it until she looked back to his mom.

“She also says that if you do ever come across the Madremonte, you should not show any fear and you should insult her. That’ll keep her at bay long enough for you to get away.”

Sweat dripped down his back and forehead as he now stared at the statue. Though hardly detailed, the stone eyes had that same expectant look that his mother had that day. He tried to hold the gaze in defiance, but his legs went all wobbly as his vision blurred with sudden lightheadedness. He stumbled back, rubbed his eyes as he regained his balance, and walked away from the statue.

“So stupid…” he muttered under his breath, thinking of Mamita Fernanda. “It’s all your fault!” he shouted, startling more birds. He continued walking on moss and dirt, not realizing the wooden planks were nowhere to be seen, as he repeated to himself, “It’s all your fault…”

Nick’s suitcases were all packed and piled up by the front door before breakfast this morning. The flight back home was not until tomorrow afternoon, but he had already finished packing last night. He had a toothy smile for the first time since arriving in Colombia. He had already messaged his friends back home, scheduling the next game.

When he saw his parents walk into the living room, Mamita Fernanda behind them, he felt his stomach sink. Though his mamita had a smile that outshined the one he woke up with, the nervous looks on his parents’ faces grabbed his attention.

“What is it?” he asked, holding tight onto the handle of his big suitcase.

“Um—” His mom licked her lips as her fingers fumbled with each other.

“We know you’re ready to go back home, Nick,” his dad spoke up, “but it’s been over twenty years since your mom has spent time with her family here. It’s really helped your grandma, us being here, so we’ve talked about it, and we’re going to stay an extra two weeks.”

Nick’s muscles tensed. “You’re not serious.”

“This way, you can get to know your family and your heritage even more,” his mom said. “Besides, it’s nice to be away from the city for a while. It’ll be good for you, Nico—”

“Don’t call me that!” Nick shouted.

“Hey!” his dad shouted back. “Don’t talk to your mom like that. What’s the matter with you?” 

“You!” Spit flung off Nick’s lower lip. “You’re ruining my life!” His eyes landed on Mamita Fernanda, her eyes red and wet. “I hate you!” He bolted out the door, yanking the medallion from his neck and tossing it away as he ran toward the trail up the mountain. 

Nick now paced in circles as he continued to rub his eyes, wiping away the tears, the frustration, and the stubborn woozy sensation. The rainforest was still a haze in his cleared-up vision. Every tree looked the same, and yet none of it looked familiar. Though a moist smell still hung in the air, it had a distinct unnerving nature to it. It smelled like the slime and mucus of creepy crawlers were now clogging the molecules that made up the space. Even the sounds seemed to have a different pitch as if the altitude altered both the airways of the animals and the winds that whistled through the wet leaves.

Fear forming a lump in the back of his throat, Nick took shallow, shaky breaths. He gripped onto the sleeves of his hoodie to keep his hands from quivering. He felt like a lost tourist in Lower Manhattan.

The thought snuck in under the curtain of panic but came under the spotlight once New York City entered his mind. The game plan took center stage soon thereafter. It wasn’t impossible, he thought: steal his passport, tickets, and a few pesos from his mom’s purse tonight, convince his parents to take a trip with him into town tomorrow morning, grab a taxi cab back to the airport in Medellín while they aren’t looking, and then board the flight back home. He’d be back in the Bronx in no time, away from this place forever.

Decided, he turned around to head back to the farmhouse when his foot sank in mud. He looked down and found the messy jungle floor. His head swiveled back and forth, hunting for the wooden-planked walkway while ignoring the dizziness that pounded against his temples. When he couldn’t spot it, the jaguar inside him morphed into a trembling cub.

He scampered about, nothing resembling a trail or path in sight. The sweat on his cheeks mixed with the tears that were shaken from his eyes. His chest heaved for breath. Barreling through twisted ferns and warped wildflowers, he ran toward an exit he could not find. Regret punched him in the gut as the memory of the medallion flashed through his mind.

Vertigo made him sick to his stomach, the dizziness now making him feel faint. In his blurred vision and confusion, he spotted what looked like a white light between two trees. With a hopeful gasp, he ran toward the light and was bombarded with the loud sound of rushing water.

A roaring waterfall blocked his path. The white foam created a cloud of mist that sparkled with light. Nick’s body went ice cold. It turned colder still when he saw glowing eyes staring at him through the waterfall.

Even through the mist, Nick could count the razor-sharp eyelashes protruding from the golden orbs that paralyzed him in place. Thick vines and leaves cut through the waterfall as the figure stepped through. The body was a formless tangle of verdant moss and monkey brush vines, peppered with the vivid colors of bromelias, orchids, and heliconia flowers. Once in front of him, the voluptuous woman tilted her head to the side, her moss-covered lips showing an unsettling inviting grin. In the dizziness, Nick could not tell whether her hands had fingers or leaves. Her breath came out impatient, like a hiker surrounded by city dwellers that were tainting her treasured trail. However, in his distortion, Nick heard melodic bird calls and gentle streams coming from her throat, lulling him closer and closer to unconsciousness.

She beckoned to him as she took a step back, the waterfall cascading down the brush of her shoulders. 

With a slow blink, he stepped toward her, longing to lie down.

The cold droplets of the waterfall seeped into Nick’s shirt as he stepped forward. A finger with the smooth texture of a leaf lifted his chin. His gaze found a flurry of shapeless colors, but as the leaf-like finger caressed his cheek, his vision seemed to clear up. Shadows lightened into the midnight navy tone of Yankee blue. A mixture of browns and blacks bonded into the patterns of a jaguar print. The sunlight piercing through the waterfall landed in the same wonky grid as the sunlight coming through the window back home.

Nick tumbled forward, and as he prepared to belly-flop onto his bed, he started to kick off his sneakers. Just as his heel slipped out of the shoe, he shuddered. The damp shirt sent shivers through his torso, cold temperatures waking him from his sluggish stupor. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the illusion that masked the dark, numbing cave behind the waterfall. 

“Shh…” The hush had the same effect dusk has on diurnal creatures. Every blink coaxed him to sleep. Through the watery squint of his eyes, he once again saw his bedroom. The voiceless fricative slipped into the white noise of New York City’s backdrop. Hoots and chirps altered in timbre to match the honking horns and sirens of New York City streets. Nick’s mind, slipping into his subconscious, filled in the gaps with the muffled beats of hip hop and the constant promenading of pedestrians.

He slipped off his left sneaker. 

Ready to collapse, Nick took another step toward his bed. He then heard a whisper, “Duermete… Nico…”

The name echoed in his mind with his mother’s voice, and his arms felt naked. Tears fell as he longed for her embrace. With that, the dam broke, and memories of his family flooded him. He remembered the first morning he finally left his bedroom and how his mom had chocolate milk ready for him on the dining table. He remembered how delicious breakfast smelled after he helped his mom find eggs in the chicken coop out back, how his dad taught him to play the Colombian board game Parqués and how he laughed with his grandma for the first time when the whole family played together, and how cozy the living room felt when they all watched movies there after dinner. With an ache in his chest, he remembered how every time Mamita Fernanda looked at him, she always had the kindest smile on her face, no matter his attitude.

Nick put on a mean pout, fighting off the drowsiness. He puffed out his chest, took a deep breath, and shouted at the woman.

“I’m not scared of you! You’re just a stupid loner bitch!” Nick shoved his two middle fingers at her face and said, “Fuck off! No one wants you here!”

The woman shrieked at him, exposing her lower fangs. Nick landed on his backside, drenching himself through the waterfall, shaking with fear. Her vines stretched out and started surrounding him, getting ready to tighten. He felt the cold, wet vine graze his lower leg.

“Puta!” The Spanish curse word flew out of his mouth. From behind his outstretched hand, he watched the woman freeze in place. A twinge of hope softening his face, he shouted out louder, “Tu eres puta!”

The woman stepped back, flinching at the words.

Nick flung the word at her like daggers, each time pushing her back. Her eyes glowed a dark red as she slunk back into the shadows.

Once out of sight, Nick snatched his sneaker and took off in a sprint. He kicked up rocks and roots as he barreled through the jungle. Within a few moments, he spotted the two-planked path emerge from beneath the dirt. His feet slammed against the wood as he raced past the trees. The thunderous pounding of his heart was no match for his speed. Sunlight burst through an opening, and he pushed himself to run harder still.

He leapt through the break in the trees. The open air washed away the dampness clinging to his skin and the dizziness with it. Still, Nick kept running. He veered to the left, eyes searching for the golden medallion. Once spotted, he snatched it mid-run and dashed straight for the farmhouse.

He flung the door open. It slammed against the wall and rattled. His parents jumped off the sofa as they watched Nick, heaving, stumble inside. Nick’s clothing was soaked through and coated in dirt. He also had scrapes on his knees and leaves in his hair.

“What happened to you?” his dad asked as his mom cried, “Are you okay?!” 

Nick ignored them. He walked straight toward Mamita Fernanda who was standing in the archway between the living room and the kitchen, apron stained with fresh avocado and beans. 

Mamita Fernanda’s face was a fresco of worry, but Nick ignored that as well. He walked right up and hugged her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear as he tightened his hug.

His mamita brought her arms around him and patted his head. He couldn’t understand what she uttered next, but he had a feeling that there was forgiveness in her words.

Pulling back, he showed her the medallion. With an apologetic smile, he put it back around his neck. Mamita Fernanda patted his cheek, offering that kind smile once again.

Nick then turned and rushed into his mother’s open arms.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she hugged him.

“Yeah, Mom,” he mumbled into her shirt. He then pulled back. “Hey, if we’re staying longer, maybe we can take a trip into Medellín. See what the city’s like here,” he said with a shrug.

Sofia laughed, “Sure, baby,” and pulled him back into a hug. “You scared the hell out of me, Nico.” She tensed up after the name slipped out. 

“Sorry,” Nick muttered as he squeezed a bit tighter, welcoming her embrace.