Why do some mysteries evade capture for so long? Is it the potential discoverer’s blindness or the reluctance of the mystery to reveal itself?


The value of killing, for the right to unite,
done for love, money or want of the fight?
Extreme are the methods, with which they will oppose.
Who better has established the cause? Nobody knows.


“Ippolito, our construction crews were massacred…Could it have occurred to you that the entire Pan-American Highway was successfully built from Canada to Chile, except for right here, where we are building your freeway, for a reason? Could it also have occurred to you, that the connection was abandoned, not for swamp obstructions, as propagandized, but for political obstacles—quite possibly the same ones at work today? Is it possible that in all your cultural dreaming and universal love, that you overlooked the political realities, realities such as the notion that these two countries and Americans don’t mix as well as you might have hoped? Is it possible that groups exist that might represent very strong feelings, hatreds and resistance? After all, don’t the guerilla rebels control much of the area? Is it possible, for all your dogmatism, assurances, confidences, narcissism and smart-ass spirituality, that you actually don’t know anything?

Ippolito absorbed the criticism. He understood Seluvi’s feelings. At the time, Ippolito didn’t have an excuse, anyway.

General Triana commented, “Ippolito is it possible you have overlooked or miscalculated the historical influences in the area?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Ippolito quietly admitted. “Obviously, we don’t know everything because this is still a mystery to us.…”

“You’re not buying the beast thing are you?” Seluvi asked.

“What beast thing? I haven’t heard any of this,” Ippolito asked sharply.

Ippolito and Oleg looked at General Triana.

“The locals are saying el muán did this,” General Triana said.

“Do you mean the Mohán?” Ippolito asked.

“Yes. It is the same,” General Triana responded.

“You know of this?” Seluvi asked with astonishment. “And you say nothing?”

“Yes. It is a folkloric myth of a beast that is like a lion on two legs that haunts the forests and waterways hunting down fisherman and woodsmen…



“There are tons of colonial writings here. This is incredible!” Ippolito exclaimed. “Oh, look. I see it clearly now. This book, this compilation, is named: The Secret of Simón. It looks like a proposed name for this compilation by what appears to be a current day author.”

“I sorta foller’d ya there, but I reckon he fergitted ta tell us the damn secret. What’s his secret?” Dale asked.

Ippolito flipped back through the pages.

“He says here, that his secret is…‘is the knowledge of a tremendous event in our country’s pre-history.’



“In the day of our Goddess, Bachué, the celestial bodies in the heavens and the elements of weather and nature combined in the earth’s most beautiful concert of symphonic sounds, sights and colors. The skies opened, the waters parted, the reptiles and animals gave way, while the wind and setting sun accentuated Bachué’s exit from the lagoon of Iguaque, which Bachué named as such because it was the same in which Iguaque lost his life just a few minutes earlier—the same lagoon, which no longer exists today.

“Bachué slowly stepped out of the lagoon while holding the hand of a three-year old boy named Chibcha, who was the son of her lover Iguaque. The sacred union of Bachué and Iguaque produced three children, but they died before the sunrise on the third day. Bachué was fertile, as she gave birth to anywhere from three to seven children at a time. When Chibcha grew to be a young man, his resemblance to his father, Iguaque, was so powerfully striking, Bachué mated with him and therewith populated the land, creating the people of Chibcha. Of course, Bachué had banished many of the Chinqua from these lands because of their actions against the Guabamba and Iguaque. The remainder were scattered by the events that followed shortly thereafter.”



We [The Order of the Cacique established by Bachué] are begging from orphanages and convents for the food we consume. We have been driven from our secluded locations as the people have discovered us in various forms. We have been forced to abandon all of our strongholds and consolidate our possessions. Our situation is desperate. We fear letting down our beloved Bachué. The thought of it diminishes us beyond measure, as we fight for survival with every speck of faith and breath within us. These are indeed desperate and dark times for the faithful.

The Curse of Bachué is in full force and we know not how to stop it except for letting the people know of these histories and ceremonies. However, by decree of the Caciques past, they are to remain withdrawn until the people are prepared for them. We are left to suffer through the evolution of the Colombian man….


“Ippolito, can you help us?”