Mondego’s Treasure

Dear Leticia,

I don’t know where to begin, all I ask is that you forgive me. I do not deserve forgiveness, whether from you or Him up above. The debt that I must pay is hulking, and the weight has overcome my being. I pray to God to have mercy for the agony that I have brought to you, to our children, to us. I pray, but I do not await grace. You see, for my soul belongs to another, and I have come to believe and know that there is a God. Because if this maleficence that has plagued us exists. Then the opposite MUST exist. Hallowed divinity can only be the reason that I was blessed with your presence, and both of us blessed with beautiful children. Our children, our marvelous children. 

The time is nigh, I am afraid of confessional and I do not know what good it will do me now. There is no other way for me to confess this to you so I ask that you accept this letter in hopes that there may be assurance to what little sanity remains in your psyche. It was me Letty...I am the one who opened the gates and brought forth the doom that befallen our Eden. For months now sleep has alluded to me, food no longer has taste, and the weight of cloth upon my body feels like I am carrying stones that get heavier with every passing day. I am a dead man among the living servants as I walk the halls of our estate. My heart of stone, no longer beating and hollow, has forgotten what empathy is as I sometimes watch Rodolfo break in a new mare for our stables. Or watch Esmerelda care for the garden you helped build. I no longer feel the joy and love of what we once possessed, nor do I care for those who have dedicated moments of their lives to care for us. My time has come for me to leave this plane of existence and pay the creditor, of which I have used up all the allotted funds given to me, to us.

Do you remember the first eight years of our marriage? The sacrifices, the rationing of resources, the contentedness of our lives and business. What fool I was to think so little of what we had accomplished. It pained me to not be able to provide more for you and our beloved Jasmine. One could say we had no fault in the drought. Alfalfa was scarce, our cattle could only produce what little milk their fragile bodies could allow. Crops were wilted and gave no signs of plentiful harvests; the bank and workers wanted their due, and fast. Do you remember our misery? Yet, despite this, your radiant smile and motherly admiration gave hope to the hopeless that not all was lost.

Yes! Over time the drought passed, and we were doing well in our farms so that we could breathe and forget about how we were going to survive day-to-day. I should have been joyous of the blessings we were given; how could I be so shallow? You were expectant of our second child, our sweet Leslie. Yet I wanted more, I felt it was never enough to maintain everything in equilibrium. The clutches of chaos and its ferocious tentacles cause the mind and heart of man to seek homeostasis in all aspects of life. Thus, these writhing appendages took hold of me and drowned me with the damned.

It was a cloudy afternoon on that day that I rue the most, the 12th of April 1958. Spring showers had poured plentiful the days before, and I was returning from my usual deliveries to the fromager. The mud was thick, so I had to be careful and drive on the driest parts of the road. Before arriving at the crossroads- the one where you have to turn left before reaching our homestead- my eye caught something that I had never seen before. I had to pull over and stop, for there was a gleam from one of the crop fields in the distance. A small wisp lying on the ground, growing slightly bigger as I pondered it. Wondering what deceptions my eyes were engaging me in and how were they doing it. I had not noticed but my heart grew heavy and my chest almost stopped respiring altogether. It was as if my brain had forgotten to command my lungs and heart to fill the air and pump blood. But how could my organs function with such blood that seemed too viscous to flow in my veins? You see, I grew cold, my blood seemed to freeze all together, and my hands were like ice cubes to the touch. This glow in the distance was growing like fire, dancing like a gypsy nymphet, seductress enough even for the most pious of men. I do not know what overcame my better judgment, but soon I was standing on the road a few feet away from the vehicle. I slowly started to make my way to the fire trudging through the mud. In hindsight now, I do not know why I was not able to see how impossible it would be for a fire to burn in such wet conditions. Alas! I kept walking like a bloodhound dead set on its target. 

The closer I got to the mysterious fire the more shapely it became, I slowly started to notice that this orange-red glow was more akin to the flow of water than an actual uncontrollable fire. The heat was radiating off of this ‘fire’ as my flesh could start to feel its warmth. My legs were not stopping, they were moving at a faster pace like they had a mind of their own knowing we were approaching our destination. The crack and hum of burning wood could be heard and smelled. I stood before it a few inches within its perimeter, the heat and smell showed me that it was like any other fire known to man. But the visual dance before me left me puzzled, yet amazed at what I had discovered, there was no wood, no signs of someone making camp.

I was then startled by a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. “Hello there,” behind me stood a man clad in attire that I automatically presumed must be the owner of the property I was trespassing on. I was embarrassed with myself as I assumed I must have completely ignored him while making my way to this mysterious blaze. Of course, it made sense that when a wildfire started on one’s property, it was imperative to extinguish it and minimize the damage.

This man, however, did not have anything on his person to indicate he was ready to fight the fire other than a shovel. I excused myself and apologized for trespassing. Panting heavily I offered assistance to help extinguish the fire. “What fire do you speak of dear boy?” Was his reply. I quickly turned to point at the orange-red gleam that had drawn me here. I was taken aback and startled to see the ‘fire’ that I had followed was no longer there. I was confused and dumbfounded to see there were no scorch marks or lingering smell of burnt wood in the air. My mind froze as I started to question what I had seen and felt, for I was certain there was something before me moments ago. The old man chuckled softly. “You must have seen where the treasure of Colonel Mondego is buried. "You can imagine my confusion hearing these words. “There is buried treasure around this land,” he said stabbing the shovel on the soft mud. “Pardon me?” I said. The old man grinned and said. "Many people died and lost everything they had during the Reyes Rebellion in 1845. If one was seen with even one silver coin, they would have two options. Either give it up to whoever was robbing them or get killed and then robbed,” the old man chuckled and continued. “The rebels and the army alike were not fighting to help the people, they were fighting for their pleasures. Coming to any town or farm that happened to be in their way, they enslaved anyone they wanted and pillaged anything that caught their eye. The only way of survival was aligning yourself to either cause and taking from your neighbor before he could take from you. There was one man in particular who enjoyed the spoils of war more than any other though. Julian Cruz Mondego, not only did he take from the poor citizens, but he took from his friends in high government positions. The brute military force in which he would rob riches from the ruling class came to an eventual halt of course. He fled with a couple hundred loyal soldiers and avoided capture from either side. He went into hiding and was not seen for several years even after the war was over.”

The devil knew my mind because before I could ask, the old man said “So how does this relate to treasure and why am I even telling this story?” He continued to grin, “It was estimated that Colonel Mondego stole roughly 200 million dollars worth of gold during the war. The reason no one could ever find him was that with his new blood wealth, he created a new life for himself. He became a new man and learned to hide in plain sight among the people who sought revenge on him. He became a master of disguise and nobody ever questioned the new aristocrat. You see, for his convincing false background of inheritance from an already known family seemed plausible enough. Years passed, new leadership arose in this country, and a new legend along with it. When Count Romero lay on his death bed, it was reported by a servant that before his last breath, the Count admitted to being Colonel Mondego all these years. In his final moments, he revealed that he split up the gold to not keep it all in one place and buried it in scattered locations. The remaining gold that he did not get to spend was still buried all over the countryside. The location of these sites? The servant did not get precise coordinates. But somewhere in these parts we’re standing on right now is supposedly where some of the gold had been buried. Those who believed the servant went mad looking for the treasure. These treasure hunters killed anyone that they suspected was getting in their way. The servant that brought about this legend was tortured and killed. More stories started to grow of people attempting to find these chests of gold, each one ending in great tragedy. The fire you speak of my dear boy, marks the spot.” 

The old man grinned tapping his fingers lightly on the wooden handle of the shovel. At that moment I realized that I had forgotten all about the gleam that I saw until this old man finished telling his story. I could not understand what he meant by fire marking the spot, what did fire have to do with anything and this was farmland? If such legends were true, I am sure the owner of this property would have already found something. I grew increasingly worried at that moment and apologized again to the old man for trespassing. “You saw a fire right?” He asked. “Yes sir,” I responded. “Then it is yours,” he said extending his arms and holding the shovel. Unexplainable forces came over me as I had an uneasy feeling seeing the tool presented in front of me. The day was getting late and since I was in his property, I wished him the best of luck in finding this treasure. “The fire marks the spot,” he said as I started to make my way to the vehicle.

I doubt you ever noticed or even remember Letty how for two weeks after that incident I was not sleeping. I would toss and turn about in bed, my dreams would fill with that dancing blaze and I was always waking up at around 3:30 in the morning. I would contemplate what I had seen and I could hear the old man’s voice over and over again retelling the story of this supposed lost treasure. Fire marks the spot, I would repeat in my mind as the days went by. I would contemplate the what-ifs… if we came across such wealth. What we could provide for our two daughters, the things in life which we could stop worrying about. Yes, my dreams started to become more pleasant, we no longer would have to suffer another draught. Our farms could expand and be successful the way they ought to be for all the hard work we have done. Alas! These were only dreams, yet I would contemplate if that’s all they had to be.

A month had passed and I was on the same road when in the corner of my eye I again caught the ‘fire.’ It seemed more pleasant as I was driving by, almost as if it was waving at me like a trusted neighbor. I sighed with relief knowing that what I had encountered weeks prior was no strange dream but reality. I tried to ignore it as I remembered the odd occurrence of it disappearing the last time and laughed at myself for one thing that had not occurred to me before. Perhaps it is an illusion from the sun, I thought. The way the sun shines through the hills and plains perhaps causes a reflection to the eye where it seems that there is a fire. Silly! Of course, but the rational side of me seemed to try and make sense out of all of this. Yet, I could not make sense of the haggard man and why it seemed as if he appeared out of thin air right when I approached the area. I remember glancing at the rearview mirror and trying to see if the fire was still there once I had turned on the crossroads and made my way home. To my astonishment, the fire was still burning even though the sun’s reflection now changed with the new direction I was facing. Again, for the rest of that week, I could not sleep. I disliked how my mind was preoccupied with silly legends that I had never heard till that fateful day. Yet I could not figure out why I would see this dancing fire. I realize now that the tempest in my heart and soul was sin brewing for our inevitable downfall. Temptation only needs a slight push when greed and pride are the gods that one chooses to worship.

A few days had passed when I found myself driving on the same road. Part of me wished to see the dancing ‘fire’ again, I wanted to admire it and ponder on the possibility of others seeing it as well. I could not fathom treasure being buried in so open of an area. I could not wrap my head around the reasons as to why now. Never had I seen this, other farmers in the vicinity also never spoke of strange flames appearing at random. I have never encountered people who claimed to be treasure hunters or even mentioned the name ‘Mondego.’ It all seemed strange, yet it was reality for I saw the blaze again. This was the third time and I stopped the vehicle roughly around the same spot I had done so before. I did what I said I would do, I stared into the field admiring the glow, and pondered if anyone else would believe what I was seeing. 

Beautiful, exuberant flowing hair and voluptuous bosom of sin took my hand and led me towards the flame. I hate myself now for how I minded not the dress of slithering vipers and barking hounds in thy perfect image of sin. I stood before the blaze like before, soaking in its false warmth. I stretched out my arm to touch the flame when I heard a familiar voice come from behind me. “Careful now, you might burn yourself.” I turned around and saw the withered man standing before me holding the same shovel. “The fire marks the spot,” he said stabbing the earth with the rusty shovel. I stared at the devil, and before I could ask he responded. “I have no need for treasure, for this world provides me with much. Too much in fact, that some view me as a prince.” His feeble fingers were tapping the wooden handle as he stretched out both arms offering me the shovel. I reached for the handle and wrapped my clammy fingers around it. This time the flame kept dancing, it did not disappear like before, but now that I had the shovel in my hands it kept getting smaller and smaller. I raised my arms ready to penetrate the earth when the old man stopped me and uttered words that reassures me God commands ALL, even the fallen angels. “It is your choice,” he said. “You can still turn away now and work towards a modest life. Dig, and you will find that you will never have to strive, your every wish will be fulfilled, you will never hunger, you will only know warmth against the elements. Many will envy you but none will be able to harm you, you will never worry about how or where to obtain money for everything will be taken care of financially.” I turned my gaze from him to the dirt, there need not be words exchanged for I had already made my decision. “Alas!” He exclaimed. “It comes with a price,” I did not care what the price may be at that moment, though I will never forgive myself for not walking away. “For immense wealth such as this, an equivalent exchange must be made. You take the treasure, I take something just as valuable!” I know one must not make such wagers, but I did not care for my soul, I was desperate! I dug till the shovel clanked on hard metal, never would I have imagined the quantity of gold and gems piled in one casket. I was alone by then and made my way to the vehicle dragging the old heavy trunk.

See Letty, it wasn’t luck, it wasn’t clever business dealings, it wasn’t hard work. It was cursed gold that gave us everything we could ever hope for and more. Years passed and I grew content with sacrificing myself, we spent our wealth with good intentions. We did not grow bitter or egotistic, we donated frequently to the community and helped the poor. I found myself not needing to confess my sins for I thought God and you would see in my heart that I still loved and that I was truly apologetic for what I had done. I grew prideful in my ability to not let this wealth get to my head where I would start to isolate myself and become condescending. I kept watchful eyes on my persona and tried to be as humble as I could. It wasn’t till the 18th year of our dear Jasmine that I found out the real price I had to pay. It pains me to write this but I must hold my tears…for your sake Letty. 

I saw him, the haggard man sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. This was the first time I had seen him since I retrieved Mondego’s treasure. My first thoughts were that it must be a coincidence that someone else happened to look that way, but I knew better. I could not escape his presence for he appeared beside me without warning. “I am here to collect my first payment,” the old devil said. I did not know what to do, I was terrified and ashamed of my own being. I pleaded with him to take me instead, “but how else would you enjoy your spoils,” was his response. After we laid our Jasmine to rest, I started to hate myself and hate the man I had become. I prayed for the salvation of my dear Jasmine’s soul for the thought of her being in the clutches of that foul beast started to drive me to madness. After some time I saw that my prayers were answered when you announced we were expecting new life in the form of our wonderful Ernesto.

I felt in my heart that this was redemption, we had done well with our investments, with our community, with our family. We were in a path of grace and I would continue to pray so Jasmine’s sweet soul could forgive me. Unfortunately, on the 18th birthday of our beautiful Leslie. I noticed the sickness that was overcoming her was showing similar symptoms to that of Jasmine’s. I was in disbelief, I was certain it was my imagination, the burden of keeping this dark secret from everyone was slowly wanting to burst out…yet I could not at that moment. You thought it to be silly and scoffed at the idea of taking her to a priest to have her be blessed with oil and holy water in hopes that she would get better, but I hope you see now that there was a purpose behind that. Our efforts were in vain as Leslie did not get to see 19. The cursed fiend stood proud at the funeral, no one but me saw him as no one alluded to his presence. This is the time that you started to notice my misery and melancholy, because of this I started to sink deeper into the bottle. Once more he appeared to me when I least expected him while I was tending to some business in one of our farms. I wept, cursed him, and attacked him, but my efforts were futile. “Just need one more payment and we will stop meeting like this.” I saw the gates of hell in his grin, I again begged for him to end my life and take me instead of taking our dear Ernesto. In my moment of degradation and losing any dignity I had left, I swore to get rid of all the remaining gold that was left. “You can do as you wish,” he said. “With or without riches, I am still owed my due.”

From that moment on I noticed that you started to resent me, and we became distant. We were no longer making as much as we had hoped and I kept playing the fool making everyone think I had miscalculated business dealings. As Ernesto grew up I became more protective, too protective as he too started to resent me for not allowing him to grow into a man. When his 18th birthday was approaching I was disheveled and manic thinking up ways to save him and myself from the inevitable. I confided in Fr. Martinez about my fears of my son dying just like my daughters before, but there was not much I could do other than wait and trust in the Lord that Ernesto would not succumb to the same fate. I however was too afraid to confess my deal with the devil, so my fears were seen as pure paranoia.

Minutes seemed like hours and I did not sleep the night before our son’s birthday. I was awake for the first half of the morning and was quite joyful to see him get up with bright spirits. Sleep eventually overcame me and was suddenly awakened by your screams. Servants rushed to comfort you and me but I could never forget seeing his body hanging from the ceiling fan. I never wanted any of this to happen, I was content on being the one to suffer. In a way I am suffering, but at the expense of others. We are all connected more than we know. I am sorry for sending you away to Beck Psychiatric Hospital, the agony of what we have lost is unbearable but I alone know the causes. I know you will be taken care of and soon be back home, our Ernesto was buried where Jasmine and Leslie were buried. Soon they will lay my body there as well, I pray that you forgive me, Leticia. When you come back home I will not be here, I will be gone by the time you receive this letter, I am afraid I have one more meeting with the old man, a final payment, and a permanent stay. I love you.

Your Love,

Anastacio