MYSTERY ISLAND
"SECRET ORIGINS"
Origin Case File: 001 "El Secreto"
THE SECRET ORIGIN OF
EL SECRETO
Age 8:
“Ramone!”
“Yes, Father.”
“Ramone, little big shot, come here! I have a question for you.”
Ramone swallowed. He looked straight ahead, not quite into his father’s eyes, but straight ahead. He didn’t dare look away or show the fear.
Father stood with his thumbs wedged into the waistline of his trousers. Looking down at his son, he asked, “Do you have an answer?”
“Que?”
The fingers whipped the belt loose of its loops in less than a thought.
Crack!
“Aieeeeee!”
Whip! Whip!
Smack!
“In American,” he growled, “do you … have an answer? Or, little cabron, are you keeping secrets from Father, eh?”
“I … don’t … know.”
Whap!
“Aieeee!”
Ramone fought the tears. He wanted more than anything not to have the tears.
“Evil,” said Father, “must be punished. Is it true?”
“Si,” said Ramone. He didn’t know what Father was talking about. This time it was the flat of the hand slamming down against the boy’s temple, then silence, then blackness …
Age 9:
“Ramone! Little big shot, come here!”
“Yes, Father.”
“Were you playing in the river?”
“Yes, but all the kids were …”
The fist forced the air out of Ramone’s gut. “Uhhhh …”
“Evil,” said Father, “must be punished. You must be clever,” Father raised a bullwhip, “to avoid the sting of the righteous.”
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
Age 10:
Ramone awoke with a bad dream. A shark had been swimming inside the air of his room. He leapt out of bed. He ran for Father’s bedroom. Mom was in the hospital. She had fallen down the porch steps. Ramone opened the door seeking some sort of comfort he imagined his father held.
It was storming outside. The lightning lit up against the windows. Father was on top of a woman. Ramone could see her naked breasts rising and falling with what looked like fear, like a wild animal trapped underneath a larger predator.
Father turned his head to see Ramone standing in the doorway.
“Father,” he said, “is taking care of a friend. Do you understand? Are you clever?”
Ramone nodded that he understood. He was clever.
“Some things are secret,” said Father. “This you will not talk about. It is a private matter. Real men know how to keep secrets. Right son? Es verdad? Is it true?”
Ramone nodded that it was true.
“Are you a real man?” asked Father.
Ramone nodded that he was a real man.
“Go away, little big shot. Keep your secret.”
Age 11:
“Ramone! Aquí!”
“Yes, Father.”
“Were you playing at the dump, chico, shooting rats and shit with the air rifle I bought you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good boy,” he said. “Evil must be punished. You know, when they bite they can take the flesh right from the bone.”
Ramone didn’t say anything.
“The rats,” said Father, “they like the cheese.”
Age 12:
Mother was in the hospital again. This time the policia came to the house. Father had told him that only a weak piece of shit could not keep a secret about his own family.
“Are you a weak piece of shit?”
“No,” said Ramone.
“Have you ever had a piece of ass?” Father asked.
“Sure,” said Ramone.
“Good boy.”
Age 13:
Mom was with the angels.
Age 14:
“Ramone!”
“Yes, Father.”
“I have a question, little big shot. Do you have an answer?”
“No,” said Ramone.
“It is good,” said Father.
Ramone started to walk away but had forgotten to wait for dismissal. The fist cracked against his mouth, making his lips bleed. Ramone’s vision blurred, but somehow, vaguely he felt pleased that he had not yet lost a tooth. He was a handsome boy. He wanted to stay that way. He would never, nor could he ever be, as ugly as Father. It was from the turning and rolling with the punch that did the trick.
“You smoke dope,” asked Father, “with that crazy bitch down the street?”
“No,” said Ramone.
“Yes,” said Father and Ramone didn’t know what he meant.
Father lit a cigar, grabbed Ramone by the neck, forcing his son to the floor. Ramone tried to hold Father off but he wasn’t strong enough yet. Father ripped his son’s shirt open, exposing the underfed belly. He took a long puff on the cigar, firing up the cherry.
“Evil,” said Father, twisting the hot end into the stomach muscles.
“Aiiieeeeeeeee!”
“must …”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“be … punished!”
Ramone clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t scream anymore. He just wouldn’t.
“There,” said the father, “I have spelled it out for you.”
When the wound healed Ramone would be able to read the small red word, EVIL, whenever he wanted a reminder.
Age 15:
Father was staggering from drinking cheap tequila and beer with a woman who looked like a man. “Shhh,” said Father, “it’s a secret.”
“No comprendo,” said Ramone.
“What the hell you say you piece of shit?”
“Fuck you!”
“He’s got a mouth on him,” said the whore.
“Evil …” said the father.
Ramone ran.
Later, after Father passed out with the woman of questionable gender, Ramone stayed up and watched an old black and white movie. The Mark of Zorro. Now there was a man, thought Ramone, a man who knew how to keep a secret in style, a man of honor, a man of dignity, a man who got the best looking girl in town to ride on his horse.
Age 16:
“What? Huh? Que pasa?” Father woke up confused. He couldn’t move his arms. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t move his arms. His eyes fought to focus in the dark. Strange sounds had brought him out of a horrible dream.
“Shit!” he said, seeing the man at the edge of his bed for the first time. “What the fuck you want, eh? What’s that crazy sound?”
The man wore black clothes and a black mask around his eyes. “I drugged your beer with sleeping pills,” said Ramone. “Wasn’t that clever, Father?”
“Ramone?”
“Si, Father.”
“You loco?”
“I tied your arms to the bedposts. You know, like you used to do with mama. Shhh,” said Ramone. “It’s a secret.”
“Untie me right now, son, and I will not be angry with you.”
“Are you hungry, Father?”
“Huh?”
“I have your favorite, nachos and that oily melted cheese. Smells horrible doesn’t it? I always thought so.” He poured a pot of the hot melted cheese oil onto Father’s face, chest, balls, legs, feet.
“Rarrrgggggghhhhh! Shit! I’ll kill you, you little shit motherfucker! AH!”
“I did a good thing, Father. I brought your friends to share your dinner.” Ramone snapped on the bedroom light.
“No! Oh god, no, son! It is an evil thing you do!”
Hanging above Ramone’s “Father” was a large net full of dirty garbage dump rats. Must have been a hundred of them, squeaking and screeching at the sight and smell of the melted cheese.
“Evil,” said Ramone letting loose the net, “must be punished.”
He walked out the door and closed it tight as the rats had a nacho fiesta. Take your skin right from the bone, he thought. Right from the bone.
The screams were long and loud, but shhhh. It’s a secret.
THE END
and
THE BEGINNING ... for EL SECRETO
El Secreto makes an appearance in INTOXICATED DETECTIVE No. 9, available soon ...
"The Secret Origin of El Secreto" by Bradley Mason Hamlin © 2007 Mystery Island Publications. All rights reserved.
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