This time I was sent to a meeting in Guatemala held by translation consultants. The meeting was going to take place at a church under construction and the pastor was going to be our host. Representatives of several native speakers were coming to learn more about translating the Bible into their languages. One of the translation consultants, Bob, and I rented a small Citroen and drove from Ciudad de Guatemala to the place of the meeting.

When we arrived there we found some women cooking frijoles in a huge cauldron. They spoke a little bit of Spanish so we asked about the pastor. They said they were concerned because he was supposed to be there since the day before.

So we asked where to put our bags and we started driving in the direction the women pointed us.
We crossed several “bridges”. Many of them were just a plank of cement over a heavy flowing waterway.
We asked for directions to some people walking on the road, but they hurried past us and didn’t want to talk to us. This happened several times, and a woman even ran away when I got out of the car and addressed her in Spanish.

When we arrived at the small village where the pastor was supposed to be, we had to turn left over one of those “bridges”. Suddenly a man on a bike came right in front of our car, and I had to swerve to avoid it. This caused the right wheel of the car to hang over the ditch. Bob decided to open the door of the car, got out, and immediately fell down. The ditch was deeper than he thought. The guy on the bike and I jumped to help him, but he said he was okay and dusted off his pants.

The man on the bike turned out to be the pastor we were looking for. He said he had to attend to a serious business first. We noticed that the streets in the village were almost empty and doors and windows were closed. The pastor said that he will be at our “camp” by that night. He told us to go back as soon as we could. There was such a sense of urgency in his voice that we immediately headed back.

To our surprise the bridge we had crossed just before we turned toward the village was destroyed.
Conveniently, a narrow, but drivable, dirt road went down and around the bridge some few miles over. We crossed the water at a low area.

We went back to the main road and we found the next bridge was also destroyed. This time we noticed the cement from the bridge was down in big pieces. We wondered if dynamite was used to do that.
We ended up going on many dirt roads to avoid broken bridges.

In facts all the bridges we had crossed in our search for the pastor have been destroyed and delayed our return to the church.

It was getting very dark, and the lights of our vehicle were the only guide on the last part of the road, very near the river. Suddenly, in front of the car, a totally naked woman with long black hair floating down her back appeared on the right side of the road. We passed her, and, after few seconds of total stupor, Bob and I said, “Did you see that woman?” Immediately, I decided to turn the car and go back to see if we could help. However, nobody was on the road. Only a minute has passed since we turned back, however, there was no sign of the woman. We were absolutely puzzled, so we continued back for a while, and, as soon as we saw a man walking on the road, we stopped and asked, “Did you see a woman running in the direction you are going?” He said that he had not seen anyone, but then he asked, “Was she naked and with long hair?” Surprised, we said, ” Yes”. “Oh”, he said, “that was La Llorona (weeping woman).” And without any more explanation, he started walking again. We started the car, turned, and followed him with the intention of learning more, but he said good bye with a gesture, and it was obvious that he would not tell us anything else.

According to legend, La Llorona was a mestizo woman who fell in love with a Spaniard, and after he married another woman, she decided to drown their children before drowning herself. Now, the ghost of a veiled and sorrowful woman appears on the roads and streets at night, wailing for her lost children. ,

We continued our trip back to our venue, and, during the way, back we discussed whether we should tell the ladies what we had seen.

When we arrived at the church under construction, we silently went to our rooms.
That night I slept on a straw mattress and wrapped myself in a blanket to avoid the many bugs and small reptiles that were very curious about my presence there.

Next day we learned that the “guerrilleros” had blown up the bridges we had found destroyed. When we explained to the pastor the reactions of the people toward us when we were asking directions he laughed and said: “They thought you were “rebeldes” and did not want anything to do with you, of course.”