José Emilio Pacheco’s Ghost and the Flying Jaguar

I was at a hidden local beach in Southern California away from the tourist traps of Santa Monica and Huntington Beach. The sun was shining but it wasn’t overwhelming; it was still early in the morning. That’s when I saw a flying jaguar in the late spring sky. It approached the sand and landed a few feet away from me. I was in shock. I forgot to mention that riding the flying jaguar was none other than José Emilio Pacheco’s ghost. Had I accidentally taken hallucinogenic drugs? No, I mean, I had Starbucks for breakfast, but everything was checking out as normal. Pacheco descended from the winged jaguar and asked my name. “My name is Jose Hernandez Diaz,” I mumbled. “Are you from around here?” he continued. “Yes, I am. I’m from Southeast Los Angeles. I used to be from Orange County. . . . The real question is what are you doing on a flying jaguar? You died years ago,” I said. “I’ve come to remind you to read more Spanish-language poetry,” he said. “You’ll grow to love it just as much as your first language.” “Technically, Spanish is my first language,” I said, “I learned it alongside English from my parents as a young boy but quickly switched to English because it was easier. You make a good point about me speaking more Spanish, Señor Pacheco,” I said. “I promise to work on it.” But just as I said this, Pacheco and the flying jaguar disappeared. I grabbed my longboard and headed to my car. I left the beach and went to the library to check out Pacheco’s books, bilingual editions.

Read more from Issue 20.2.