Questions Around a Legendary Evil Character from my Childhood on the Equator

I am spending the better part of December in my hometown of Guayaquil, Ecuador. In fact, I am writing this post in the house where I grew up (some day I will write about it and include some nice pictures).  I am seeing old friends and revisiting old places, as well as witnessing the transformation of the city that I once called home.

Mr. Satan

Last week, while working out at my old gym, I saw the man himself. I will call him PW. I first encountered PW when I was 11, when I joined a martial arts school. PW was perhaps five years my senior and was a talented fighter. At some point, PW left the school and joined a new school that taught Arnis, a Filipino martial art.

All I knew from my Sifu (master) was that this school was led by his evil uncle, with whom he had fallen out years ago. He practiced some sort of dark magic and performed rituals involving black goats. He would teach you things like how to kill people with credit cards, and not precisely by using them to hire a hit man.  My Sifu, a savvy businessman and a zealot when it came to retaining his students, was probably making a lot of this stuff up. But I remember meeting some weirdos from the Arnis school; they actually spoke of rituals, superior evil beings, and black goats (no white spots!). Perhaps that was their marketing game plan.

The legends around PW grew wilder and wilder over the years, partly owing to his younger brother, who was quite the compulsive liar (I have met quite a few over the years). It was like the tropical version of Chuck Norris Facts.

The Good Master

He pretty much fought everything and everyone in Guayaquil. Once he was done with one-on-one fights, he started fighting larger groups, doing Hollywood stunts. He jumped from a third floor to stop a group of thieves (he later proceeded to beat them up). After a while, our small town got too small for him, so he went international. He traveled to Chile, where he single-handedly beat up their “best fighter,” together with all his friends, at a bar.  Chairs and roundhouse kicks were on the menu.

But likely his most legendary tale was when he crashed his sports car (the same one he would use to accomplish feats that not even Fangio could dream of) into a bus, barely saving his life by reclining his seat as his car went under. Right after the crash, he’s said to have broken the bus floor with his bare hands and climbed up into the bus to the sound of screeching metal and the voices of “the devil!” “No, worse: it’s PW,” were his last words before beating up the driver and the passengers who dared stand in his way.

So, did he do all this? Or any of it? Did he crash his car into a bus? (But wasn’t he infallible?) To my knowledge, no one ever tried to find out. So, when I saw him the other day, it was the perfect opportunity to ask him and be the first. What the heck? He seemed happy to see me, so he may have spared my body and soul, even if the question proved annoying. But, in the end, I just greeted him as I had always done, without asking the questions that have haunted me for years.

Why didn't I ask? Probably for the same reason that I am not using his real name: I'm worried some of it might be true. (If you disapprove of my hesitation, you may want to take a look at Pascal’s Wager.)