A few months ago, my friends and I were planning a trip to Cozumel, Mexico. To avoid looking like a normal asshat tourist, I decided to learn a little bit of Spanish. I didn’t expect to learn all the words to Despacito, but hoped I could ask where the bathroom was and maybe flirt a little bit with the señoritas.
At work one day, I scrolled through some language-learning apps. There was one that caught my eye called INTENSE! The “S” in intense was a lightning bolt. The app promised fast results. The reviews for the app seemed to back that up.
“Very intense, but you learn quickly.”
“Definitely a commitment, but worth it. I now speak fluent Mandarin.”
“💯💯💯🔥”
That sounded good to me. I downloaded the app and signed up.
The app was bare bones, with no flashy characters or backgrounds. I made an account and was prompted to select a course. After choosing Spanish, an “intensity” option appeared. There were no easy, medium, or hard options. The choices were intensive, extreme, and accelerated. Not knowing the difference between any of them, I chose accelerated. Immediately, a rather lengthy user agreement popped up on my screen. Without reading any of it, I scrolled to the bottom and hit agree.
“Thank you,” the screen read. There were no other options, no way to close the page or back out— just a blank screen. I closed the app, but when I reopened it, it showed the same screen. Even uninstalling it and reinstalling it didn’t help. Assuming it was some sort of scam, and maybe all the good reviews were just bots, I deleted the app and forgot about it.
That afternoon, I got off work, waved goodbye to my coworkers, and headed out to my car. As I opened my car door, I heard shuffling from behind me.
“Hello?” I said, spinning around. Behind me was nothing but empty parking spaces. Then the whole world went black.
When I came to, I was hog-tied and blindfolded. Wherever I was, it was hot, and my blindfold stuck to my face. There was a rag in my mouth to keep me from talking. I squirmed and tried to get loose, but it was no use. All around me I heard quiet whispering.
Something tugged at my blindfold. Then, the world was bright with light. I squinted to make out my surroundings. I was surrounded by thick metal bars, some sort of prison. There were more cells, next to and across from mine. In each cell, there were two men, each one wearing the same thing, a white jumpsuit. They stared at me, a look of pity and worry on their face.
A man stood over me. He was older and balding with a wild beard. He knelt down and started to work on my hand restraints.
“Silencio,” he whispered. He was speaking in Spanish. I didn’t understand any of it. As soon as my hands were untied, I was on my feet. I tore the gag out of my mouth and threw it onto the floor.
“Where the fuck am I? What’s going on?” When I spoke, the other prisoners flinched. The older man, my cellmate, lept at me, pressing his hand to my mouth.
“Amigo,” he said, his face drawing so close to mine I could smell his awful breath, “Amigo. Silencio. Solo en español.” I thought about biting his hand, but we were soon interrupted.
The building we were in was a large rectangle. A single hallway ran down the length of the building, in between two rows of holding cells. The ceilings were high. At one end of the hallway, there was a window, the prison’s only source of light. At the other end was a large metal door. The door flew open, and a man wearing a green jumpsuit entered. He looked very strong and very angry.
“Pendejo!” he shouted as he made his way down to my cell. “Hablar español! Solo español! No inglés!” I remembered enough Spanish from high school to understand “no English.”
The man said something else to me and smiled. He gestured down the hallway to the door and drew a finger across his throat. As if on cue, a loud screech emanated from the other room, echoing throughout the prison. The man’s smile turned to worry, and he hustled back down the hall, the door closed with another loud crash and a click as he locked it behind him.
The other prisoners went back to whispering quietly. I turned to face my cellmate. High school had only been 6 years ago, but what little Spanish I had learned in school was almost completely forgotten. The only thing I could really remember was that we’d all taken a Spanish name, and mine had been Juan.
“Juan,” I said, gesturing at myself. Might as well be Juan. I had no idea who these people were or why we were here, so better to err on the side of caution.
“Me llamo Jorge,” the bald man said, gesturing toward himself. “Me. Llamo. Jorge.” He dragged each word out, making sure to pronounce it carefully.
“Me llamo Juan?” I said, gesturing at myself.
“Si, si, si! Bueno, bueno!” Jorge said. I was catching on. That first day, we went around our small cell. Jorge would point at something, and I would copy him. There was a bunk bed, a toilet, and a sink. He tried to teach me a few verbs as well. Look, hear, speak, touch.
After what felt like several hours of that, the door opened once more. Several men in green jumpsuits carrying lunch trays.
“Comida,” Jorge said, gesturing at the men and pretending to eat.
“Comida,” I parroted back. He smiled and nodded.
After seeing the disgusting mess on the plate, I assumed comida meant gruel.
After dinner it was time for bed. Jorge took the top bunk. I laid in my bunk, listening to the men around me snore. The sheets reeked of sweat. I wondered how many men had laid in this bed before me and how, or even if, they’d escaped.
The next morning, the guards brought more “comida.” It was just as good as the food from the night before. After breakfast, the guards returned. Each one had a cart with books. We each received a picture book and a tape recorder.
“Estudiar,” Jorge said, pointing at the book. I read the picture books, trying to put together the pictures and the words. On the cassette was a recording of a very old woman reading the book aloud. It helped us learn how to pronounce the words correctly.
As the day went on, the atmosphere in the prison became more frantic. Even Jorge stopped talking to me, instead burying himself in his picture book. The light in the prison became a dim orange as the sun began to set. A bell rang just before dinner time. I set my book aside and the door opened.
The guards came and unlocked the first cell. The two men inside were shaking as men in green jumpsuits led one of the men away. There were whispers in the cells next to us. I wanted to say something to Jorge, but had no way to ask. Finally, the door opened, the man was led back in and tossed into the cell. His cellmate was taken next.
Some of the men in the neighboring cells came and shook the man’s hand. They congratulated him with words I couldn’t understand. Their celebration was ended abruptly with the sound of a scream.
“Nooo, please god, no!” The man in the other room screamed. There was a screech, a crunch, and wet splatters, like the sound of something eating. This time, when the door opened, there were just two guards. As the door swung open, a few green feathers flew out from the doorway. The guards made their way to the next cell, and took their next victim.
When it was our turn, Jorge went first. He didn’t say anything to me, just gave me a nod, and went on his way with the guards. They brought him back a few minutes later. He was smiling. As glad as I was that Jorge made it back, I wasn’t ready for whatever was about to happen. Jorge gave me a thumbs up as I was led away by the guards.
They led me into the back room. The room reeked like someone took a shit on a pile of rotting meat and then left it out in the sun. Huge green feathers littered the floor. A large curtain hung at the back of the room. Behind it, I could hear something taking deep, ragged breaths. The guards gestured for me to sit down in a wooden chair. I sat, shaking, and waited. One of the guards stepped forward and held up a picture. It was one of the pictures from my book.
“Como se dice?” the guard asked. I looked at him, wide eyed.
“Como se dice?” he asked more sternly.
I recognized the picture. It was a bike.
“B-bicicleta?” I stammered.
“Si. Bueno.” The guard said. He placed the picture on the ground and held up another. A pair of shoes.
Fuck! What was the word for shoes?
“Zapanas?” I guessed. Behind the curtain, something stirred. The guard glanced at it for a second before turning back to me.
“No!” He pointed at the picture of the shoes. “Como se dice?”
Fuck! It wasn’t Zapanas? What was it? Something that sounded kind of like a Pokemon…
Zapatos!” I said, more confidently this time. The guard nodded. He held up a few more pictures. I answered each one correctly. The thing behind the curtain didn’t move anymore. Finally, the guards led me back to my cell.
Jorge was waiting for me. He clapped me on the back and pulled me into a hug. My heart pounded and I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. Somehow, I had passed the test. But I understood what this place was, and I knew there would be another tomorrow.
Each day, the books got a little more challenging. Every evening, just before dinner, we were all given a test. Remarkably, we only lost a few people in the first few weeks I was there. After my first test, I was more vigilant in my studies. Some days I was given picture books. Sometimes I got tape recorders to help my pronunciation. I never missed another question, and the creature behind the curtain never moved.
My Spanish got better, and I could ask Jorge more questions. He was married. He had two children and a brother. He was 56 years old, his favorite color was blue, he liked apples, and he did not collect stamps.
It was three weeks before there was another new arrival. He went through a similar process that I did, only he wouldn’t shut up. No matter how many times he was told, even when the guards came and threatened him, he just kept going.
“Let me out! Let me the fuck out of here!” He actually managed to climb up the bars several feet before the guards rushed in. They ushered him into the back room, still screaming.
“What? What the fuck is that thing? Oh my god!” I barely touched my dinner that night.
One day, when I returned from my daily test, Jorge was smiling.
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you okay?”
“I am okay. It is nice to meet you too. You pass the test?” My Spanish was been improving. I felt like my conversations with Jorge were getting better and better. I could understand quite a bit, but producing the right words in the right way was still difficult.
“I passed the test. It was not easy. It was hard. Tomorrow, I will pass the test again. I will be free.”
“Free?” I asked.
“Free. Tomorrow. Free.”
There was so much more I wanted to say, but I hadn’t learned past or future tense.
The next day, the guards took Jorge away. He waved to me. One way or another, he was leaving for good. I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay awake, wondering if at any moment the doors might burst open and the police might rush the prison. Jorge would be with them. They’d take the guards away in handcuffs. Whatever that thing was behind the curtain, they’d set it on fire. But that never happened. I wondered if it was because this place was impossible to find or if Jorge never made it out.
A month went by. All of the men who’d been there when I’d first arrived were gone. Either released or worse… I tried to help the newcomers as much as I could. Some did well, others didn’t last more than a few days. The books I read got more and more difficult. The tests got harder. In one of my books, there were two girls with the same color hair, but one liked apples, the other didn’t. I finally learned past tense. I was able to say I did NOT sleep well last night. I did NOT enjoy the food yesterday.
One day, when the guards came around with the cart, I was handed a book with a snowman on it.
“The last,” the guard said.
I was sweating as I read the book. There was a boy named Julio. His favorite color was green. He liked pizza. Rosa was there too. She still did not like apples. I took in every word, every syllable, as my life depended on it.
Shutting the book, I sat there for a moment, thinking about what I’d read, trying to picture the characters in my mind. The guards walked down the hallway and unlocked my door. They led me through to the back room. To my surprise, this time, the curtain was pulled back. The small wooden chair was sitting in front of a horrible creature. It was a giant owl with piercing yellow eyes and green feathers.
“This is the last test,” the beast hissed, speaking in Spanish. I went over and sat down before it. It’s perch was visible now. It was seated atop a pile of human bones, small bits of meat still stuck to some of them. The stench was ungodly. The taste of vomit rose up in the back of my mouth and I struggled to keep it down. Still, I would not fail this test. I sat and stared into the thing’s eyes.
“Como se dice?” the creature asked, pointing to a picture of a young boy listening to music.
“That is Julio! He likes listening to music! His favorite food is pizza! His favorite color is green!” I declared.
“Como de dice?” The creature asked, holding up a picture I recognized all too well.
“That is Rosa. Rosa is 10 years old. Rosa lives in Mexico City.” The creature’s eyes narrowed. It clicked its beak. I knew what it was waiting for. “Rosa does not like apples.”
The creature’s eyes widened. “Bueno! Bueno!”
Every picture the beast held up, I knew what it was. I had learned well. I could speak Spanish.
In the back of the room, I heard a click. A door I hadn’t noticed before was now open.
“Free?” I asked, still speaking Spanish.
“Yes,” the creature said in English, “you may go.”
“W-what are you?” I stammered in English.
“I have been many things to many people— Babel, Bune, Naberus. A great principality, I am the one who created INTENSE! The curriculum is mine. My greatest desire is to elevate mankind through language. Once you leave here, I doubt you will ever see me again. But you will remember my lessons.”
I turned around and prepared to step through the door.
“One last thing,” the creature said, it’s massive wing blocking me from the door, “Don’t forget to give us a five star review on the App Store!”
I stepped through the door. Immediately, I was standing back at my car. I checked my watch, only a few minutes had passed since I left work. But it was all still there. I could still speak Spanish. I hoped to God the owl was telling the truth and I wouldn’t ever see him again.
A few months passed. Finally, my friends and I went to Cozumel. One day, I stopped in at a restaurant for a margarita.
“I would like one margarita, please,” I told the waiter in Spanish.
He smiled at me, “Of course.”
He brought the drink out, and I decided to chat with him a little bit. “The weather is nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“My favorite color is blue.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Do you like apples?”
“Yes… Yes, I do.”
“What is-“
“Dude,” the waiter said, switching to English, “Where did you learn to speak Spanish?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Well, your teacher should be fired. Your Spanish sucks.”
I cannot recommend the INTENSE! language app.