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MARDI GRAS FOCUS D TEXT: KELLI DALEY PHOTOGRAPHY: DICK MESEROLL Since Lent is all about six weeks of atonement, Carnival is about getting as much wickedness out of your system as possible before Lent begins. In the Dominican Republic, each region has its own way of celebrating Carnival. I decid ed to head to the small town of La Vega, where Carnival features peo ple disguised as diablos cojuelos, or horned devils. These devils run amuck in the streets, punishing the spectators (sinners) with blows from colorfully painted inflated cow bladders called vejigas. Vejigas look like children's balloons, but the resemblance is deceiving. They are Intended for anything but child's play. Walking the streets of La Vega, I paused to watch several young couples dancing the merengue in the street in front of a DJ booth. They moved smoothly to the distinctive hip-twitching beat. While watching the dance, I saw my first devil. This devil was a young boy with an oversized papier-mikhe head and a brightly colored clown suit, but he brandished his vejiga with authority. . I moved past vendors selling hotdogs, beer, rum, cheap plas- tiC masks and vejigas toward a crowd of people in a loose, disorga nized parade. Soon enough, a full-sized devil arrived and I got my first real beside me and flicked his cow bladder. I felt the first sting on my butt, and that was just the beginning. Every few feet I would feel another smack, coming from a . variety of angles. Trying to deflect the blows was futile. At first, being chased down the street by a leering devil was strangely funny, but I soon realized these vejigas hurt like being taste of the odd ritual of La Vega's Carnival. The devil came up beaned with a soccer ball. After a while, I'd had enough. I began to dash through the gauntlet of flying vejigas to avoid the diablos, but the bold ones began to chase after me. Hoping that La Vega was a fluke, the next day I went to Santiago, a larger city with what I imagined might be a more sophisticated group of revelers. The opposite was true. Although pigs replace devils as the local totems in Santiago, the Dominican traditions of Carnival remain the same. The men were clustered in packs, some in costumes, and all of them forti fied by cold Presidente beer or the local ron. tWirling his weapon like a lasso. I decided I'd had enough of the Carnival experience and attempted to bypass the parade route to safety. The crowd was thick and the pigs were no longer content to smack bottoms: blows rained down on my back, shoulders and arms. Suddenly a tall man in silver and black materialized in front of me, his vejiga raised high above his head ready to strike. A girl nearby, exasperated by the abuse, grabbed the attack .. � er's wrist and loudly reprimanded him in Spanish. This was a big mistake. I nstantaneously, the highly charged atmosphere changed. I felt a sharp slap across the right side of my face. I fl ushed with shock and tears came to my eyes. As he aimed for me, I saw a glimpse of rage In his eyes. He wanted to hurt me, and there was nothing I could do about it. ence with clearer eyes. I know why he did it. I was a foreigner, and a woman. I was an intruder in his world and he was punishing me for the sins he per ceived I'd committed. In a mask could he show me how he felt about me and the culture I represented. Being on the receiving end of a vejiga taught me that Carnival isn't all beaches and dance music. It reveals the darkness hidden inside all of us. . In the light of the next morning, I saw the whole strange experi One malevolent muchacho stood in front of me, in a boozy haze,