Kepa passed a red plastic cup to Koldo. “Kalimotxo, ezta?”
Koldo nodded as he took the cup. “Mil esker!”
“That last song was… different,” said Kepa, taking a sip from his own cup. “Don’t get me wrong, I really liked it, but sorginak? Madarikazioak? Curses? Where did you come up with that stuff?”
Koldo shrugged. “That one was all Ainhoa. She wrote that song, music, lyrics, everything.”
Kepa looked at her. “Well?” he asked. “What’s the story?”
Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Ainhoa smiled as she took a drink. “My mom was born in Nafarroa, in Zugarramurdi, though her family moved to Bizkaia when she was young. She told me a story about some ancestor of hers, or rather, the sister of one of her ancestors. It seems that this sister was one of the healers of the village, and some said she had supernatural powers. When the Inquisition came to town, some of her neighbors, probably jealous or something, accused her of sorginkeria, of witchcraft. The Inquisition tried her and when she refused to recant, they burned her at the stake in the auto de fe in Logroño.” Ainhoa shrugged. “I thought it would make a cool story for a song.”
“That is so cool!” exclaimed Itxaso. “Did she really curse everyone?”
“Who knows?” answered Ainhoa. “We don’t know anything more about her. She was killed over four hundred years ago. Hard to know what really happened back then. I just made up the curse for the song.”
“I bet she really did curse them,” said Itxaso in an excited whisper. “That’s what I would have done, anyways.”
“You don’t really believe in this stuff, do you?” asked Maite incredulously.
Itxaso shrugged. “Who knows, science girl? ‘Izena duen guztiak izatea ere badauke — Everything with a name exists.’ Not everything can be explained in your books.”
“‘Izenak ez du egiten izana — A name does not make something true’,” responded Maite. “I need more proof than just a story to believe it.”
Koldo held up his cup as if to toast. “It doesn’t matter to me if it’s real or not, as long as it’s a kick-ass song!”
The friends all laughed as they took another sip.