Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 151

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While Kepa half expected a group of thugs or French soldiers to be waiting for them, the building was abandoned, just as Josean had promised. He reached down to help Maite up before really surveying the room. They seemed to have found themselves in a small apartment, which at one time must have been quite elegant but now had fallen to ruin. It wasn’t so much that the decor had been destroyed, it simply had been neglected for a very long time. The furniture still stood where the past owners had placed it, but now it was covered in dirt and cobwebs. Paintings of regal figures stared down at them through their grime covered surfaces. Kepa couldn’t help but feel judged by those icy stares. Light spilled in from high windows that prevented passersby from seeing inside but fully illuminated the room.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa 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!

As he looked around, Kepa noticed some faint footprints on the dusty floor. 

“It’s been a while since anyone used this place,” he remarked.

Maite nodded. “I guess hardly anyone knows about this place.”

Kepa and Maite continued to explore. In addition to the living space they had crawled in, the apartment had a small bedroom and dining area, but little else. 

“I guess if it were too big, people would have noticed,” said Kepa.

“Hard to hide a mansion in the middle of town,” replied Maite with a smile. 

Kepa pulled a blanket that covered one of the chairs, waiving to Maite to sit while he brushed the dust off another before collapsing himself.

“Why does it seem that each of these bubbles becomes increasingly more challenging?” he asked with a sigh.

Maite shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe we just have bad luck.”

“Do you think Marina is here?”

“Ez dakit. But I’m not sure I want to run into her if she is.”

Kepa nodded absently. “Agreed. She is starting to become a wild card herself.” He futily looked around the room as if hoping to find the zatia right in front of him. Dejected, he slumped deeper into his chair. “What now? How do we find this stupid thing?”

Maite heard the familiar voice rumble in the back of her head. “Do the zatia not have affinity to one another?” asked Garuna, almost rhetorically.

Maite sat up, suddenly alert. “Garuna just gave me an idea…”

“I almost forgot we had a third wheel,” interjected Kepa.

Maite ignored him. “Hold out your hand,” she continued, “like this.” She held out her hand in front of her, palm up. Kepa reluctantly mimicked her.

“Now think about the zatia.”

Kepa closed his eyes, focused his thoughts on the zatia. For a moment, nothing happened. He thought he felt a slight tug when he was interrupted by Maite.

“There!” she exclaimed. 

Kepa opened his eyes. Maite had stood and her arm was pointing in the direction Kepa had felt the tug. Maite turned to Kepa, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I think we know where to go.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, History

Basque Fact of the Week: The Matxinadas, the Peasant Revolts

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The 1800s was a time of great upheaval in the Basque Country, embodied by the Carlist Wars. These grew out of the widening gap between the rich and powerful and the common people, developing over centuries, who were being lost in the globalization and unification of markets. Prices soared as speculators inserted themselves in markets. Traditional Basque privileges were abolished or curtailed as the Crown tried to homogenize the country. Rural regions saw themselves subservient to the richer cities. All of these led to an unstable situation that repeatedly broke into riots across Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa.

Plaque in memory of the executed leaders of the Salt Matxinada of 1634. Image from Wikipedia.
  • The word matxinada (machinada in Spanish) comes from machín, a local name for Saint Martin by which iron workers were known. It eventually became associated with conflict, more specifically riots that the working and peasant classes held against the ruling class. Many factors contributed to the general dissatisfaction that led to these riots, but at the heart was the worsening conditions of the peasantry as Spain tried to centralize and unify. Consumers lost power of supply and demand, seized instead by speculators. This led to harsh conditions, high food prices, and discontentment.
  • There were five major matxinadas in the Basque Country. The first, the Salt Matxinada, took place between 1631 and 1634 in Bizkaia. It arose from several factors, including the disenfranchisement of the common people in the political process and the imposition by Castilla that all subjects, including those in the Basque Country, had to help defend the empire. This included new taxes. At a time when harvests were poor, this led to higher food prices. The government imposed even more taxes on and prohibitions in the buying and selling of salt, a critical commodity used throughout the economy. In October, 1632, the people revolted, killing at least one representative of the government. Amongst the many demands of the revolters was the abolishment of the prohibition of the sale of salt, which the Crown ultimately did in April, 1634.
  • The Customs Matxinada happened in 1718. In 1717, in an effort to regain the territories it had lost in the Treaty of Utrecht, the Bourbons tried to impose reforms to the tax system and moving customs offices to the coast. Before this, products produced or imported into the Basque provinces were free of most taxes, until they were introduced into Castilla. The reforms of 1717 tried to change this. Again, these changes harmed consumers and threatened the political system of the region. In March, 1718, when the customs moved, the people, primarily in Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa, revolted. A tax collector was killed and multiple customs boats were burned. Several government leaders, including the mayor of Bilbo, were also killed. The more powerful raised their own army against the revolters and called on the king to intervene. The whole situation led to a split in Basque society about the role of the fueros, as the merchant class benefited from the changes in customs.
  • 1755 saw the Meat Matxinada. Economic speculation was rampant, including in meat. Beef exports from Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa to other provinces in Spain were particularly important to the economy. Gipuzkoa tried to regulate the selling of beef to reduce speculation, but the peasants that actually raised the animals benefited from the practice. The government of Gipuzkoa went so far as to ban the export of beef and force the animal owners to sell in local markets. Other restrictions were also put in place, all of which harmed the producer. Towns began to rise up, but the rulers quickly responded with a militia that met little resistance, quelling the matxinada. However, nothing was resolved.
  • Cereals were next. In 1766, the Cereal Matxinada hit Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa. A number of factors led to these riots, but one important factor was the reduced ownership of land – land wealth was concentrated in fewer and fewer hands. Most peasants had become tenants, without land of their own. Further, some 80% of their income went to taxes and rent. Cereal prices increased due to poor harvests, inflation and speculation, and changes in tax code. In particular, speculation was rampant after a decree in 1765 that abolished taxes on cereals. Speculation hurt consumers, leading to famine. The matxinada was sparked by the exportation of cereals by speculators in Gipuzkoa to Nafarroa, Asturias, and Galicia. Starting in Gipuzkoa, it spread to Bizkaia. Amongst the demands were price controls in cereals and meats, the use of communal lands, and the participation of common people in government. While no one was killed in the riots, there was significant property damage. However, having learned from previous matxinadas, the ruling class quickly quelled this one as well and in the end few of the demands were enacted.
  • The last great matxinada was the Zamacolada of 1804, in Bizkaia. The conflict between the ruling class and the common people was ever deepening. In an effort to weaken the power of Bilbo, multiple proposals to build a competing port were advanced, including one by Simón Bernardo de Zamacola. At the same time, the rulers of Bilbo schemed to harm the new project. Eventually, several towns rioted, capturing government officials and forcing them to hold new meetings.

Primary sources: Aragón Ruano, Álvaro. Matxinadas. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/matxinadas/ar-93531/; Machinada, Wikipedia

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 150

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150 parts! Not sure who might still be following this, but if you are, thank you for following me on this journey. I stll have no idea where it is going, but I’m enjoying writing it and developing these characters and world, and I hope you are enjoying reading it!

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa 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!

Kepa led the way, the glow from his hand breaking the suffocating darkness. Maite never liked enclosed spaces, but this one, in a foreign time with danger all around, seemed particularly oppressive. She squeezed the key tightly in her hand causing the teeth to bite into her palm, distracting her from the unease that was building inside her.

She imagined the city above them, the buildings and streets that connected the old part of Donostia together, like the stitching of a blanket. She didn’t know the city well enough to guess what might be above, and, she admitted, she had no idea if the city was even the same in her time as it was now. The way that the ships were blasting the walls with their cannons, she expected much of it would be destroyed in the coming days.

Ubruptly, Kepa stopped. Maite peered over his shoulder. There was a wall in front of them. To the side was another rickety old ladder, this one in much worse condition than the one at Josean’s sacristy. Maite reached out with her hand and could see the rust flakes fall away as she touched them.

Kepa grabbed a rung and started to pull himself out when Maite put her hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. “We don’t know what is up there,” she said in a whisper.

“No, but we know what is down here – nothing – and we can’t stay here forever.”

Maite sighed, knowing Kepa was right, but still fearful of what they might find on the other side.

“Kontuz,” she said.

Kepa smiled. “Beti.”

Kepa climbed up the ladder, flakes of rust falling as he did. Maite stepped back so they wouldn’t fall into her eyes. A few minutes later, Kepa reached the ceiling of the tunnel where he found a latch, fastened shut with a large lock. He looked down at Maite. 

“The key?”

Maite nodded and tossed it up. It almost seemed to hang in the air as Kepa reached out, the bright light emanating from his hand reflecting against the dull metal of the key as it spun, splashing light on the walls and down the tunnel. He grabbed it midair and inserted it into the lock, which made a satisfying click as he turned the key. He looked back down at Maite who blew him a kiss. Returning his attention to the latch, he pushed it up and open. Light spilled down and into the tunnel, momentarily blinding him.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, People

Basque Fact of the Week: Maritxu Anatol Arístegui of the Comet Line

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The Basque Country, straddling the border of France and Spain, played a key role during World War II, serving as a conduit for Allied prisoners and Jewish refugees to escape the horrors of the war. Numerous Basques played an important part in helping those people cross the border. In the past, I’ve highlighted Florentino Goikoetxea, Kattalin Agirre, and Ana María Bidegaray. Today, it is Maritxu Anatol Arístegui’s turn.

Maritxu Anatol, along with several of her collaborators of the Comet Line. Photo found on Deia.
  • María “Maritxu” Anatol Arístegui was born in Irun (Gizpukoa) on January 24, 1909 to Anatolio Anatol Choperena, of Béhobie, in Lapurdi, and Concepción Aristegui Vidaurre, of Irun. As a result, Anatol had dual Spanish-French citizenship. As a young woman, her independent spirit shone through, as she asked to work in her family’s custom agency, a job that was not viewed as suitable for women.
  • When the Spanish Civil War broke out, her family moved to the other side of the Bidasoa river, to a house called Kontxesinea, in the town of Béhobie. But it was only a few years later, in 1940, when the Germans confiscated part of Kontxesinea so that they could house their soldiers there. The French Resistance, specifically the Comet Line, approached her, asking her to gather information and to transport refugees, which she immediately accepted.
  • Being part of the Comet Line aligned nicely with her adventurous spirit. “I felt sorry for those boys, the pilots, and I saw that I could help them. That’s why I started working in the Comet Line,” she said. “If I were born again, I would do the same. I would get back into the Resistance. I like risk, adventure and the comfortable life annoys me, the soft life.”
  • Her team consisted of at least three other Basques: Martín Hurtado de Saracho, Ambrosio San Vicente, and Alejandro Elizalde Irabarren. Anatol said that Florentino Goicoechea was also part of her team. Elizalde was the one that recruited Anatol to the Comet Line.
  • She and her team helped downed airmen reach safety, providing them with supplies. She would travel to Paris to pick them up and take them by night train, false documents in hand, first to Ambrosio San Vicente’s place in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, and then to Oiartzun. She estimated that, in total she helped 39 Jews and 113 airmen cross the border into Spain.
  • However, the Comet Line for which she worked became distrustful of the seemingly close relationship she and her team had with the Germans and the local officials. She tried to argue that these relationships were necessary to get information, but eventually they cut her off.
  • On July 13, 1943, she and her team were arrested by the Gestapo. Three of them were deported to Germany, though they survived the experience and ultimately returned home. Anatol herself was taken to Gestapo headquarters in Baiona and the prison in Biarritz, but her calm and steely demeanor during her interrogation led to her release.
  • For her efforts, she received a communication signed by General Eisenhower, on behalf of the President of the United States, and the Medal of Freedom from both the United States and the United Kingdom, and the Legion of Honor, amongst other recognitions.
  • After the war, she returned to Irún. In 1948, she married Eugenio Angoso. After his death, she became the head of the Marichu Anatol Customs Agency. Maritxu died on August 27, 1981. The street she lived on was renamed in 2014 after her.

Primary sources: Rodríguez Álvarez, Mikel. Anatol Arístegui, Maritxu. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/anatol-aristegui-maritxu/ar-18798/; La marcha de la Red Comète rinde homenaje a Maritxu Anatol, El Diaro Vasco; Maritxu Anatol, el último eslabón de la Red Comète, Deia; Maritxu Anatol, así fue la “Pimpinela Escarlata” Vasca

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 149

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Maite grabbed the hand offered her as she climbed up the ladder back into the sacristy. As she stepped over the fake trunk’s side, she noticed the bruise beginning to form on Josean’s cheek. “What happened?” she asked in alarm.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa 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!

Kepa was making his way out as Josean replied. “The French soldiers. They had seen the broken window and were looking for fugitives. I told them some orphans had broken in looking for food. They didn’t believe me, at least not at first. So, they roughed me up a bit while searching the sacristy.”

“Eskerrik asko,” said Kepa. “If they had found us…”

“That’s why we have these secret spots,” interrupted Josean waving his hand at the trunk.

Maite turned to Kepa. “What now? We can’t stay here and put Aita in jeopardy like this.”

Josean shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. You don’t reach my age without a bit of luck and even more craftiness.”

“Still,” began Maite.

Kepa nodded. “We need to find the zatia.”

“Zer?” asked Josean. “What is a zatia?”

Kepa looked over at Maite. “Just something we lost. Something very important to us.”

“I can help,” replied Josean. “What does it look like?”

“It is… hard to described,” said Kepa. 

“Well, where did you lose it?”

“In the city somewhere,” replied Maite.

Josean chuckled. “You would think the French are interrogating you, you are so vague with your answers. Nevermind. You don’t need to tell me and I won’t press you any further.” His hand fished around in the depths of his pocket and pulled out a key. He handed it to Maite. “Take this. The tunnel under the trunk leads away from the church and to an abandoned house in the old part of town. This key opens the gate on the other side. You can come and go as you need to.”

Maite took the key, warm from absorbing the heat from Josean’s hand. She leaned over and gave him a small peck on his undamaged cheek. “Eskerrik asko,” she said in a low voice.

“Ba, ez horregatik,” replied Josean, his cheeks blushing. “All I know is, if the French are looking for you, I want to be sure they don’t find you.”

Josean handed Kepa a bundle wrapped up in a plain white cloth. “It isn’t much, but here is some food.”

Kepa took the bundle and nodded before disappearing back down the darkness underneath the trunk.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Folklore

Basque Fact of the Week: Etsai, Axular, and Mikelats

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One of my favorite myths from the Basque Country involves two brothers and their teacher Etsai. Teaching from the depths of his cave, Etsai was a renowned teacher and many students came to learn from him, including the brothers Axular/Atarrabi and Mikelats. Axular essentially sacrifices himself for Mikelats’s freedom, but Mikelats becomes the bad brother. I guess complex family dynamics are as old as time.

Atarrabi, or Axular, escaping from Etsai’s cave. Image from Cuentos del Duende de la Niebla.
  • Etsai was a teacher who lectured from his cave Leixa, in Sara. Sometimes he taught from the cave in Zugarramurdi. He was master of many subjects, including science and the arts. However, he was also the devil, the enemy of humans (etsai literally means enemy or devil in Basque). Actually, many malevolent spirits are called Etsai. When students entered his tutelage, they learned many great things, but there was a price. One always had to stay behind and serve Etsai as payment.
  • There are various legends of brothers who went to study with Etsai and some of them become intertwined. Atarrabi, the good son of Mari, and his bad brother Mikelats went to study. So did Axular and his brother. The details shift, but the general theme of these stories is similar.
  • Axular and his brother, along with a few other friends, went to the caves in Zugarramurdi to study with Etsai. When their studies were complete, it befell on Axular’s brother to remain behind and become Etsai’s servant. Axular took pity on his brother and swapped places with him, remaining to do Etsai’s bidding. Etsai had him work constantly at pointless jobs. As one example, Axular was forced to extract water from a pond with a pot whose bottom was a sieve. Axular grew tired of the endless and demeaning tasks and tried to escape. And he nearly did. As he ran out of the cave, Etsai threw an iron hook at him, and just snagged his heel. Axular escaped, but without his shadow – his very soul – and his heel, which remained in the domain of Etsai.
  • Etsai, furious, wanted more than Axular’s shadow. Axular became a local priest. Etsai tricked a local cowherd to deliver a package to Axular, telling the man he would then help him find his missing cows. Axular was wary of a trick; he opened the package, revealing red belts or ribbons. He asked the cowherd to wrap them around a nearby tree. Immediately, the ribbons encircled the tree, constricting it until it fell.
  • Axular’s, or Atarrabi’s, brother Mikelats had been freed when Atarrabi had taken his place under Etsai’s control. Even so, Mikelats was malevolent. Once, after Atarrabi/Axular had been freed, he encountered his brother. Mikelats tried to destroy the local wheat fields, presumably to harm Axular and his home, but Axular, ready for the attack, flicked his foot, flinging his shoe in the air, and thus disrupted the approaching storm.
  • As Axular approached death, that he didn’t have his shadow – his soul – weighed on him. Only when he performed mass would his shadow return to him, so he resolved to die in the middle of mass. He asked his sacristan to kill him during the next mass. The sacristan was afraid and, when the time came, refused to kill the priest. He refused the next day as well. But, with enough pleading, Axular convinced him and on the third day the sacristan killed the priest, saving him and his soul.
  • There was a real Axular, or Atxular, who was a priest in the region of Sara during the early 1600s. Born in 1556, Pedro de Aguerre was from a house named Atxular. He gained fame for writing the important work Gero (you can find it here). His fame inspired some of the legends of Axular.

Primary sources: Barandiaran Ayerbe, José Miguel de. Axular. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/axular/ar-16352/; Etsai, hiru.eus; Barandiaran Ayerbe, José Miguel de. Mikelats. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/mikelats/ar-95812/

Guest Column, People

Imitation of Life: Lana Turner’s Mysterious Origins

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By Blake Allmendinger

Blake Allmendinger is a professor at UCLA who specializes in western American literature.  He is the author of seven books, including The Cambridge History of California Literature and The Melon Capital of the World:  A Memoir.  His current book-in-progress is entitled Tongues of Settlement:  Where the World Becomes Basque.  He also has an article in the forthcoming issue of BOGA:  A Basque Consortium Journal called “One Can Only Say What a Basque Is Not.”

From the 1920s through the 1950s, Hollywood studios converted ordinary young men and women into “stars.”  Teaching them to sing and dance, giving them deportment and elocution lessons, and altering the manner in which they dressed, studios changed the names and identities of such aspiring actors as Marion Morrison (John Wayne) and Lucille LeSueur (Joan Crawford).  Like her contemporaries, Julia Jean Turner was transformed into a movie star by MGM in 1936.  Given the new first name Lana, Turner was presented as a light-skinned platinum blonde and paired with such male co-stars as John Garfield, Clark Gable, and Spencer Tracey.

In fact, Turner was a swarthy, dark-haired country girl, born in Burke, Idaho to a miner named John and his wife Mildred.  Biographical sources state that Turner’s mother was of English, Scottish, and Irish descent.  However, certain clues indicate that she may have been Basque, and that this part of her identity was possibly hidden from movie-goers at a time when Basques, despite being Caucasians, were referred to as “dirty Basques” because of their reputation for working outdoors, herding sheep, and living in sometimes unsanitary rural locations.  If so, Turner wouldn’t have been the only aspiring actress whose ethnicity was whitewashed by studios in order to appeal to mainstream audiences.  Merle Oberon was a Eurasian born in Sri Lanka and Rita Hayworth’s father was a Romani from Spain.  Despite Hollywood’s best efforts, Hayworth still “read” as vaguely ethic on film.  She became wildly popular in the Basque Country after the noir classic Gilda was released in 1946.  To this day, there is a pintxo named the Gilda that can be purchased in many bars and restaurants in the Spanish Basque provinces.

Figure 1. Lana Turner in Wallace, Idaho circa 1925. Photo from Wikipedia.

Several pieces of circumstantial evidence suggest that Turner’s mother may have been Basque.  In Detour, a memoir by Lana’s daughter, Cheryl Crane, the author notes that both her grandmother and her mother had Rh negative blood.  One of the world’s rarest blood types, it appeared most frequently in the central European Basque population, and among immigrants from the Old World, most of whom settled in California, Nevada, and Idaho.  When a Basque woman became pregnant by a man with Rh positive blood, her body identified the fetus as an antibody, or malignant tumor, and attacked the fetus, causing a spontaneous miscarriage.  Crane notes that her grandmother nearly bled to death during childbirth—most likely because the small rural hospital didn’t have a backup supply of Rh negative blood.  (My grandmother experienced the same life-threatening situation when she gave birth to my father in rural Colorado in the late 1930s.)  Crane also notes that her mother had the same problem delivering Cheryl.

The fact that Turner wore a beret when she first appeared onscreen in the 1937 film They Won’t Forget may be merely a coincidence.  Berets were also worn by fashionable non-Basques in France and Spain, and throughout Europe, starting in the 1920s.  Ernest Hemingway and Greta Garbo both wore them when posing for publicity photographs and studio marketing campaigns.  But Turner also became known for wearing another fashion accessory in the 1952 musical adaptation of The Merry Widow.  The one-piece foundation garment with a cinched waist, removable bra straps, and a plunging neckline was called a Basque.

Figure 2. Lana Turner wearing a Basque in The Merry Widow. Image from bridgemanimages.

No one has provided a theory to explain why the garment was called this.  Furthermore, why would the studio call attention to Turner’s possible Basque heritage at the same time that it was lightening her hair and her skin to appeal to American filmgoers?  By the early 1950s Hollywood was beginning to hire “exotic” actresses to play women who were on a color spectrum, giving them racier roles to play.  In the early 1940s, MGM stopped casting the teenage Turner as the fair-haired girl next door and began featuring her in more adult-themed movies with scandalous storylines, such as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Honky Tonk, and The Postman Always Rings Twice.  Her later films—and many would argue her greatest ones—featured Turner playing roles normally associated with “dark” heroines, such as the adulterous housewife living in a small New England town in Peyton Place and the conspiring white employee whose black maid’s light-skinned daughter passes as white in Imitation of Life.  When she did appear in musicals and romantic comedies, such as Latin Lovers and The Merry Widow, Turner’s co-stars were suave and sophisticated leading men, such as Ricardo Montalbán and Fernando Lamas—actors who were in the more “acceptable” middle-range of the color spectrum, unlike Harry Belafonte and Sidney Poitier.

In this essay I refer to Turner’s origins as a mystery that has never been solved.  Perhaps readers on this website already know about the actress’s possible Basque heritage or have additional information to share with readers.  If so, like Sherlock Holmes, put on your deerstalker hat (or your Basque beret) and help me in solving this mystery!           

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 148

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Aita Josean led Maite and Kepa back to the sacristy, to some trunks in one of the corners. 

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa 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!

He opened the first one. “You never know who is going to come needing what,” he said almost absentmindedly as he rummaged through stacks of clothes. “The people – many of us – are in desparate need of even the most basic things. I try to keep some things on hand.”

He pulled out a long skirt and a blouse, passing them to Maite. They were plain in style, but clean. He then handed Kepa a pair of pants and a shirt.

“Not the fanciest clothes in the world, but they should do,” nodded Josean with a hint of a smile. 

“Eskerrik asko,” replied Maite. “We really appreciate these.”

Josean pointed to a side door. “You can change in there, my dear,” he said to Maite. “And you,” he continued, turning to Kepa, “can change behind that screen.”

The two nodded before they disappeared. Moments later, Kepa reemerged from behind the screen. 

“They fit perfectly,” remarked Kepa. 

“My mother was a seamstress,” replied Josean. “I have an eye for clothes.”

The door to the side room opened and Maite stepped through. Though her outfit was plain, and her hair disheveled, Kepa was struck by her beauty.

She gave a small twirl, the long skirt flaring out a bit at her ankles. “What do you think?”

“You look stunning,” babbled Kepa.

Maite blushed as Josean pretended not to notice the flirting going on between the two of them. He started toward his living quarters when a sudden pounding at the outside door of the sacristy startled them all.

“S’ouvrir!” a gruff voice bellowed from outside. “Open the door old man!”

“Azkar!” hissed Josean as he rushed to the other trunk. “Quick! Inside!”

Kepa looked inside the trunk as Josean opened it. A rickety ladder led into the darkness. He looked back up at Josean who nodded urgently. Kepa scampered down as quickly as he could. Maite followed him. As soon as her head cleared the trunk, the already dim light from outside vanished as Josean closed the lid.

Kepa held his palm down toward the ground as it began to glow. He could see a small passageway leading into the darkness. As his feet touched the ground, he helped Maite with the last few steps.

Sounds from above were muffled by the stone around them, but a few escaped through the trunk. They heard heavy boots stomping around. There were sounds of things either breaking or being thrown around. They heard shouting and what Maite thought might be a cry of pain, but she wasn’t sure. The boots seemed to get closer and Maite was sure they would open the trunk and see the two of them huddled in the dark. She nudged Kepa to snuff his light. They both held their breath as they heard the lid of the trunk creak open, but no light shown down on them. The lid slammed shut and only then did they release the air trapped in their lungs. 

The sounds from above eventually vanished. After a few more tense moments, Maite heard the trunk open again. This time, shards of light fell from above, piercing the darkness around them. 

“It’s safe,” she heard Josean’s voice come from a silhouetted figure. “You can come out.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Folklore

Basque Fact of the Week: The Entry to the Baserri

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The baserri, or Basque farm house, is a defining feature of the Basque Country. A self-sufficient family enclave, it did more than give the family a place to sleep and eat. For example, it held the animals, their body heat warming the rooms upstairs. The baserriak that dot the Basque mountains provide a distinctive charm that gives the Basque Country much of its character. Given the importance of the baserri to Basque life, it is no wonder that the entrance to the Basque domicile has its own special role.

The entry of a baserri, photo from Bao Bilbao.
  • The entrance of the baserri almost always faces to the south-east, away from the weather. In some baserriak, the portal can take up to a third of the façade, requiring a central support. It was often painted red and white, with the white made from lime plaster while the red was made up of a mixture of olive oil, red ochre, and ox blood.
  • In many baserri, there is an atalburu or ateburu above the door (from atari=doorway and buru=head). A type of lintel, the atalburu, at least in Nafarroa Beherea, is a stone that is often engraved with facts about the house: the year of construction, the name of the spouses, and various designs. The name of the house isn’t usually engraved on the atalburu, at least not in older houses. In more modern construction, the atalburu sometimes does contain the name of the house.
  • Instead, the name of the house, which every house has and from which many Basque surnames derive, is often placed with the armarriak, or the coat-of-arms. The presence of the armarriak on the front of the house is more typical of Hegoalde.
  • Doors are often decorated with an eguzkilore, a “sunflower,” a dried silver thistle (not an ekilore, what in English would be called a sunflower). The belief was that was that some mischievous or malevolent spirits, such as lamiak, were active at night. By putting the eguzkilore on the door, this confused these spirits, making them think that the sun was out, and thus protecting the house.

Primary sources: Atalburu, Wikipedia; Baserri, Wikipedia; Ateburu, Wikipedia

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 147

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“Ahem.”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa 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!

Kepa looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus before he saw a bent over old man looking down at them. The man’s wrinkled face was framed by whispy white hair, at least on the sides. He was completely bald. His large nose, pocked with scars, betrayed his Basque blood. He glared down at them sternly, but Kepa thought he saw a glint of compassion twinkle in the old man’s eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked the old man as Kepa sat up, rubbing his eyes. The movement stirred Maite who also looked up.

“Barkatu,” began Kepa. “We were escaping the cold and the gun fire. We had no where to go.”

“So you thought to desicrate my holy garments to make a bed for yourselves?”

Kepa wondered if he had mistaken that hint of compassion for true anger. He hadn’t thought about what the garments might mean for the priest. It had been a long time since he had entertained any religious thoughts himself. He bowed his head, whispering the word this time. “Barkatu.”

The old man extended a hand all gnarled and twisted from years of manual labor. His knuckles were almost the size of walnuts and his fingers bent at angles that were not quite normal. Kepa took the old man’s hand, and was surprised by the strength he felt as the man pulled him up, perhaps a bit gruffly. He was much more gentle with Maite, though no less insistent that she immediately rise.

The old man looked back at the door. “And my window?” he asked.

Again, Kepa hung his head in shame. “We needed shelter. Barkatu,” was all he could muster.

The old man sighed. “I imagine you are hungry. Follow me.”

The old man led them out of the sacristy and toward a small room that abutted the church, seemingly an afterthought to the magestic edifice that was the church itself. 

“I don’t have much, especially since the French have been here, but what is mine is yours,” said the old man as he waved them to sit at his small table. He pulled some bags from a cupboard and poured something into the pot that was already on his small stove. Moments later, he placed two steaming bowls on the table. Kepa didn’t recognize what it was – some kind of boiled grains – but he eagerly took a bite. It was more bitter than he expected, but he wasn’t about to complain. 

The old man sat down opposite them and watched them for a moment before speaking. “What are your names?”

Kepa looked over at Maite, who shrugged. She didn’t see any reason not to be honest with the old man.

Returning his gaze to the old man, Kepa said “I’m Kepa, and this is Maite.”

The old man smiled. “Maite. I always loved that name. That’s what we called my sister when we were young children.”

“And you are…?” began Maite.

“Jose Angel is my given name, but I am known by Josean.” 

“Eskerrik asko,” said Kepa, nodding toward the food in front of him. 

“Ez, ez,” replied Josean. “These are desparate times, breeding desparate people. I do what little I can to help.” He paused a moment. “I just wish you had found something else besides my blessed garments for your bed.”

This time, it was Maite who answered. “Barkatu, Aita Josean.”

The old man smiled. “Let’s forget about that. It looks like you had a rough night, judging by your clothes. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.