Basque Fact of the Week, People

Basque Fact of the Week: Kattalin Agirre, Member of the French Resistance

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Not long ago, we learned about Florentino Goikoetxea, a mugalari – a smuggler – who helped fugitives cross the French-Spanish border during World War II. Of course, he didn’t act alone. Those fugitives needed a place to stay, and sometimes heal, before they could make the crossing. That was the role of people like Kattalin Agirre. She gave the fugitives a temporary home before they made the trek across the Pyrenees with Florentino. Despite numerous accolades for her efforts, it is surprisingly hard to find much about Kattalin’s life.

Kattalin Aguirre, at the award ceremony for her work with the Comet Line. Photo from Auñamendi Eusko Entziklopedia.
  • Kattalin was born in Sara on August 28, 1897. Her parents were Martin Lamothe and Joséphine Légasse. At a young age — thirteen — Kattalin began working at the Euskalduna Hotel in Ziburu then moved to Paris to work as a maid. In April of 1927, she married Pierre Aguirre and took his surname. Pierre died not long after from the lingering effects of a gas attack in World War I. She moved back to Ziburu and the Euskalduna Hotel, which was run by her cousin Catherine Muruaga. From 1936, she began helping refugees escaping the Spanish Civil War.
  • As World War II broke out, Kattalin used her connections amongst the smugglers in the Pyrenees mountains to help people flee the other direction. As part of the Margot network, she sheltered “children” – a code word for fugitives – in her home, beginning with a request by Marguerite Corysande de Grammont to shelter three such “children.” As part of the Comet line, she sheltered downed airmen, nursing them to health until she could get them to Florentino and across the border. She had a small farmhouse in the foothills of the Pyrenees where she would harbor these fugitives.
  • At some point, she was caught and sent to a concentration camp. She survived and was freed when the Allies liberated the camp.
  • Eventually, her role in the resistance grew beyond sheltering fugitives. She began passing intel to the Nana network, run by the US Office of Strategic Services. Aided by her daughter, 14-year-old Joséphine “Fifine,” she also helped smuggle money and radio equipment across the border.
  • For her efforts, she was recognized multiple times by the French government, receiving the Médaille militaire, the Croix de Guerre, and the Legion of Honour.
  • Kattalin died in Ziburu on July 22, 1992. On her deathbed she said “I didn’t do any more than I had to do.”

Primary sources: Kattalin Aguirre, Wikipedia; Auñamendi Eusko Entziklopedia. Aguirre, Kattalin. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/aguirre-kattalin/ar-154382/; Freedom Trails: Great Escapes from World War I to the Korean War by Terry C Treadwell

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 98

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The ladder led down into a subterranean room that, while seemingly ancient, was filled with technology that Maite could never have imagined. The walls were brick, their edges work with age. Bits of mortar flaked off. Maite wondered if the walls could actually support all of the massive infrastructure she had seen above them. The ceiling was high and curved, with arches sweeping across. Maite couldn’t tell if they were decorative or functional.

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!

Lights hung down from the ceiling, illuminating desks and chairs that were filled with people. If Maite hadn’t known better, it almost looked like an office cubicle. Most desks contained someone madly typing away on empty air, or gesticulating on invisible screens in front of them. Others were huddled around what seemed to be some kind of coffee maker. At the far end there was a larger desk with chairs arranged around it. Maite could see someone stand up from behind the desk as she descended the ladder. In fact, all eyes were turned to her.

Her feet hit the ground and she stepped aside as her guide came down next to her. “Over there,” it whispered, pointing to the large desk. The man who had taken Kepa was already leading him in that direction. Maite nodded and followed, keenly aware of all of the people watching her. She noticed that most didn’t wear the flamboyant costumes she had seen on the surface. In fact, most were covered in non-descript robes that hid most of their features. She couldn’t even tell which were male and which were female.

The man half carried, half drug Kepa to the large desk and laid him more gently than Maite expected in one of the large chairs encircling the desk. The figure Maite had noticed before moved around to greet them. “Kaixo!” she said, a smile spread across her puffy face.

In contrast to all of the others in the room, this woman did not wear a cloak, though she was not dressed in any spectacular garb. She was overweight, her clothes, a relatively simple ensemble of a white button-down shirt and black pants, were a little tight against her large frame. Her hair had gone grey with age, though there was a twinkle in her eye that Maite instantly recognized.

“Marina?” she gasped. Kepa, still distracted by his non-functioning leg, looked up, smiling in recognition.

“Marina?” repeated the shadowy figure that had ushered Maite through the tunnels and now stood by her side, shaking its head. “This is Olatz, our leader. Show some respect.”

The woman called Olatz winked at Maite before turning to the figure next to her. “No need to be rude. I’m sure they are a bit disoriented, after all of the commotion. Give us a moment, would you please?”

The figure turned seemingly to look at Kepa and then Maite, though Maite couldn’t see into the hood to actually discern any features. With a huff, the figure and the man that had helped Kepa gave a nod to Olatz before leaving.

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, Euskadi

Basque Fact of the Week: Mutiloa

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Blas Antonio Telleria Goya, my great-grandfather and my namesake, was from Mutiloa, Gipuzkoa. His story is a bit shrouded in mystery – family lore says he was a merchant marine that jumped ship in Argentina and made his way north, but he also appears in the manifests on Ellis Island. In any case, we really have no connection to his past. I’ve been through Mutiloa a few times, trying to get some sense of the place that he came from. It is even smaller than my dad’s home town of Munitibar.

The heart of Mutiloa, photo by Blas Uberuaga.
  • The most widespread theory about the origin of the name of Mutiloa indicates it comes from mutil-ola, meaning “boy’s cabin.” While the Gipuzkoan village is never referred to as Mutilola historically, there is a town Mutiloa in Nafarroa that was in its past.
  • The history of Mutiloa dates back to 1144 when Pedro, the abbot of the monastery of Iratxe in Nafarroa, essentially swapped the estate that the monastery had in Mutiloa with what Pedro Semenones de Góngora had in Azagra. In 1384, Mutiloa became part of Segura, though it separated again in 1615 when the town obtained the title of villa from King Felipe III.
  • Like Munitibar, and maybe a lot of small towns not only in the Basque Country but perhaps around the world, the population of Mutiloa has declined over the last century. In 1900, the town had 517 inhabitants; in 2000, that had dropped to 165 people. In 1970, there were some 290 people living in Mutiloa, all but 2 families of which spoke Euskara.
  • The local economy is primarily agrarian, though the region is also rich in iron and copper. In the 17th and 18th centuries, there was significant mining activity to tap these veins and, in 1986, La Troya mine received a large loan to extract iron and zinc ores, though the mine is now flooded and closed.
  • That said, the area is recognizing and transforming its mining past by creating the Mutiloa Mining Preserve. While trying to recognize the importance of mining to the history of Mutiloa, they are transforming it into a flora and fauna preserve, with wetlands. They are restoring some of the key mining sites, with multiple routes for hiking through the preserve to explore both that history and nature.
  • Mutiloa has two primary local festivals: they celebrate San Pedro on June 29 and the pilgrimage to the hermitage of Liernia on September 8. The Virgin of Lierni is considered a patron of fertility, prompting many to make the pilgrimage, asking for her intercession.
  • In addition to the hermitage, another local attraction is the Errotatxo mill. Designated a Qualified Cultural Heritage Site, the mill dates back to at least 1890, when it was owned by Jose Blas Telleria of Mujika. The last owner was Jose Antonio Alustiza.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa; Cendoya Echániz, Ignacio. MUTILOA. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/mutiloa/ar-83595/

Basque Fact of the Week, Folklore

Basque Fact of the Week: Sugaar, the Serpent-God Consort of Mari

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Much of what the ancient Basques believed about the world around them has been lost to time. Without a written record, we don’t know what beings or deities they worshipped, certainly not to the same extent as the Greek or Norse pantheons. While it seems the Basques believed in a Mother-Earth goddess – Mari – there was a time when she had a companion, an equal, who accompanied her: Sugaar. With the advent of Christianity, he became ever more associated with evil, a being that parents would invoke to scare their misbehaving children.

Iñaki Sendino‘s interpretation of Sugaar.
  • Sugaar, sometimes called Maju, flies across the sky in the shape of a sickle or a crescent of fire and is usually the harbinger of storms. In some places, he is said to be made of pure fire, with no head or tail. In others, he takes the form of lightning. He lives underground, and comes to the surface through the myriad caverns and chasms that are sprinkled across the Basque landscape.
  • However, his name — Sugaar — means male snake. Thus, though he often takes the form of fire or lightning, his true form is of a serpent or dragon. At least one of his homes is the Aralar mountains, the same place where Teodosio de Goñi fought a dragon, possibly suggesting a common origin to the myths.
  • He is considered the consort of Mari. In some places, they say that Sugaar/Maju and Mari meet every Friday, in some places so he can do her hair. In others, they say that, when the two meet, they erupt into a storm.
  • Basque isn’t the only culture with a Mother-Earth like goddess and a Serpent god paired up. In Italy, on Monte Vettore, there is a cave dedicated to the goddess Sibyl that is guarded by a half-man, half-serpent named Macco. The Pelasgians worshipped a godly couple, the Serpent God Ophion and the Earth Mother figure Eurynome. In Near East cultures, there are the Sumerian couples Enki and Damkina and the Hurrian-Hittite Hedammu and Ishtar. This doesn’t prove any connection between the Basque gods and these other deities, but it does highlight the frequency that snake-gods and earth-goddesses have been coupled in the human imagination. It also suggests how old this pairing might be.
  • Sugaar’s visits with Mari typically have a sexual backdrop, suggesting that he is fertilizing Mother Earth. He is the water — the rain or the rivers — that fertilize the ground. Similarly, the union of Ofion and Eurynome gave rise to creation.
  • Today, Mari is seen as the head of the Basque pantheon, but Sugaar may have been her equal in ancient times. Mari’s association with the Virgin Mary and the connection of snakes with evil could have simultaneously elevated Mari and demoted Sugaar. Sugaar’s past importance is also evident in the story of Jaun Zuria, the first lord of Bizkaia, whose lineage reached back to the serpent-god.

Primary sources: Hartsuaga Uranga, Juan Inazio. Sugaar. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/sugaar/ar-108780/

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 97

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Maite gave a panicked glance at Kepa. “What now?”

Kepa shrugged, as he looked back up at the woman floating above them. “Ez dakit! I don’t know!”

“Hemen!” They heard a voice whisper from one of the buildings next to them. A door had opened seemingly from nowhere. “Here! Hurry!”

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 nodded as he and Maite rushed toward the opening. The woman above them fired her weapon, a bolt of energy roaring forth. Kepa smelled the ionized air around him as the blast flew over his head. He and Maite stopped in their tracks.

“That was a warning,” bellowed the woman above them. “The next one won’t be.”

Before Kepa and Maite could respond, another blast of energy came from behind the woman. Cursing, she turned her head to see where it had come from. Maite and Kepa seized the moment and took off for the open door.

“Arraioa!” cried the woman. “Damnit!” She fired again, hitting Kepa in the leg as he stumbled through the doorway. It closed behind them with a small click. They could hear another blast hit the wall where the door should have been.

Kepa and Maite found themselves in a dark room, with barely enough light to see their own shadowy forms. 

“She isn’t going to give up,” said a voice in the corner, the one that had called out to them in the street. It was nondescript. Kepa couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or woman.  “And she’ll already be calling for backup. Come, before they find a way in.”

The shadowy figure belonging to the voice started scurrying down a long corridor. Kepa tried to stand, but collapsed to the floor.

“My leg…” he began in a panic. “It won’t move.”

The figure came to his side and picked him up, placing its arm around his side. “Don’t worry, it’s just stunned. Your leg will be back to normal shortly. But we have to get out of here.”

The figure half dragged Kepa down the corridor, Maite following right behind. They turned left and then right, passing other forks of the corridor until Maite was completely confused. She knew she wouldn’t be able to find her way back.

They came to a hole in the floor with a ladder leading down.

“He’s hurt, his leg is stunned,” said the figure into the darkness.

“We have him,” replied a gruff male voice. Rough hands grabbed Kepa’s hips as he made his way down the ladder, his left leg dangling uselessly from its socket.

The figure, one hand holding the top of the ladder and the other resting in the small of Maite’s back, gently nudged her forward. “Your turn.”

Maite paused, turning to the figure. “Eskerrik asko,” she said. 

The figure stiffened. “Just doing my job,” it replied as she pushed Maite with a little more force down the ladder.

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, Sports

Basque Fact of the Week: Pelota Vasca

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While the Basques aren’t the first and only people to play ball games, they have made their own unique imprint on this versatile sport. Pelota a mano, or handball, is the most popular version played today in the Basque Country – when my aunt and uncle ran the Herriko Taberna in Munitibar, it was always on the TV in the bar. On the other hand (no pun intended), Jai alai is probably the most famous version played outside of the Basque Country. However, there are a lot of other variants, using other types of baskets, wooden bats or rackets, and even lacrosse-like nets, that are played across the Basque Country and the world.

A remonte player climbs the wall for the ball. Photo from Sisters and the City.
  • Pelota is typically played in a fronton, usually either with one (primarily in Iparralde) or two walls. However, more formal games are played in one of three types of courts. A trinquet essentially has four walls, though the right wall is made of glass and the left wall has a dugout. The “mur a gauche” is open on the right and is 36 meters (118 feet) long. A jai alai court is the same, but is instead 54 meters (177 feet) long.
  • There are multiple “modalities” of pelota. The most popular, at least today, is pelota a mano or handball. However, the most famous outside of the Basque Country is zesta punta, or jai alai. Characterized by its long woven basket – 110 centimeters (43 inches) along the curve – it was first introduced in the 1860s by Gantchiqui Dithurbide from Saint-Pée, Lapurdi. In zesta punta, the ball is caught and thrown with the basket. Sometimes called the fastest sport in the world, José Ramón Areitio once threw the ball at 302 km/h (188 mph), a world record for any ball sport at the time (a record that has been since broken by a golfer). When played in an open court in Iparralde, this game is called Grand Chistera.
  • There are other versions of pelota that also use a basket. Joko garbi, or the “clean game,” uses a flatter and shorter basket than jai alai, to help eliminate the ability to catch and hold the ball. Remonte is very similar, though with a slightly larger basket than joko garbi. That is, while the jai alai basket has a well, where the ball can be caught, these baskets do not, preventing the player from holding the ball.
  • Pasaka is one of the oldest versions, and is closer to tennis, where the teams face each other, passing the ball over a net. It can be played with bare hands or with a glove that has a short basket attached to it, an earlier version of the baskets used in jai alai, joko garbi, and remonte.
  • More common is pala or paleta, in which a wooden bat is used to hit the ball. There are a number of variants of this version of pelota, from paleta goma, first played in Argentina, to pala corta and larga. These variants of pelota differ in the nature of both the bat (how long and wide it is) and the ball (whether it is made of rubber or another material). You can always find kids playing some type of pala in the frontons of the Basque Country.
  • Sare uses a type of racket in which the threads are not as tight as, for example, a tennis racket, and so the ball can be caught, similar in spirit to lacrosse (the Basque word sare means net). Of those variants of pelota played at an international level, sare is the least played. This version arose amongst the Basque communities of Argentina and Uruguay before finding its way back to the Basque Country.

Primary sources: Basque pelota from the ground up, Euskal Etxea 74; Basque pelota, Wikipedia; Pelota vasca, Wikipedia; Jai alai, Wikipedia; Letamendia Loinaz, Ander. Pelota vasca. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/pelota-vasca/ar-102458/; Bilbao Jai Alai

Euskadi, Folklore, Food, History, People

Ethnographic Atlas of the Basque Country

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I just stumbled on to the Ethnographic Atlas of the Basque Country, which intends “to provide an overview of popular culture and lifestyles of the Basques throughout the 20th century up to the present day.” It covers a range of every day activities and aspects of every day life, from “House and Family” to “Diet” to “Children’s Games.” Lots of games are described, from peek-a-boo games with infants to language games played between older kids.

There are sections on “Medicine” and “Birth.” Did you know that “The most common childhood belief was that children came from Paris and they were brought by a stork, zikoina.“

There are also sections on “Livestock Farming” and “Agriculture,” with a whole section on making cheese.

This looks like a fantastic resource for delving into the every day life of the Basques. It is in Euskara, Spanish, English, and French, so it is easily accessible to everyone.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 96

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Maite and Kepa approached one of the flying egg things. As they got closer, it grew, seemingly sensing that there were two of them.

“Everything here seems to have its own brain,” said Kepa. “Everything seems almost alive.”

Maite nodded. “I guess, if they’ve perfected artificial intelligence, everything might.”

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!

“At least the robots haven’t taken over!” exclaimed Kepa.

“Not yet, anyways,” replied Maite.

Like they had seen others do before them, they walked through the shell of the egg. It dissolved around them, as if they were walking through nothing, and reformed when they were inside. 

“Now what?” asked Maite, looking around for some kind of controls. The inside was completely featureless. “There’s nowhere to put it.”

“Maybe just hold it out?” ventured Kepa, though he felt silly for saying it.

Maite shrugged. “Why not? Zergatik ez?”

She held the dodecahedron in her outstretched palm. It immediately lit up, its edges glowing. Beams of light shown out of each face, reaching out in twelve directions until they hit the surface of the egg. Immediately the egg took off into the sky. 

Maite had expected a sudden jolt, like a fast elevator, but somehow the launch was smooth and she barely noticed. The shell of the egg was opaque such that she really couldn’t see what was outside beyond vague shapes and shadows, which shifted subtly as they moved. Otherwise, she couldn’t even tell they were moving. There was no noise, no sense of her stomach dropping like she normally felt in elevators. If it weren’t for the shadows on the wall, she wouldn’t have known they were moving at all.

Moments later, the shadows stopped moving and the egg dissolved around them. They were standing in what seemed to be a smaller plaza, almost the size of an intersection between streets back in their time, except there were no cars. Maite looked around. Not only were there no cars, but there seemed to be no doors to the buildings that surrounded them. What she could only guess might have been streets at some time extended in various directions from the plaza, but they were covered in gardens rather than asphalt. Brightly colored flowers and plants that she had never seen before decorated the ground. Walkways snaked through the center of the gardens, immaculately maintained to the point that Maite wondered if they were actually ever used.

Maite was still soaking in the strange sights around her when her reverie was violently interrupted by the piercing sound of sirens. Panicked, she looked around until she noticed Kepa staring at the sky. Above them were two spheres, identical to the ones they had seen in the airport, laser beams scanning back and forth over their bodies. And, just behind the spheres, standing on some kind of floating platform that seemed almost like a flying surfboard, she could see a woman. The woman was dressed very plainly in a dark uniform that oozed authority, its blunt and simple lines a stark contrast to the flamboyant costumes they had seen earlier at the airport. 

“Gelditu!” barked the woman as she pointed what Maite could only guess was a weapon of some sort at them. “Stop!”

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, Diaspora, History

Basque Fact of the Week: Charles de Salaberry, Hero of Canada

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It’s often easy to forget the role that France, and along with them the Basques from Iparralde, had in the history of North America. From Louisiana to Canada, Iparraldetarrak had an enormous hand in shaping the history of the continent. One dramatic example comes from Quebec, in which the grandson of a Basque military officer and shipowner from a small town in Lapurdi ended up saving Canada from assault by US forces and playing a key role in keeping Canada independent from the United States.

Salaberry (center) leading Canadian forces in the Battle of Chateauguay. Image from Wikipedia.
  • Charles-Michel d’Irumberry de Salaberry was born on November 19, 1778 in Beauport, Canada, not far from Quebec. His father, Ignace-Michel-Louis-Antoine d’Irumberry de Salaberry, was the first Salaberry to establish permanent roots in Canada. Like his son, Ignace was a military man and was a friend of Prince Edward Augustus, a relationship which greatly benefited the family.
  • Charles’s grandfather, Michel de Salaberry, had been the first of the Salaberry’s to go to Canada, though he eventually returned to France. Born in the small village of Ziburu, Lapurdi, he was a shipowner from the d’Irumberry de Salaberry family. He had married once in Quebec but seemingly left his family as he found life on the ground too boring. Michel had a successful military career in the Royal Army of France, capped off in 1758 when he was ordered to sink his frigate, La Fidèle, to block the harbor of the city of Louisbourg from the approaching British fleet.
  • In contrast to his grandfather, Charles fought for the British, as by his lifetime Canada was controlled by the British throne. He enrolled early, at 14 years old, and his first action took him to the West Indies, where his contingent of 200 men (already reduced dramatically due to yellow fever) attempted a siege of Fort Matilda in St. Domingue (today the Dominican Republic and Haiti). All but three men were killed or wounded. Charles was cited for bravery and put in charge of the evacuation of the survivors.
  • During a campaign in Jamaica, he engaged in a duel with a fellow soldier from Germany. The German had burst in during breakfast, boasting of how he had just killed another French-Canadian in a duel (there were only two French-Canadians amongst the officers of Charles’s regiment: Charles himself and Lt. Thomas-Hippolyte Trottier DesRivières). After breakfast, Charles and the German dueled by sword. Even after receiving a vicious wound across his forehead that bled profusely, Charles kept fighting, tying a handkerchief around his head and eventually dealing his foe a mortal wound.
  • Charles was central to Canada’s effort in the War of 1812, pushing back the American advance and, according to some historians, saving Canada. His greatest achievement occurred in October of 1813, where, in the Battle of the Chateauguay, he and his men repelled the advancing America forces of Major General Wade Hampton, who had the ultimate goal of taking Montreal. So confident was Charles of victory, that he didn’t inform his superiors of his plans. On his own, he ordered the placement of defensive obstacles and troop deployments. He had buglers sound from different locations to imply a much larger force than he really had. After the engagement, in which the Americans had no hope of advancing, they ultimately retreated and abandoned their goal of capturing Montreal.
  • The battle made Charles a legend in Canadian history. He was subsequently made a Companion of the Order of the Bath. In 1968, his house was named a National Historic Site of Canada. In 2013, 200 years after the battle, his face was on a Canadian quarter. Two places – Salaberry-de-Valleyfield and De Salaberry – are named for him in light of his achievements.

Primary sources: Charles de Salaberry, Wikipedia.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 95

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The plaza was surrounded by massive buildings that reached up into the sky. Each was covered with plant life, some with green vines, others with flowering plants. Some had terraces that jutted out at odd angles with trees growing out of them while on others the plants cascaded down their sides like a waterfall. 

Benches, or better said chairs, were scattered on the plaza seemingly at random, though they were different than anything Kepa had seen before. All were built with a back that was taller than a typical person, shaped almost like an egg shell. And they seemed to float above the stone. Kepa watched as a few people pushed some of the chairs around, rearranging them so that they faced one another in a circle before climbing in and engaging in conversation.

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!

“Over there,” said Kepa pointing to two isolated chairs. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

They walked across the plaza and turned the two floating chairs so that they were facing one another. As Kepa climbed into his, it automatically lowered to make sitting easier, and then rose again once he was nestled inside. He could feel warmth radiating from the surface, which also vibrated ever so slightly. He was about to surrender himself to sleep when Maite broke his meditation.

“Orain zer?” asked Maite, nestled into her own egg. “What now?”

Kepa shrugged, his eyes heavy from all of the excitement. “I guess we need to find Marina?”

Maite held up the dodecahedron that Marina had given her. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“You know, it’s funny,” said Kepa. “When we time jump, we automatically get these identities and backstories to help us fit in, but we don’t get that much knowledge about the mundane things, like how things like that work.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Maite nodded. “Neither do I. It’s almost like someone or something is making all of this up on the fly.”

There was an awkward pause as Maite and Kepa looked at each other.

Maite shook her head, as if to clear it. She held up the dodecahedron again, twirling it between her fingers, the points digging slightly into her fingertips. “I’ve tried squeezing it, rubbing the sides, looking for a seam, but I can’t find anything. It almost seems like a solid piece of metal.”

“Maybe we have to put it in something? You know, to activate it?”

Maite shrugged. “Maybe. But what?”

“Did you see those people disappearing in those flying eggs?” asked Kepa. “Maybe it tells those eggs where to go?”

Maite looked over at the edge of the plaza where a transparent egg had materialized after another had taken off. She shuddered. “Those things give me the creeps. Hurtling through the air in something that looks fragile as hell doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“They must be safe,” said Kepa. “Or people wouldn’t use them.”

“True, but I can’t even begin to understand how they might work. And that creeps me out.”

“What’s the saying? ‘Advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?’ And, to be fair, we’ve seen real magic too.”

Maite sighed. “I guess. Just so much I don’t understand.”

Kepa laughed. “That’s how I feel most of the time.”

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