Semana Santa During Semana Santa, the Holy week, before Easter, the streets of Andalucia become the domain of the fraternities.
The floats are not on wheels, but rather carried by strong, proud young men, the castaleros. They have a costalo around their heads, a cloth which is folded into a small pillow, resting on their neck to ease the strain of the weight. During Semana Santa, the holy week before Easter, the streets of Andalucia become the domain of the fraternities. They haul their floats, the pasos, in seemingly unending processions of sometimes thousands of ‘nazarenos’ through the cities, day and night, around the clock.
Each parish has its own fraternity, the hermandad. Each hermandad is identified by the nazarenos’ robes. Some walk in socks or just their bare feet, while others have a tightly wound rope belted around their waist
The processions are accompanied by fanfares-- marching bands, playing music to keep the procession going.
But the real sound of the Semana Santa comes from the ‘cornetes y tambores’, and it is this rather shrill, high pitched sound of the cornets which seem to cry out about the suffering of the Jesus.
It is the day before Easter, siesta, with the sun high in the sky. At this time of day one can usually find Mercedes on her father’s small patio in the shade of the grapevines, playing with her doll or with the kittens. There is always something for a small six year old girl on a patio to do.
But today Mercedes is not on the patio. She is lying in bed, pale and feverish. Mercedes is sick, very sick. The doctor has visited many times; he was at his wits end and said that the only thing left to do is pray.
And praying is what Mercedes’ father, Don Enrique did to ‘his’ Virgin. For he could call her that, couldn’t he? He had served her his entire life. First as a castelero with bravado and machismo, and later as a dignified nazareno. And now, finally, as capitate, the man who is responsible for the paso and who keeps the casteleros in check.
Don Enrique was still praying when the members of the hermandad began to trickle in, the casteleros, the nazarenos and the musicians.
Holy Mary, my Mercedes, save her. Aren’t you a Mother yourself? Take my life instead…
Only when the paso with the Christ figure was already outside, did he stop praying to attend to his duties as capitate, and even then he kept talking to the Virgin Mary.
In the middle of the night Don Enrique took the Virgin’s float on a journey to the other side of the river to the imposing cathedral.
Although they were among the thousands walking along, it felt to Don Enrique as though he was alone with the Virgin. He heard no music, saw no nazarenos, he only saw the Virgin Mary leading him as a ship through the sea of anonymous people.
Don Enrique told her how he had become reconciled to not having children, until six years ago when unexpectedly Mercedes was born. How is little girl has brought sunshine to his and his wife’s existence and how nothing should be allowed to happen to her, except a miracle, now ‌
MERCEDES, OH NO!
When the nazarenos came back from the chapel the next day after the procession, Don Enrique didn’t take part in the customary festivities, and even refused his beer. Sad news awaited him, his little daughter had died while he was gone.
Don Enrique didn’t shed a tear, but erupted in anger—anger against the Virgin Mary who not only had kept him away from his home while his daughter was dying, but also was unable to perform one small miracle for a faithful devoted servant as himself. He wanted nothing to do with her ever again, that ‘Holy Mother Virgin of Nothing’, never again! She could go through Easter night on her own for all he cared, but no longer with him!
And if you want to see me, Enrique the devoted, Enrique the fool, you will have to come and find me at my home, and then I will know that you still care for me!
In the chapel the Holy Mother cried her eternal tears of plaster, but there were those who could have sworn that there were more tears than before, and that she had never seemed so grief stricken.
I work hard and with deliberation, God’s hand is not in my harvest, it is all my own work.
Years went by. Don Enrique lived his life in bitterness and without faith. He farmed through the years, and each year was a bountiful one, with rich harvests. But Don Erique neither thanked God nor the Virgin Mary. He no longer visited the Chapel of the Holy Virgin. And why would he? His harvest was at least as plentiful as his neighbors who did go to church.
The small patio where Mercedes once played had grown into a large courtyard, for Don Enrique continued to buy more and more land and needed more barns to store his harvests. His farm grew more now than in all those years when he worshipped the Virgin Mary.
Monseigneur, do you think we can have a procession for the occasion? What a splendid idea!
Not far from Don Enrique’s hacienda was Valencina de la Concepción, a sleepy little town surrounded by olive orchards. There was also a little chapel which was to be re-dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The Bishop himself was coming, and the chaplain took this opportunity to make a bold request.
And so the bishop determined that the chapel of Valencina de la Concepción should be visited by the same Virgin whom Don Erique had served for many years.
You have the prettiest dress in the whole village, I’m shure
Oh you!
The usually quiet town now had an atmosphere of excitement. The Virgin would come to their village! The town became a beehive of activity. Everyone wanted to look their best for the procession: The men polished their boots and brushed their horses and harnesses, the women put on their best dresses and also put flowers in their hair.
It was a wonderful festive day, with the town under a bright blue sky, it was a feast of food, drink and music. The young men showed their riding skills at the tilting competition. The women danced the “Sevellanas” in flamboyant flamenco dresses.Everyone was happy and excited, for the Virgin Mary was coming to their chapel. What an occasion!
But Don Enrique, the richest man of Valencina de la Concepción was distinctly absent. He did not take part in the feast in which the Virgin was to be the centerpiece.Standing on his patio he could hear the booming of the drums and the high pitched voices of the singing women. “Agh, what nonsense!”
The golden grain was high in the fields, and a colorful stream meandered through all that ‘gold’. In the midst of it was the Virgin Mary who looked during this excursion just as exalted as the casteleros. It was as if all the animals in the fields and the birds in the sky followed the parade.
A small cloud appeared at the horizon, but nobody took notice of it as the forecast was sunny and good. Then another cloud appeared, and then another. The captitate looked warily at the sky.
And just as the procession moved among the fields, the first drops fell, the wind came up and the capitate looked for shelter from the rain.
There were lovely little farm buildings all around, but none were big enough to hold the paso with the Virgin statue. Except the one, in the middle of the most prosperous fields. There were barns big enough to give shelter to the virgin. It was Don Enrique’s hacienda.
Don Enrique saw the procession wind through his fields. He saw the Virgin’s canopy rocking back and forth with each step like the humps of a drunken camel. He also saw the sky and the threatening impending rain. At that moment Don Enrique did something he had not done in years, and he didn’t quite understand it himself: he prayed. He prayed to God and asked him for rain. This time his prayer was heard, as right after he uttered his final words, the rain came pouring down on his fields and the procession. A moment later Don Enrique heard a knock on his gate. It was the Virgin knocking on his door.
And so the people of Valencina de la Concepci贸n and the participants of the procession took shelter under the roof of the hacienda of Don Enrique. The horses were fed, there was wine, sausage end bread for everyone.
Outside it poured from heaven as if the end of times has arrived. The Virgin was all by herself in the big shed. All by herself? Not quite. A small figure aproached the paso, with hesitation, his eyes to the ground.
When Don Enrique stood in front of the wagon he raised his eyes. Tears streamed down his cheeks, tears for his departed daughter Mercedes, whom he never cried over in his bitter rage. But also tears of joy. Because only now Don Enrique understood that all his prosperous harvests were intended to make his barns large enough so that they would shelter the Virgin in her time of need.
You have come You did not forget me! You came to my home Please forgive me!
Forgiving ... ah, forgiving is her daily work. At that moment there were those that would have sworn that her plaster face had spread into a smile ‌ The End
This story came to me through my daughter Sarah, who lives in Sevilla. Gracias, Sarah.
Semana Santa was printed by Imprenta Milhojas, Sevilla. www.milhojas.es Semana Santa is a publication of ArtaCarta, Hilversum, Nederland, www.artacarata.nl Design Rutger Coucke The translation from Dutch to English was done by Hester Coucke and Gerry Rouff ISBN 978-90-811263-2-8
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Rutger Coucke 2009
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