OPINION | Jose Font Caballero
Those of us who have been lucky enough to live with our great-grandparents - ten years in my case - have been able to get to know a Jávea that is completely distant and disappeared: the Jávea of the childhood of those who were born in the last third of the 19th century, and who have been kind enough to tell us about it firsthand.
For the night of the dead, in our town, in addition to the story of The Three Witches of Montgó -a story recently compiled and published by Godofredo Cruañes Aracil, the true genuine tale of the Xabieros- we have other legends that were told by the grandparents of our great-grandparents, such as the terrifying story of the man who turned into a wolf in Portitxol.
I was told that, between the only oak forest that descended to the sea, between Cape San Martín and Caleta -La Llobatera-, a mysterious event happened a few years before the Disaster of '98.
It is said that a charcoal burner named Mateu Bañuls, a native of the village, lived there alone in a dry-stone hut, with a donkey and a skinny dog for company. A reserved, somewhat sullen man, but of good reputation… until misfortune befell him.
One stormy night, returning from selling coal in town, he was caught in the blizzard near Third Cove. Lightning flashed across the sea like knives, and otherworldly howls filled the air. He swore he had seen a creature, part man and part beast, that bit his arm before fleeing into the vines.
From that day on, the charcoal burner fell ill. He fled from the sun, talked to himself, and on moonlit nights, terrifying shrieks could be heard from the cove, as if a great beast with a human voice were roaring in the mountains… Undoubtedly, the Xabierian werewolf.
On Saint Lawrence's Day that summer, the moon rose over the sea, round and red. The fishermen returning from their work swore they had seen, high on the Portitxol cliff, a naked human figure, writhing in the moonlight. Soon, the figure lengthened and transformed into a wolf the size of a man, with eyes that burned like embers. It descended among the holm oaks, and soon the cries of a local woman were heard, before she vanished forever…
Some old residents of Portichol still say that on nights of a full moon, when the reflection silvers the water that bathes Portichol Island, howls can be heard coming from the lush pine forests that are found everywhere from Barraca to Llobatera… Could it be Mateu Bañuls?
What an interesting contribution! Thank you so much. I wasn't familiar with either of these stories. Now I have something to share at dinner tonight.