The Road to Santiago: Pilgrims of St. James

the water began to simmer in the pot sure enough a neighbour came rushing into her house, saying:
    “ ‘What are you boiling here—the house will go on fire.’ ”
    “In this way the young woman recognized who had cast the Evil Eye upon her.”
    I could rarely persuade Xuanín to walk up the calle del trasgu or ‘ghost way’, for he would always find excuses, and I believe he was afraid we might meet the Santa Compaña or ‘Holy Brotherhood’. There came a day, however, when he had to walk up the road in the funeral of two fishermen who had perished in the great storm of 1951. As we walked up slowly at the rear of the procession he told me a strange story which illustrates the profound effect that superstitions have upon these primitive men of the sea. Among the Asturian, as among the Basque fishermen, it has always been the custom for those who possess a share in the ownership of their trawlers to pay a pension to the widow if one of the men dies. Each fisherman pays a percentage of what he earns in money. One of Xuanín’s friends, who was part-owner of the boat, died and the men all contributed to the pension of the widow, with the exception of one fisherman who objected, saying that it was an intolerable burden to go on all his life paying to the widow, seeing that the dead husband had only been part-owner a short time.
    “Now, listen, señor,” continued Xuanín, “to what happened. On nights when the boats go out to fish it is the custom for someone to walk up the town by the Tolombreo path knocking at the houses and shouting out the names of the crew of the boat that is putting to sea. The fishermen then get up and hasten down to the quay. On a certain night the fisherman who had objected to paying heard his name called, so he got up, dressed and went down to the quay. To his surprise he found that no one else was going down, but when he reached the quay there was a great bustle of excitement and to his horror he saw standing by the boat the ghost of the dead fisherman, who said to him: ‘You will have to come out and fish with me so that you may never henceforth complain that I am robbing you in order to give a share to my wife who is still alive.’ The fisherman was so terrified that he fell to the ground in a dead faint and he was found lying there by his companions in the morning.”
    “I suppose he has joined the Santa Compaña,” I said.
    “If you see the Santa Compaña,” replied Xuanín, “you die within the year. The Holy Brotherhood come from Purgatory after twelve o’clock at night and wander through the world to remind men of the prayers they promised to say to relieve the souls from their sufferings.” “Can one see them at night?” said I.
    “One rarely sees the Compaña, but you know when they pass you by, for you feel a cold breath down your spine and you smell the wax of the burning tapers they carry. You know they are coming, for you can see the leader, who is a living man, carrying the cross and the vessel of holy water.”
    “Surely no living person takes part in those processions. I cannot imagine you walking down this ghostly street followed by a band of spectres; you would run away and throw yourself into the sea.” “Thanks be to Almighty God I’ve never been handed the cross and the holy water by the Santa Compaña,” said the fisherman, hastily making the sign of the cross, “but my cousin—God have mercy on his immortal soul—once met them in this very calle del trasgu on a windy night when there was no moon and not a human being in sight. As he walked along he heard a faint sound of wailing—so faint was it he could hardly hear it, but he became paralysed with fear. In the distance he saw a man coming towards him carrying a cross and a pot of holy water. It was a man he knew in the town—a tailor he was. He came up to him and without a word handed him the cross and the pot of holy water, making signs for him to move on in the same direction. And on he had to go for what seemed to him an eternity, while all the time he felt the cold air on his back and he smelt the burning wax, but not a sound did he hear. The procession continued until it reached a house, when it stopped, and all of a sudden stones were thrown on to the roof.”
    “Why did the Holy Brotherhood do that?”
    “To announce that the owner of the house was about to die.” “Could your cousin not avoid taking part?”
    “Yes; if he had only remembered to trace with his stick a