Tales of the Mantequero

... In the south of Spain at the beginning of the twentieth century, village people still believed in this particular fabulous beast. Sometimes they called it a mantequero, and sometimes a sacamantecas; it was a monster which looked like a man, but which lived in wild places and fed on human manteca or fat ... Some people still do ... PART ONE: The First Mantequero Sebastián was nine years old when they caught the Mantequero. It had been a dreadful year. The spring rains never came and then a hot wind blew in across the sea from the south and withered the crops. The grapes turned to raisins on the vine. The tomatoes were tiny, wrinkled bags. The almonds shrivelled in their velvet pouches. Even the beans failed to grow fat. The people had taken to stealing what they could from the lord's land. They knew they could be shot if they were caught but if they did not do it they and their families would die anyway. So they did it. The lord's men laid steel man-traps and every so often one of the villagers was found, trapped and wounded. Pedro the goatherd was left crippled and, even if there had been any goats left to herd, he would never be able to work again. And both the Pilares boys were found shot dead one morning. They were seven and nine years old. The village mourned but it did not stop them taking food from the lord's land. The long summer wore on and the starving people suffered in the stifling heat; carrying water to the fields to try to save what few crops remained. The houses were like ovens and at night they slept outside on the roofs and balconies. Even at night the hot wind blew, drying their throats. They breathed in the sandy dust from the African deserts and they coughed - hacking, dry coughs that shook their bodies and left an ache in their chests. All along the rooftops and balconies the coughing went on, keeping those who might have slept wakeful until the merciless sun came out again in the morning and drove them all back indoors. And then, when it seemed that things could get no worse, the Mantequero came amongst them stealing what little fat they had left on their bones. Nobody had seen him but everybody knew he had come. Sebastián heard the women whispering among themselves, telling how Rubén Abaláfeo had heard a noise in the night of a shutter banging closed and how he found his mother the following morning, thin as a skeleton, staring into space and unable to say what had happened to her. Or of Geraldo Plácido, who had heard something climbing up the wall of his house and slammed the shutters just in time. After that everybody locked themselves in their houses after dark and made sure the shutters were closed. Night after night they huddled together in the suffocating heat, afraid to let in the night air in case something worse came in with it. But what frightened them most of all was what happened to Rosalita, the daughter of José María Carmen. She had been the plumpest, prettiest girl in the village once, and many a young man had his eye on her as a future wife. She had broad, child-bearing hips and round, firm breasts and was not afraid of hard work. Even now, when everyone was starving, she was still fairly plump. It was said her father was particularly good at finding food on the Lord's land and that he even stole meat from the eagles' nests. Rosalita had obeyed her father and locked herself in, but one night, unable to breathe for the heat, she had flung open the shutters in desperation and the Mantequero came in. José came home that night to find his pretty daughter completely stripped of fat. Sebastián heard the horrified whispers of the women. "She was just skin and bones and her breasts were empty bags, hanging like flaps. It is certain the Mantequero came for her." "Well, she would have been a feast for him,"said Lola Gonzalez, hastily crossing herself as she spoke. "Perhaps he will be sated for a while." All the other women crossed themselves as well, murmuring sorrowful phrases for the death of Rosalita Carmen whilst in their hearts they rejoiced that it had been she that had been chosen and not one of their own family. The day after Rosalita's funeral, José María Carmen went into his back kitchen, broke the plaster over the fireplace and took down his father's gun from its hiding place. He unwrapped it and examined it carefully. It had been put away clean and oiled and it still c****d with only the slightest of clicks. The trigger moved smoothly and silently. That night he took his dogs into the forest and tried it out on some pheasants. Now that Rosalita was dead there was only one person in the village with any fat left on her body and that was Esperanza, the baker's wife. The baker was a very wealthy man, with his own plot of land and a corral in which he kept chickens and a farrowing pig. He himself was thin with anxiety. He spent his nights sitting in his corral, guarding his wealth from his starving neighbours. But his wife was still plump as a partridge. And why not? She had all the bread she could eat and even had eggs and occasional meat. Everyone agreed that if the Mantequero came back she would surely be his next victim. But Esperanza was clever as well as rich. She paid the blacksmith to put proper locks on all the doors and heavy bolts on the shutters, and she sealed the windows and doors with wild garlic. It was even said that she had bribed the priest to give her holy water to fend off the Mantequero, but nobody had actually seen this transaction, so perhaps it was not so.