Spain, Part III

There is a special place that has captivated all of us since we were children: La Torre. This is the house that my great-great-grandfather Ventura bought in 1865. According to the county records, we think the house is about 400 years old. It is located in Soto-Iruz in the northern province of Cantabria. No one lives in the family home; it is used during vacations and quick weekend trips by my mother's family and my Tio Alberto's family. Obviously, Tio Alberto's family uses the house much more than us.

I have often wondered who this jauntily dressed man is outside the wall of the yard and the girl leaning over from the gazebo on the other side.

Inside the house are old photos from the 1800's and early 1900's. My great-aunt Margarita, who died in 2002, would tell us stories about those relatives and could recall every story ever told to her. I took pictures of photos because there was not a place where I could scan them myself. There is also a photo album stand in the salon in which many old photos are stored, but it would be impossible to remove the faded relics without tearing the page. I wonder about some of those people in the pictures and I recall some stories I heard over the years...

My great-great grandfather Ventura went to Cuba during his teen years or early 20s and earned his wealth through a department store he owned called La Oriental - that much we know is true. There is a painting of the store which hangs in the study room.

Depending on which version I've heard, when my grandfather was in his 30s he sent for his Spanish wife - or fiance - to meet him in Havana, but somewhere during the three-month trip across the ocean she fell in love with my grandfather's attorney who was accompanying her. Either she arrived pregnant or never arrived at all because she ran off with the attorney never to be heard from again.

So, great-great-grandfather Ventura decided at the age of 40 to marry his 20-year-old niece - yes, his niece - Antonia in Spain after selling his business in Cuba. It was 1865 when he bought La Torre. Together he and Antonia had three boys and a girl. The oldest was our great-grandfather (Ventura), Angel, Vicente, and Belinda. The three brothers stayed in Soto and our grandfather Ventura inherited La Torre. Angel and Vicente each built houses in the village and raised their families. My aunt went to another province after marrying and contact with that branch of the family faded. The sons, although trained lawyers, never worked and lived off their inheritances.

Great-great grandfather Ventura




Although the house, which sits on a hill, is known La Torre, it was actually named Villa Belinda.

After great-great-grandfather Ventura died, great-great-grandmother Antonia was widowed at the age of 40. She later met and married a Mexican diplomat (no one remembers his name) who was 15-20 years younger than she and they had one son together. The new husband went through her money and spent lavishly on parties, brought a gardener from France to design the yard, etc., etc. My grandmother MaTeresa later told my mom that he died of syphilis because of his constant cheating on Antonia. Antonia and her husband's son (whose name we also do not know) later had a son named Antonio and a daughter, Angelines. In later years, Antonio joined the foreign legion; he was a mercenary fighting wars in Africa and other places around the world. He used to show his handkerchiefs full of blood to prove injuries and beg for money from the family when he visited Madrid. He may have been 'touched in the head'.

Well, great-grandfather Ventura was still single at the age of 32-33. He purchased apartments in Madrid and had other properties. He met the daughter of Spaniards living in Cuba named Teresa and they later married. She was forever known as 'La Cubana'. My mom grew up hearing the stories of great-grandfather Ventura -- how he helped the less fortunate in the village during the very rough years during the Civil War (1936-1939) even when he lost much. People don't forget your deeds and misdeeds in a tiny village. Great-grandmother Teresa was somewhat stern and serious. They had five children: Maria Teresa (my grandmother & the oldest), Ventura, Margarita, Belinda, and Tonio.

During the Civil War the family was separated. My grandmother, MaTeresa, her mother ('La Cubana'), Tonio, who was finishing high school, and Belinda were in Madrid preparing for their summer in Soto when the war broke out between the communists in power and Franco's conservative forces. My great-grandfather had left earlier with Ventura and Margarita. The family remained separated for three years. However, La Torre became a base for the communists for a short period as it was one of the headquarters for that valley when Santander was under communist rule during the Civil War. I'll never forget the old tile, which has been replaced in the past 15 years, cracked from the horses' hooves as the troops overtook La Torre. My great-uncle Ventura rushed from La Torre to meet Francisco Franco's troops. Franco was liberating parts of Spain and was headed north where his forces eventually liberated Santander. I'll never forget awaking in the middle of the night to hear Uncle Ventura screaming in his sleep from the nightmares of the war decades later.

Another branch of our family - great-grandfather's brother, Angel's, side were leftists. Tio Antonio was living very well as a businessman in Santander when the province was under communist rule. When the Civil War ended in 1939, Antonio escaped to France, then Cuba, even to Dallas, TX and stayed away from Spain for three or four years until it was clear he could return safely. It was with this family that Tia Margarita stayed during the war, along with other cousins in a nearby village of Villasevil, as food shortages were affecting great-grandfather Ventura's ability to feed the two of them.

Abuelo and Abuela's wedding photo shortly after the end of the Civil War.



BLACK LEGEND

Many people have asked whether or not La Torre is haunted. Although I have not seen anything myself, the third floor of the house is one I do not like to stay in. It was four years ago that Uncle Alberto told me about the 'Black Legend'.

He has been at the house when unusual things have occurred, such as lights being turned on suddenly in the middle of the night when he is asleep, or hearing voices downstairs. My mother used to wait for us to come home after a night out and we would not return until 3:00 AM or later, yet she would not sleep until we returned home, and all the lights on the second floor were kept on. She said that sometimes she'd hear voices downstairs, such as the chattering of years past of her mom and aunts late at night planning the next day's activities. Friendly voices, in other words. But still, when you are alone in such a large house, it can be disconcerting. I myself have not heard voices, but that third floor has always made me uncomfortable when I am alone. The summer that Uncle Alberto told me of these experiences and of the 'Black Legend' was the first and last time I stayed on the third floor. Mike and I actually left the lights on when we slept.

The first version of the Black Legend is the story of how the previous owner of La Torre had to sell the house quickly and he committed suicide in the dining room because he was distraught over the sale.

Another version I have heard is of another (perhaps the previous owner?) killing himself in the study downstairs. I have never liked going into the study either.

Tata, who cooked for us this summer, had a few incidents: she cut her finger one time when using a pruner in her yard; she would not watch the kids without her husband the night of the Maria's wedding; she had to see a doctor about a pain in her side; and then she lost her voice one day. Out of exasperation she exclaimed, "It's this house!"

I cannot say that there is a 'bad' or 'evil' presence, but I sure wish I could hear those walls whisper -- so long as I was with others and that it happened during daylight hours.

La Torre constantly drifts in my mind and in my dreams and is a place filled with rich memories of my past and of my family's past.