Alqueria its Topography, History and Personage.
The whitewashed village of Alqueria is situated approximately 13 kilometres northeast from Rute on the Co-220. Like many others villages in the Sierra Subbètica it has Moorish origins; however unlike most other towns in the area Alqueria is located in a valley. At the beginning of AD932 the village was indeed on a hill top, overlooking the Sierra with wonderful views southward towards the coast. The scented evening breeze drifted up the cliff side carrying the aroma of honeysuckle and wild gladioli. Fragments of Roman black burnished wear lay scattered around the hillside along with terracotta roof tile. This favoured position had been occupied since Mesolithic times.
What occurred during the fateful year of AD932 is not on record, however through archaeological investigation it has been shown that the village was dismantled stone by stone and reconstructed in the valley. Local legend suggests that the Caliph Abd-ar-Rahman III ordered the village to be moved after one of the inhabitants upset the venerable gentleman. It would appear it had something to do with a sheep’s bladder, an amphora of olive oil and one of the Caliph’s wives.
So precise was the reconstruction that the original layout was preserved including the mirador and castle. The views from the relocated observation point allow for close scrutiny of the cliff face, while the village boasts the only castle which could be fired down upon making it totally useless as a piece of military architecture. Since displacement the village has expanded to the east, with the imposing houses of Los Recién Venido overshadowing the terraced properties of Los Gente del Cerro. This demarcation represents a real division in the village, a source of perpetual antagonism and rivalry. The two factions will take a contrary position on any issue as a matter of principle. All public bodies in Alqueria are equally split making the smallest decision a hotly debated matter.
The wealthiest individual in the village is Señor Fernando Rodriguez an obese foul-mouthed paranoid psychotic. He inherited the olive mill and groves from his father, who came into their possession in 1939 when he relieved Galeno Matas of them in exchange for a damp, cheerless, claustrophobic cave. Matas, a republican, was so in fear of the Falangists that Rodriguez senior had little problem in making the swap. Matas now 88 is still dodging the Nationalists; from his cave on the 14th of every April he fires a shot for the Republic to celebrate its proclamation. The bullets hit the church’s gable-end adding to its growing collection of small craters. Our veteran Republican believes the village supports his stand, otherwise why would they leave food for him by the stone cross near his cave?
Matas
The older women of the village spend their time cleaning house, tending the church and most importantly gossiping. They believe the town to be divinely blessed; the mysterious appearance of a new pit mark in the church wall every spring must surely be a sign, also the dematerialisation of the votive offerings left at the village shrine; another indication of heavenly approval? These matriarchs not only see the physical and spiritual wellbeing of the village as their domain, they also encumber themselves with the moral common-good.
Alqueria’s senior men folk spend most of the day trying to avoid the senior women folk, wandering the olive groves counting the leaves on the ancient trees and generally watching the world go by. The highlight of the day is at eight in the evening when the women are safely in church, a clandestine beer may be had at the bar in the square La Casa Devante for the Hill People, or for the Newcomers the Bar El Golondrina Verde in the Calle Mirador.
Young men of the village spend their time in pursuit of the young ladies who in turn practice the art of being coy, unconvincing in most cases. The castle and mirador are their reserve; old men daren’t stray there in the evening for fear of reviving old stirrings which could lead to promises over reaching their capabilities. Girlish squeals coupled with elevated male testosterone levels are indicative of a community preparing to renew itself.
So the daily life of Alqueria continues amidst the perpetual sniping of the two factions. The non-partisan of the village include Blyth Gruntmore the resident Englishman, satellite dish and wholesale supplies of HP Sauce confirm his nationality. Fernando Rodriguez persists with his applications for approval from the Baena Denominación de Origen for his olive oil production, but the Olive Fruit Fly once more causes premature oxidization of the crop. Old Man Matas continues to dodge non-existent Falangists, whilst hitting the Nationalists when and where his meagre arsenal will allow.
The searing Andalucían sun mercilessly roasts the windless valley, baking Alqueria and its residents, shortening tempers, increasing thirst levels, in short all the prerequisites for turmoil, mischief and rebellion.