The women take over the town for a day

​An 800 year-old fiesta,
an old story made current

​Excerpt from Cabañuelas: A Novel, 

By Norma Elia Cantú


Santa Águeda in Zamarramala

​Back in Madrid for a couple of days, Nena works in the library rounding up information for her next field trip, her next fiesta. On Thursday she’s off again, on the train from Madrid to Segovia on her way to that quaint little town, Zamarramala. Nena once again feels that strange electric feeling. Her skin, a receptor, a warning. She feels a premonition that things are about to change. Nena had read all about the patron saint, Santa Águeda, of the small village near Segovia. She found various versions of the story of the fifth-century martyr from Sicily whose breasts were cut off because she would not renounce her Christian faith. Although Nena couldn’t find a link to any such fiesta in Texas or in Mexico, she was intrigued by the connection to a military feat: Zamarramala’s women helped their men take over the castle, the mighty fortress, the Alcázar in nearby Segovia, from the Arab soldiers. She read about their leader, the most beautiful woman of the town, who was also martyred in similar fashion: her breasts were cut off! So, Santa Águeda carries her breasts on a platter and is decked out in elaborate jewel-encrusted garments. Since the eleventh century, or perhaps in 1227—it’s unclear when the tradition began—what is certain is that for centuries the town has honored Santa Águeda and their ancestors, the courageous women who helped their men take over the Alcazar. Nena expected to find a procession, a special meal, and other elements, but other revelations were coming her way. Perhaps drawn by the incongruity of a celebration for and by women in a most patriarchal and sexist environment, Nena chooses Zamarramala, where women take over the town once a year.

Nena arrives early on Saturday in Zamarramala by bus from Segovia, where she spent the previous night at an hostal. As part of the centuries-old fiesta, the women take over the town for a day, at a time when hardly any women run for office, when there are hardly any women bosses anywhere, except at home. Jejejeje. The men joke and laugh. Even the feminist ones who know better. And in that town, as they had since 1227 or thereabouts, women take over for a day; later it will be two days. In 1980 two sisters reign as alcaldesas, as mayors of the town. They receive the symbol from the alcalde in Segovia and officially rule over their town. The Pregón that starts off the festivities ends with a poem that reminds the young women to honor their mothers, their ancestors’ heroic deed—the reason the fiesta exists:

​¡Niña de Zamarramala,
Recuerda a tu anciana madre
Que no descansó bailando
Hasta conquistar el Alcázar!
¡Ay, niña de Zamarramala,
No te olvides de tu madre!

Nena translates the song but is not quite happy with it, for even the very first word gives her trouble: “niña” could be “daughter” or “little girl” or “girlchild.”

​Daughter of Zamarramala,
Remember your ancient mother
who did not rest dancing
until the Alcázar fell.
Oh, daughter of Zamarramala,
Don’t forget your mother.

​The poem is a reference to or perhaps the reason for the inclusion in the fiesta of young women and little girls who, all decked out in their finery, celebrate. A heavy burden, a charge to keep the tradition alive, a tradition that honors foremothers who saved the day back in the thirteenth century.

The menfolk dance and honor them all, the women of the town. Young men swing huge banners in a flag dance that awes and inspires everyone. They swirl and flap flags bigger than them. The sound of the flapping adds to the music of the fife and drum corps. The crowds applaud the dancers and their artistry with the flags.
The procession is solemn, with a fife and drum group leading the way. The sculpture of Santa Águeda is carried by women. Shouts of “¡Viva Santa Águeda!” greet the saint along the procession route. It’s Santa Águeda, she of the martyr complex who remained a virgin, even after life in a brothel, she who has saved the day for so many, the truly milagrosa, miracle worker—as many who pray to her attest. She is the patroness of women who are breastfeeding or who have mastectomies due to breast cancer; she seems to adapt to the times, indeed! It is an old fiesta, an old story made current. Santa Águeda, not as famous as Lucía, with her eyes on a platter. Agatha holds her breasts, bloody and puffed up like cupcakes on a tray. Symbols of her sacrifice, her martyrdom. The infidels came but she wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t succumb, and she paid for it with her life. It’s a long story a woman tells Nena: La pobre de la Santa con su martirio, the saint’s martyrdom. In her glory, she died for God.
In this town the women remember and celebrate. All pray to Santa Águeda, and a priest blesses the breads shaped like her breasts that will be part of the special meal. In this town they dress in traditional costume from head to toe: a white embroidered shawl, a manto or mantilla framing the face. A kind of mitre called a montera holds the mantilla in place—elaborately  

​decorated with jewels and a wool pompom and held with twelve buttonlike silver ornaments called “apostles,” no doubt because there are twelve. They wear a black velvet short-sleeved vest, called a “jubón,” open at the neckline to show the white embroidered blouse. The white lace apron wraps around the waist over a long black skirt that swirls during the dance. The women, or Águedas, wear this traditional dress made even fancier for the occasion. The Águedas don the proper attire, resplendent with the gold jewels that have been passed down for generations—heavy necklaces and earrings and bracelets dangle as they dance. The traditional dress reminds them of the past, of their heritage, a signifier of what it means to be from Zamarramala. For almost eight centuries on her feast day in February, Zamarramala, near the city of Segovia, celebrates Santa Águeda and the townswomen who played a crucial role in a military action. Two alcaldesas reign over the fiesta. Everyone rejoices.
The ritual burning of the pelele, a man in effigy, is part of the fiesta, an obvious reference to the desire to end the machismo that reigns in these lands. Nena thinks of the burning of the zozobra in New Mexico. Although at

​another time and for another occasion, vestiges of similarity remain. She notes another similarity: within the mixed audience at the events that happen over two days, segregation is strictly enforced. Only men perform the flag display; only men play during the procession—a fife and drum corps. Only women dance el baile de las Alcaldesas, nothing but a simple jota, and only women burn the pelele.
Only women dance while the men play the sones with drum and flute. Nena befriends an older woman and her daughter—both are dressed in traditional dress for the occasion. They introduce her to the two alcaldesas, and Nena congratulates them, explains what she is doing. She photographs them as they walk, dance, and lead the way to the church.
The alcaldesas invite Nena to join them in the private meal. All the town’s married women—whether dressed as Águedas or not—go into a large room that could be the church hall or the town’s meeting place. The only man allowed for the ceremonial lunch is the church priest, who after all wears a skirt.
Nena stays quiet and eats the chorizo stew she’s offered and the pastel, traditional sweet cake, and drinks the local wine. She’s an intruder at the private fiesta with the women. But she still belongs; after all, isn’t she a woman? But. She’s not married, and this is only for married women in town who have earned their place at the celebration, who are to be fed by the men. Her newfound friends allay her concerns and tell her she’s been invited by the Alcaldesas so she belongs. Y punto. Nena looks like a local, but taller, wears jeans and a white cotton shirt. The photos show a smiling priest surrounded by the townswomen. But Nena is not in the photo, because she is taking the photo with her trusty Pentax.
Yes, Nena feels special. Como ellas. Como todas. She wonders if she will ever be married. If she will ever pass on her traditions, her treasures to a beloved daughter. Nena is certain that traditions such as the Águedas of Zamarramala in this medieval village will survive if only because of its recently granted status as a UNESCO Heritage Site. These mothers will pass it on to their daughters, of that there is no doubt. They will bequeath their gold jewelry to their daughters and their granddaughters: earrings, bracelets, necklaces, especially the gold cross. They will place the white mantos on their heads, wear the montera like a crown.

From Cabañuelas: A Novel by Norma Elia Cantú. Copyright © 2019 University of New Mexico Press, 2019.

Photo by Ralph Grajeda

Norma Elia Cantú is the Norine R. and T. Frank Murchison Distinguished Professor of the Humanities at Trinity University, San Antonio, Texas. Her recent works include Transcendental Train Yard: A Collaborative Suite of Serigraphs, Canícula: Snapshots of a Girlhood en la Frontera, Updated Edition (UNM Press), and the coedited anthology Entre Guadalupe y Malinche: Tejanas in Literature and Art. ​

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