The Lady of Anboto

That summer, not a drop of rain fell in the Arratia valley. The meadows turned yellow and the sheep drank from the last puddle in the stream. One afternoon, Grandpa Joxe looked up at the crag of Anboto and said what nobody dared to say: “The Lady isn’t in her cave. When Mari is at Anboto, it rains.”

They say Mari lives in the caves of the mountains and travels from one to another across the sky, in the shape of a ball of fire. They also say she listens to anyone who climbs up with an honest request, as long as they keep three rules: speak to her by her first name, like a neighbour, and never as “my lady”; never sit down in her presence; and leave the cave the way you came in, facing her, walking backwards.

Ainhoa and her cousin Kepa, both twelve, decided to climb Anboto and ask her to come back. But not together: each of them wanted to be the one who brought the rain. Kepa set off at dawn and got there first.

At the mouth of the cave, a woman with extremely long hair was combing it with a golden comb. Kepa, worn out by the climb, sat down on a rock to catch his breath. Then he said in his most polite voice: “My lady, I humbly beg you to send us rain, if you would be so kind.” The woman looked at him without stopping her combing and said nothing. Kepa waited for a while, then turned round and ran back down the path.

Ainhoa arrived at dusk. She stayed on her feet, even though her legs were shaking, and spoke the way she would speak to a neighbour: “Mari, the valley is thirsty. Will you send us rain?” The woman put the comb down on a rock. Ainhoa thanked her and moved away step by step, backwards, never taking her eyes off her, stumbling over the stones, until the path turned.

That night, at home, Kepa told anyone who would listen that Mari had listened to him: “I spoke to her with all the respect in the world. I called her ‘my lady’ and said ‘I humbly beg you’.” Ainhoa said nothing. And Grandpa Joxe, from the window, saw a ball of fire cross the sky towards Anboto.