Dark Tales, Dark Hearts
There is a little village in the province of Badajoz, region of Extremadura, right on the edge of northwestern Andalucía, that is a typical southern Spanish village. It has a little over a hundred inhabitants and consists of a long street with a few outlying streets. It's houses are mostly white and rarely higher than two floors. It's in a very backward area, historically speaking; electricity first appeared in the seventies and running water and paved streets in the eighties. The main income is from olive trees, wheat, and sheep herding. I've never been there, but I assume it is a tranquil place. But its name is synonymous with terror. It is the place where the largest massacre since the twenties took place, in 1990. It's called Puerto Hurraco.
The story has elements from the Hatfields and the McCoys and from the Capulets and the Montagues. That is probably why it has made its way into the folklore of la España negra, black Spain, stories that seem to come from a detective novel. Once upon a time in 1968, there were two families, the Izquierdos and the Cabanillas. Luciana of the Izquierdos was set to marry Amadeo of the Cabanillas. But Amadeo changed his mind and Luciana may have lost hers. Her brother, Jerónimo, avenged her and stabbed Amadeo to death a few days after the rejection. Jerónimo was brought before justice and sentenced to fourteen years in jail, which he served, with no parole. After he left prison in 1986 he set out to continue the feud. His mother had died in a house fire in 1984 and he blamed Antonio Cabanillas, brother of Amadeo (the Romeo), for setting the fire. A few days after leaving prison he returned to town, sought out Antonio, and stabbed him. This being more than a simple crime, Jerónimo was arrested and immediately taken to a psychiatric hospital. He died there a few days later. Antonio survived.
In the Izquierdo household there remained four siblings, all in their fifties and sixties, two men and two women. Ángela, Luciana (the original Juliet), Emilio and Antonio. They had been cheated out of a husband for Luciana, their brother Jerónimo, and their mother. They decided to strike back definitively against the Cabanillas family. Though, according to judges, lawyers, and police, it was thought that the sisters were the ones who egged on their brothers to avenge their family's honor.
It was the evening of the 26th of August,1990, after a hot summer day. The neighbors were in the street and on their doorsteps, doors wide open, catching the first cooling breeze of the night. Some were sitting in metal chairs outside the local tavern, drinking wine and passing the time. The two brothers came into town carrying hunting rifles and opened fire upon the first people they saw, two sisters, twelve and fourteen years old, daughters of the Antonio who had survived the stabbing four years earlier. From there the brothers walked up and down the street, shooting at whoever appeared, Cabanillas or not. Some came out of their houses to help the dying in the street and were mown down. In fifteen minutes nine people were killed, from children to elderly, and ten were injured; some would be in a wheelchair for life. The brothers then hightailed it for the hills, after shooting and gravely wounding two Guardia Civiles, who had been sent for from the nearest town.
After nine hours of an intense manhunt in the hills, the brothers were found sleeping. They let themselves be taken in without any resistance. They had done what they had set out to do, take revenge on the rival family they blamed for their troubles. They were put on trial, found guilty, and sentenced to over six hundred years in jail. The sisters were also taken in on suspicion that they had instigated their brothers to do the bloody deed. They were declared innocent of that charge, but their mental health was put into question, and Ángeles and Luciana were sent to a psychiatric hospital in Mérida, where they died a few months apart in 2005. Emilio died in prison at Badajoz in 2006 of natural causes. His brother, Antonio, died in the same prison in 2010 by his own hand. He took his sheets and hung himself.
Now there are no more members of the two families left in Puerto Hurraco. Those that didn't die that night moved away. Now, Puerto Hurraco is a tiny little town just like others in that part of Spain. The inhabitants wish they could be known for something else, but history and a fascination with murder and misdeed will always bring in the curious outsiders. Yesterday was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the massacre. Twenty-five years is still too short a time for a story so dark to bury itself in oblivion.
The story has elements from the Hatfields and the McCoys and from the Capulets and the Montagues. That is probably why it has made its way into the folklore of la España negra, black Spain, stories that seem to come from a detective novel. Once upon a time in 1968, there were two families, the Izquierdos and the Cabanillas. Luciana of the Izquierdos was set to marry Amadeo of the Cabanillas. But Amadeo changed his mind and Luciana may have lost hers. Her brother, Jerónimo, avenged her and stabbed Amadeo to death a few days after the rejection. Jerónimo was brought before justice and sentenced to fourteen years in jail, which he served, with no parole. After he left prison in 1986 he set out to continue the feud. His mother had died in a house fire in 1984 and he blamed Antonio Cabanillas, brother of Amadeo (the Romeo), for setting the fire. A few days after leaving prison he returned to town, sought out Antonio, and stabbed him. This being more than a simple crime, Jerónimo was arrested and immediately taken to a psychiatric hospital. He died there a few days later. Antonio survived.
In the Izquierdo household there remained four siblings, all in their fifties and sixties, two men and two women. Ángela, Luciana (the original Juliet), Emilio and Antonio. They had been cheated out of a husband for Luciana, their brother Jerónimo, and their mother. They decided to strike back definitively against the Cabanillas family. Though, according to judges, lawyers, and police, it was thought that the sisters were the ones who egged on their brothers to avenge their family's honor.
It was the evening of the 26th of August,1990, after a hot summer day. The neighbors were in the street and on their doorsteps, doors wide open, catching the first cooling breeze of the night. Some were sitting in metal chairs outside the local tavern, drinking wine and passing the time. The two brothers came into town carrying hunting rifles and opened fire upon the first people they saw, two sisters, twelve and fourteen years old, daughters of the Antonio who had survived the stabbing four years earlier. From there the brothers walked up and down the street, shooting at whoever appeared, Cabanillas or not. Some came out of their houses to help the dying in the street and were mown down. In fifteen minutes nine people were killed, from children to elderly, and ten were injured; some would be in a wheelchair for life. The brothers then hightailed it for the hills, after shooting and gravely wounding two Guardia Civiles, who had been sent for from the nearest town.
After nine hours of an intense manhunt in the hills, the brothers were found sleeping. They let themselves be taken in without any resistance. They had done what they had set out to do, take revenge on the rival family they blamed for their troubles. They were put on trial, found guilty, and sentenced to over six hundred years in jail. The sisters were also taken in on suspicion that they had instigated their brothers to do the bloody deed. They were declared innocent of that charge, but their mental health was put into question, and Ángeles and Luciana were sent to a psychiatric hospital in Mérida, where they died a few months apart in 2005. Emilio died in prison at Badajoz in 2006 of natural causes. His brother, Antonio, died in the same prison in 2010 by his own hand. He took his sheets and hung himself.
Now there are no more members of the two families left in Puerto Hurraco. Those that didn't die that night moved away. Now, Puerto Hurraco is a tiny little town just like others in that part of Spain. The inhabitants wish they could be known for something else, but history and a fascination with murder and misdeed will always bring in the curious outsiders. Yesterday was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the massacre. Twenty-five years is still too short a time for a story so dark to bury itself in oblivion.
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