Satan Worshipers

The bells of the Miguelete rang like intense unusual tremolos that reached the borders of the city attracting the attention of tourists and countrymen. Diverse commentaries and cameras shooting point-blank gathered expectantly in front of the Apostles Gate of the Cathedral of the Holy Chalice, censuring the passage to fresh air currents and winged rats that hooted in search of crumbs in spite of the numerous posters that prohibited to feed to the pigeons. Felisa grabbed the stroller and moved through the crowd until she was surrounded. Despite having attended the appointment on time, she was not sure she wanted to see him. Weak drops fell like needles, warning of the fledgling storm on the chiaroscuro Valencian sky. From a nearby building the sheriff came out, wielding his long cane with a golden harpoon at the tip. He went solemn to the foot of the French Gothic door chased by eight men of silver temples dressed in a black smock. The receivers occupied their wooden seats gradually forming a semi-circumference preserved by an iron gate that defined its space, separating them from the crowd and turning their backs on Santa María with the child in her arms accompanied by eight musical angels. The bustle stopped drastically in the Plaza of the Virgin of the Homeless when the sheriff hit the staff against the granite floor. He placed it in a ring made for this purpose, removed his cap and, with the permission of the president, began to call loudly to the denunciats de la sèquia.

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