THE WEREWOLF OF SAN GIMIGNANO It was a last second decision to visit San Gimignano. Sienna was a bit of a hassle, having spent a good portion of the morning driving in circles around the old city center, desperately trying to find a parking spot. “Follow the bouncing ball” Geri quipped in restrained amusement, “ “follow the futbal signs to the stadium” the book says. Guaranteed parking space IF there’s no football game today. Well guess what? Try to imagine 30 thousand football fans competing with a 50,000 tourists for a town once populated by maybe a few thousand people . Tow trucks signs, signs with big thick red lines through the middle, complicated parking machines with inscrutable, intractable time rules and conditions, it was all too much. Sienna was beautiful and very much lived up to its hype but by late afternoon, we were spent. Driving back to our Tuscan farmhouse, the Ancora del Chianti, our GPS crashed. Tuscany’s endlessly twisting and turning back roads were just to much for the 21st century satellite technology. “ Recalculating recalculating...” messages spewed on and on before it went completely silent. There we sat, car virtually parked at a 4 way intersection and all we could see were the endless sweeping vistas of rolling green hills, vineyards, and small simple farm’s and farmhouses as far as the eye could see. Geri noticed a sign, Grieve 36 miles(where the Ancora was), Sienna 32 miles from which we just came, and this other strange town we vaguely recognized, San Gimignano, a mere 16 miles. “Isnt that the place with the 13 towers” I queried Geri, who at once consulted her Rick Steve’s Italy 2010 guide book. “ Yes, its supposively a must-see attraction boasting a dozen or so tower houses”. Geri read on “ is a small walled medieval hill town in north central Italy known for its Romanesque and Gothic architecture and...” Geri hesitated gazing in disbelief at her guide book “...and its 12th century werewolf legends ”. Immediately my attention was seized as I glanced over at Geri in utter disbelief. “ Come on, bull shit!” Geri pointed to the incredulous paragraph and sure enough, word for word in black and white were the incriminating words. “ Well then, we must go I mean how awesome is that, a werewolf for Christ sake!”. Geri knew I had a penchant for all things horror, not least of all lycanthropes! One left turn later, we were enroute to the werewolf capital of Italy. Driving 16 miles on Tuscany’s back roads was akin to driving from London to Toronto, a 200 km journey. Long shadows from the roadside cypress trees betrayed the time of day. We both resigned to the likelihood of returning home well after nightfall. As we got closer to San Gimignano, we noticed large pools of fog forming on the Tuscan moors, a perfect geographical setting for a werewolf to stalk and prowl. Geri was the first to notice the large towers or torres jetting up from the treeline canopy. As we rounded the corner, there it was, laid to bare, in full view was the ancient Etruscan town of San Gimignano with its stately coven of towers, casting harrowing spectres of shadows looming grimacely over large pastoral groves of olive trees and farm land. The fog patches ebbed and flowed like ghostly amoebas, turning the green lush trees into haunting silhouettes, forewarning all who approached. Parking was a breeze. In 10 mins flat, we managed to park the car and make our way to the front gates. Entering the city limits, we meandered our way through timeless alleyways, secret passageways veering curiously and lined with strange shops, quaint bars & pubs, breadmakers and wine dealers. A cobbler pounds his mallet repairing some old shoes, an old world’s craftsman forges his wares, San Gimignano is abuzz with activity, a working class vibrancy peculiar to this smallish etruscan village. The encroaching mist had breached the city’s ramparts penetrating eerily its interior. A witches well dominated the Palazzo Comunale, hinting at San Gimignano’s dark history of witches and superstition. Geri and I notice a narrow, cobblestoned pathway, leading down and away from the main piazza square, with a single lantern burning, barely visible through the dense, swirling mist. It was begging to be investigated so, the intrepid souls that we are, we proceeded cautiously down the old cobblestone road toward the light. For a brief moment, the lantern appeared to grow brighter, flicker a few times then faded back to its original luminence. It was then the old wooden door unexpectantly creaked open! “Come in come in” cried the wretched old lady as she ushered us in” Come in, welcome, please sit”. Geri and I politely sat and surveyed the dark, dank room. Everywhere, hung amulets, upside down crosses and other religious artefacts. Strange unfamiliar herbs and plants dangled from the ceilings rafters, thick musky air wafted through the room. Candles, maybe two or three dozen burned with the scent of saffron and Vernaccia wine . I looked at Geri, “ You gotta be kidding me”. We both chuckled. The old woman peered at an old gold watch hanging from a wing of dead stuffed raven, “ Nine forty five, 15 mins to ten” as if portending some unspeakable horror soon to be wrought. Insisting we have tea and biscuits, the old lady began to spun a yarn worthy of a Hitchcock or Carpenter thriller. We both sipped our tea and gave the old woman our wide eye undivided attention. “ May 21st, 913 years ago today, at the stroke of ten a blood curdling howl shattered the surrounding silence. “ The woman paused. “ It was a werewolf”. The story that was to follow was clearly unbelievable. “In the early years of the town’s history, 12 towers were in the original city plans. Twelve towers, each one representing a founding family , twelve prominent families that ruled the town and the immediate surrounding jurisdictions. On the night of May 21st, 1100 A.D., a massive fog bank enveloped the town. From 10 pm on, spine tingling howls could be heard throughout the night, followed closely by ear splitting screams and then deadly silence. The next morning, 12 people, one each from the royal families were found ripped to shreds, their limbs torned from their torsos, blood splattered everywhere. More remarkably, a 13th tower was found erected, taller than other twelve, but who were the builders? The name given to the tower is Torre del Diablolo, tower of the devil. Legend has it that the daughter from the Giovanni family secretly gave birth to a son fathered by one of the Agostino boys. Outraged by this breach of trust cast in stone years ago, the remaining families conspired amongst each other to kill the new family and forever erase this painful memory. From that day forth, that unspoken truth would forever be sealed from the lips of all who dwelled in San Gimignano”, the old woman sardonically smiled and whispered “ until now”. The old woman’s face stared me down, my strange fixation was broken by the haunting distant sound of the old catholic church bell . Ten chimes rang out across the village. “10pm, 913 years ago today on the 21st of May”. Geri had had enough. I on the other hand was fascinated to no end and wanted to hear more. But there was nothing more to say. The old woman turned to walk away mumbling those same words, Geri seized my arm and stormed anxiously out the door. Looking back I thought I could make out what the old woman’s store sign read. Giovannis’s Relics. That was the name of the family who’s daughter gave birth out of wedlock. I wanted to go back and double check but Geri would have no part of that. Firmly grabbing my arm she continued to drag my ass back toward the main piazza. Pass the cobbler, pass the wine shop, pass the old butcher shop with boar’s meat hanging in the window and as we hurriedly flew by the old world’s craftman’s shop, he gave me a wink and a smile as he set up his display of what appeared to be newly fashioned silver bullets. Geri wouldn’t slow down until we got to the car. “ Geri relax already, jeesh!”. I wanted to see the 13th tower, the torre del Diabolo. Needless to say, San Gimignano was not on Geri’s top 10 destination list for Italy. It was getting dark and the GPS was flaky as best. Geri climbed into the car and slammed the door shut to make a point. I stood, and looked out over the towers of San Gimignano. Now, I can’t be entirely sure but I thought I could make out a figure of sorts, something stirring, some shapeless form high up the 13th tower. Plucking my glasses from my face, I give my tired strained eyes a good rub. Refocused , I could see that nothing was there. Opening the car door, I climbed in, buckled my seatbelt and shut the door. Geri programmed the GPS and was ready to go. Driving away, I wondered about the old woman’s tale and who she really was and the craftsman displaying his silver bullets. Coincidence? A practical joke? Maybe. Anyway, its a long drive back to the Ancora del Chianti and its now pitch black out. The car’s headlights casted an ethereal glow to the misty gloom some 20 feet or so ahead of us but beyond that it was abysmally black. Now, to this very day, Geri and I have very conflicting views of what happened next. A few minutes into the drive, someone or something darted right in front of us. Geri screamed as I swerved away from the unidentified shape then quickly slammed on the brakes. Looking back I could see where the “thing” passed through the disturbed roadside bushes. Hearts pounding and gasping for breath we sat silently still, staring into the darkness, car idling for what seemed an eternity. Peering back in the direction by which the “ animal” disappeared, I relunctantly reached for the door handle. Geri gently touched my arm and whispered “ lets just get the hell out of here”. With a slight nod, I complied. For the rest of the trip home, we spoke nary a word. After several hours of driving, we finally reach the Ancora, safe and sound. The next morning, it was like the night before never happened. We joined the other guests at the breakfast table, most of them already ate but remained at the table eagerly discussing yesterdays highlites while sipping their coffees. The two American couples boasted about their forays to Pisa and Lucca, the Germans, a mother and daughter team were beaming about their daily excursion to Florence while the family from Paris, struggling with their English, gleefully insisted we all go to Montepulciano for the incredible views. “ So Canada, how was Sienna?” queried one of the more outspoken Americans directing his question straight at Geri. Caught a little off guard, she managed to redeem. “ Oh! It was nice, a little hard to find parking but well worth it”. Satisfied, the same American replied “ Yeah, we’re going there today, this morning, and then were going to try to hit San Gimignano later on in the afternoon. We heard its absolutely gorgeous there! You guys should of went there, it’s so close”. “Yeah, maybe next time” Geri replied, squirming somewhat awkwardly in her chair. Looking straight into my eyes, she winked like only Geri can and added “ You can’t see everything”.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Oct 2013 03:41:10 +0000
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