The story of San Miguel de Allende is an amalgamation of three narratives that intertwine and enrich each other. The formal history—data about events and people which attempts to recreate the past as accurately as possible. Then we have oral history, told through anecdotes which don’t need to follow the same standards as formal history, but rely on the memory of those who lived through it. These narratives help us understand what happened in a more nuanced and deeper sense. And then we have the unverifiable stories, ancient myths, beliefs and magical thinking. They add another level, a way to explain the world and the people in it.
I love metaphors and I love baking; particularly baking and decorating cakes. I think of the cake itself as the base—that’s what history is. Then there is the filling; it makes the cake more interesting and tastier. And finally there is the decoration over the entire cake—be it ganache, icing, or whipped cream—and of course, the cherry on top! That completes the cake, it makes it stand out. And that’s what magical stories do for the chronicles of a people and a community.
San Miguel has a plenitude of magical stories and legends. Many are a products of syncretism—a fascinating mix of Catholic, Aztec and Mayan creeds. The nahual is a prime example of ancient indigenous beliefs infiltrating Mexican lore.
According to Mesoamerican and Toltec traditions, a nahual is a human being—often a witch or a wizard—with a capacity to metamorphose. As a shape-shifter, the nahual can turn into an animal at will, and acquire supernatural powers in that form. Some hold that each of us is connected to a particular animal, a person’s companion and protector throughout their lives. They are a sort of guardian angel, staying by their person, appearing to them in dreams or in reality to offer support or guidance.
But there are malevolent nahuales that appear in their animal form in the darkness of night and cause all kinds of havoc. Legends about them abound in San Miguel. Such beliefs were, and for some still are, a part of life, and as real and credible as witches or goblins. A story about any of them is as natural as a story about an everyday event. Residents affirm that these characters were “alive and kicking,” and were at a home wandering through the olds streets of San Miguel de Allende.
Many residents reported seeing a nahual, and even experiencing an attack by one of them. They report unusual sounds in the kitchen at night, with evidence in the morning of disarray and missing food items. This happened most frequently on moonlit nights when you might catch glimpse of the fleeing thief, racing away from the house and easily spotted in the blue light of the full moon. The fleeing culprit was invariably a four-legged animal—a coyote, a dog, a jaguar, or even a goat or mule.
Alejandro Luna1 tells a story about an encounter with a nahual in the 1940s. He says that it happened to his grandfather who used to work at the textile factory La Aurora, where the art galleries are now. 2
His grandfather worked nights, and his wife remained at home with the children. On several occasions she heard strange sounds in the middle of the night, then in the morning would find the kitchen topsy-turvy, food items strewn on the floor, some gone, and chickens missing from the coop. One night she looked out and saw an animal-like creature running through the back yard, then jumping over the low stone wall to the other side. The grandfather decided to remain at home the next night to find out for himself.
Once everyone was asleep he slipped out of bed, taking the gun which he always kept under the pillow. It was close to midnight and there was a full moon, so he was able to see the outside from his bedroom window. Suddenly he spotted a strange creature coming out of the kitchen holding something between its teeth.
He ran down and shot at it twice as it jumped over the wall. He was sure he had killed it, but decided to wait till morning to find the body. In the morning he stepped over the wall which separated his property from the one next door.
An old couple had recently moved in and had built a small house. The grandfather was surprised that there was no creature on the ground, but there was blood and the trail continued in the direction of the house. He followed the trail to the front door and then heard loud sobs coming from within. When he opened the door he saw the neighbor, the old woman, weeping over the body of her husband who had died in the night. She didn’t explain how the old man died, but the trail of blood led all the way to his bed, and he realized that the nahual he had killed the night before must have been the incarnation of the old man.
City chronicler Cornelio Lopez Espinoza3 tells a different tale of the old days, when a particular nahual cause a lot of harm in San Miguel. The creature usually appeared and robbed people on San Felipe Square, on Insurgentes Street.4 It also frequented the courtyard of the Las Monjas convent, or haunted Canal Street across from it where there were several bars; or one of the Locutorios (places with phones for the use of customers) along Hernandez Macias Street. Those who came face to face with this creature—mostly women who had been victim of its misdeeds—said it was an enormous goat, walking on two legs that pursued them and forced them to abandon whatever they were carrying.
Benigno Hurtado, born and raised in San Miguel, was known for his courage after once confronting and repelling some assailants. He promised to find the nahual and rid the city of this creature.
“I shall bring this to an end, and deliver him dead or alive,” he declared.
That very night, after making the promise to the residents, he waited till the late hours. Covered with a jorongo (a traditional poncho), and a wide-brimmed hat, he hid among the giant, ancient trees in front of the Las Monjas convent. He held a tranchete—a sharp knife with a hooked blade, hidden beneath his jorongo. It was a cold night, the wind whipped the lantern on the wall of the convent, giving out a weak, trembling light as it swayed. Beyond was complete darkness. The clock on San Rafael Church rang out the hour of three, a barn owl’s eerie, raspy call pierced the air as it perched on the bell tower of Las Monjas church.5
Benigno sat in the same spot as the hours passed, until suddenly he heard the terrified cries of a woman calling out to all the saints. She ran along Canal, dragging her shawl, followed by a child whose overcoat flew behind him like a kite, and then both disappeared from sight. Fast as lightning, Benigno, with tranchete in hand, sprang from his place and uttering all kinds of invocations and curses began to pursue the assailant. At first it seemed simply a shadow, but when he came closer he saw what looked like a man covered with the skin of a goat, sheep or ox. With a backwards glare it flashed its glowing eyes exactly as one would expect in a nahual. The pursuer had become the one pursued, and took off running toward Hernandez Macias until reaching the old military barracks.6 The building was then an abandoned warehouse, and the nahual pushed through the partly destroyed main doors.
“If you were the devil,” shouted Benigno, racing behind, “you wouldn’t be running away like a coward!”
He scrambled inside the abandoned building, grabbed the creature by the hair, and plunged the knife between its ribs. This is the story that Benigno told everyone the next morning, although he never explained why the nahual’s body was never found. The residents were happy to believe him, however, and the evidence was that they were never bothered by an assailant like that again. At least not in that part of the city.
Interview given in 2020 by Alejandro Luna, historian and professor of SMA history. El Nahual historia real de San Miguel de Allende. Alejandro’s father, Felix Luna was a well-known traditionalist and local historian.
After functioning as a textile factory that employed hundreds of locals, Fabrica La Aurora closed down in 1991. In 2004 it reopened as a multi-artist gallery.
Former city chronicler Jose Cornelio Lopez Espinoza (1938-2011), “La Villa de San Miguel el Grande y la ciudad de San Miguel de Allende,” pp 48-50. This is my translation and adaptation of his story.
Insurgentes Street was previously called Calle Santa Ana. An old plaque with that name still hangs on the corner of Insurgentes and Loreto.
The bell tower of the Las Monjas church was completed in 1891.
Directly in front of the Angela Peralta Theater, on Hernandez Macias, the building has had many uses over the years. Its latest use was as Military Detachment Headquarters, and finally a place to lodge important city visitors.
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