Most people who dedicate themselves to being an editor do it to earn a living and not as a vocation, but how could paranoia be a vocation anyway?
14ymedio, Xavier Carbonell, Salamanca, 30 June 2024 – Burgos, the city where El Cid and Miguelón are buried, is two and a half hours by train from Salamanca. It’s a cold place. To enjoy it well you should eat some hot beans in one of the taverns on Calle San Lorenzo, but not before devouring at top speed a couple of cojonudas – bread, sausage, peppers and quail’s eggs. Then, all prepared and wearing a scarf, one should head for the Museum of Human Evolution, where there are human remains more than 400,000 years old. It can change your life seeing the sharpened stone axe which they’ve named ’Excalibur’, or the ’pelvis Elvis’ (bones), both thousands of years old.
Having completed this part of the journey, one follows the course of the river Arlanzón as far as Las Huelgas monastery. There have been nuns living there since the eleventh century. Very powerful nuns actually, who used to own a large part of the land surrounding the convent. The king had to travel to one of their chapels, where a strange automaton that represented the apostle Saint James brandished a sword and declared him a knight.
To earn some income the nuns opened up part of the monastery to visitors. The floor is solid oak, the tombs are white and in one room hangs an enormous Muslim banner – supposedly used by the Arabs in the battle of the Tolosa flatlands in 1212. And in one of the galleries, under very dim light, hangs the picture of … the character I’m looking for.
You have to imagine Titivilo as a cat which prowls around the scriptorium, wets his paws in ink and climbs up onto the desk where the monks are working
Black and furry paws, tight pants, hunched, shirtless, a bundle of books on his back, he doesn’t have wings but he does still have his horns. He’s a bignose, he smiles – or grimaces. This is Titivilo, the patron demon of editors, writers, librarians and others whose business is in paper. Next to him is a devil with miniature wings attached to his arms, which gives him the airs of a reveller. Both are trying to torment the nuns and the royal family, protected by the Virgin’s cloak. It’s one of the few times that Titivilo, invisible lowlife bastard, has let himself be caught.
You have to imagine Titivilo as a cat which prowls around the scriptorium, wets his paws in ink and climbs up onto the desk where the monks are working. Today, the same mischievous animal trips over ballpoint pens and two-tone pencils – cr
