La Tarantula an Erotic Tale of Spain

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The Tarantula is a poisonous spider.

It spins no web as a snare but catches its prey because it is fleet of foot.

Its home in the ground is lined with silk. Remember these things.

It is told in the villages that one who is bitten by this dreaded scourge falls to the floor as one dead. And only by the skilful use of magic can he be brought out of his deathlike trance. For then the subtle strains of music excite an overpowering desire in him to dance, until he falls to the floor bathed in profuse perspiration but secure in the knowledge that he has been rid of the envenomed virulence. City doctors from Madrid and Seville, they scoff at this statement. But the old men of the village who sit in the square after a siesta, in the sun, and soak in God's sunshine, they know far more about the bite of the Tarantula than do the august and revered doctors. For they have lived long. They know life. They know, too, of the human tarantulas that have infested our dear somnolent Spain.

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