Christmas Eve era la Noche de los Agüelos
Había sido un día muy depressing. Not a creature was stirring, not even un zorrillo. La familia was just lying about la casa esa noche. Ni tan siquiera las luces en el Christmas tree could cheer them up. En ese Christmas Eve the world seemed bien muerto. Grama Cuca cantaba: “Noche de paz, noche de amor, todo duerme derredor entre los astros que esparcen su luz bella, anunciando al Niñito Jesús. Brilla la estrella de paz, brilla la estrella de paz.”
As Canutito was listening, he suddenly realized de que la Grama Cuca had been singing ‘Silent Night’ en español. Grampo Caralampio got up de su rincón and he winked at grama saying: “Yo me voy ir a acostar,” and he went off to bed.
Canutito sat adelante del pino Navideño coloreando en su coloring book con sus crayolas. He paused por un momento and he asked, “Grama, what did you used to do en el Christmas Eve cuando you were una muchachita?”
“El Christmas Eve is called ‘ La Noche Buena’ in Spanish, m’hijo,” she said. “This ‘Good Night’ era la noche cuando los Agüelos would come a anunciar la venida del Niño Jesús.”
“Grama, doesn’t the word ‘ Agüelo’ mean ‘grandfather’?” Canutito asked her The correct word es ‘Abuelo’ and it means ‘ancestor’ pero aquí, en el 16th Century Spanish de Nuevo México ‘Agüelo’ refers to a ‘Christmas Ogre.’ Ellos son los guardianes de las tradiciones. Duermen en las cuevas in the mountains. Cuando salen de sus caves, they come down de cracking their whips and asking si sabemos los ancient ways. Y, woe to the kid que no sabe hablar en español o rezar the old prayers.”
En eso, Canutito heard a knock en la puerta, and he jumped up pensando que eran los Agüelos pero it was only grampo. He got una idea to write la historia de los Agüelos. He began:
“‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the chante, we ate our posole con chile picante. Mi grama in the kitchen was busy planchando her new Christmas outfit, riendo y cantando. Y grampo was mending his old calzoncillos so that he could go for leña y no pasar fríos. They’d tucked me away in my little cama and wrapped me all tightly en fresadas de lana. Entonces they said, “Descansa, for La Misa del Gallo.” and soon I was snoring like a weary caballo. When all of sudden, oí mucho ruido. I threw back my blankets and jumped from my nido. I ran to the window and slid ‘cross the suelo; Outside I could see, venir el Agüelo. He had a chicote and great, long pestañas. His barba was full of white telerañas. He whooped and he hollered and gave such a grito. I ran for my grams like a scared conejito. He stormed through the door and he yelled:“¿Dónde está, aquél muchachito? ¡Qué venga pa’cá!”
I yelled from a distance, “¡No me vaya a pegar!” He said, “I won’t whip you si sabes rezar!” I threw out a “Salve” and Ave María.” He looked en mis ojos y así se reía. He said: “I’m not malo with the good muchachitos who know the traditions y no son malcriaditos.” And then from his saco he took a juguete and he gave it to me and he stroked my cachete. And he said: “Don’t forget las costumbres pasadas, for then I will come back, and give you nalgadas!”
And with that, he was gone to sleep en la sierra, and all I could see was la nieve en la tierra. As I stood there watching en la noche estrellada, mi grampo came back in from his breve jornada. He asked me: “¿Qué miras?” and he winked at my grama. He said: “This kid’s tired; Put him back in his cama.” As I started to sleep, en la cocina, oí, mis abuelos were giggling and laughing with glee. “The little kid bought it!” he said with delight. She said: “Gracias honey, now let’s have a good night.”
Canutito slept muy bien esa noche …