Tatarabuela Titina ‘tenía una’ carrot ‘de’ 14 ‘quilates’
Canutito was poking around en la cómoda del cuarto de dormir one afternoon. He found un bonche de retratos in one of the dresser drawers in the bedroom. All the pictures eran antiguos, todos en black and white. Uno de los retratos was particularly interesting para Canutito; era una photo de una viejita que parecía mucho like Grama Cuca, only mucho más vieja. She was standing con una mano over the other hand, as if she were hiding something.
As Canutito was looking at el retrato viejo, Grama Cuca walked into the room and she sat down arriba de la cama. “¿Qué estás mirando, m’hijo?” she asked him.
“I found this old picture de una mujer vieja who looks un poco like you, grama,” he replied, dándole el retrato.
“¡Mira!” Grama Cuca exclaimed, toda excitada. “I haven’t seen that picture desde que yo era una muchachita. Es un retrato de mi Grande.”
“Who was your Grande, grama?” Canutito asked her.
“She was my Grandma Titina,” she said. “Her real name era Cristina pero I used to call her mi Grande, my great one, de puro respecto that I had for her.”
Canutito looked at the picture con poco más cuidado .He asked Grandma Cuca, “If Grandma Titina was your grama, what would that make her to me?”
“She would be your great-great grandma, m’hijo,” grandma said. “That would make her your tatarabuela.”
“Is that really cómo se dice ‘great-great grandma’ en español? Canutito asked.
“Actually, el proper term es ‘tetra-abuela’ from the Greek root que quiere decir: ‘fourth grandmother,’ ” Grama Cuca said. “Pero aquí no hablamos Greek, so instead of saying ‘tetra’ we say ‘tatar.’ ”
Canutito studied the picture un poco más .“I wonder por qué Tatarabuela Titina has her left hand covered con su mano derecha,” he pondered.
“As I recall,” Grama Cuca said, pensando ,“Un día, as the story goes, cuando she was planting zanahorias in the garden, she lost her wedding ring y no quería que tu Tatarabuelo Severo supiera because if he ever found out que ella había perdido su anillo de boda while planting carrots, he would have been angry. That is why she is hiding su mano izquierda with her right hand.”
“Oh my goodness!” Canutito exclaimed. “¿Era su anillo de boda un 14-carat gold ring, grama? No wonder que tiene su mano escondida.”
“Sí, m’hijo,” Grama Cuca said. “Su wedding ring era un anillo de 14 quilates de oro so that’s why she is hiding her hand in this picture.”
“Did Tatarabuela Titina ever find su anillo, grama?” Canutito asked her.
“Yes she did, at the end del verano,” grama replied. “Cuando todas las zanahorias were ripe and she went a pepenarlas in the garden, she dug up a golden carrot that was wearing her gold wedding ring around it como un dedo.”
“I guess que you might say que she dug up una 14-carat carrot,” he smiled.
Sí, m’hijo,” Grama Cuca smiled también. “She found una zanahoria de catorce quilates and she didn’t have to hide su dedo ya más.” …