Bodies in Movement: Developing a Latin American Feminist Identity Through Family, Memory, and Geographical and Inter-lingual Spaces
“What we talk about when we talk about love…”Fernando Colato
Fernando Colato, el Amor de mi Abuelita Jesús[i]
You and Abuelita should be celebrating your 80th wedding anniversary this July if bus number 23 para San Antonio[ii] would not have crossed your path. Abuelita Jesús always tells us how you continue to romance her in her dreams. After hearing the ways she speaks of you, I can’t help but wonder what you look like. Have you aged along with her? Or are you still the young man she fell in love with during La Procession de la Virgen del Tránsito?[iii]
Preguntas que no debo hacer, por ser su nieta, pero cual no puedo resistir en pensar: Cuando fué la última vez que tomó la mano de su esposa? Cuando fué la última vez que sus labios dijeron “te amo Jesusita?” Cuando fué la última vez que hicieron el amor? Cuando fué la última vez que caminaron de la mano por el Guatal? Cual fué su último deseo? Se hizo realidad?[iv]
Marilee and I always laugh when we look at photographs of you, especially when we look at the ones of you and Abuelita standing side by side. We see Abuela’s tamale like body towering over your match-stick figure. Our mother reprimands us, “ya formalísence y compórtence como señoritas educadas,”[v] but we continue laughing because we cannot help it. We remember stories of Abuelita cooking two chickens for dinner, because she would feed one to you and the kids, and keep the other one for herself.
Then we remember what a quiet man you were. We wonder who inherited your talent to play the guitar, or your enthusiasm to study the dictionary.
Marilee and I bring our reminiscing to a close by speaking of the stories that our aunts and uncles tell us about their gentle father. How you sang Spanish nursery rhymes to your children; how you cried when you could not provide nutritious food for them; or the time you hopelessly searched for a photographer when your youngest daughter was dying. Despite the numerous stories I have heard, or hope to hear coming from my families’ Salvadoran lips, I know that the photographer story will forever remain my favorite. It is also the story Abuelita talks about these days…how you came home crying because you could not find a photographer to capture the angelic face of your youngest child.
Abuelita Jesús will always remember you as her loving husband and as a compassionate father; but first, as the young man who came over every Thursday evening to play cards and send amorous winks across the card table. I cannot help it, because I am your granddaughter, but I ask her the forbidden questions. I called her up last month and asked her: Abuelita, le puedo hacer una prejunta personal? Vaya pués. Cuando fué la última vez que besó a mi Abuelito Fernando? Cuando se murió. Y cuando fué la primera vez que se besaron? Cuando nos casamos.[vi]
[i] Fernando Colato, the Love of My Grandmother Jesus
[ii] To San Antonio
[iii] The procession of the Virgin of Transit
[iv] Questions I should not ask because I am your granddaughter, but cannot resist thinking. When was the last time you held your wife’s hand? When was the last time you mouthed I love you Jesusita? When was the last time you made love? What was your last wish? Did it come true?
[v] Act formal and comport yourselves like educated ladies/
[vi] Grandmother, can I ask you a personal question? Ok, go ahead. When was the last time you kissed my grandfather Fernando? When he died. And when was the first time you kissed? When we were married.
