LA HORA DE LA LLORONA
(THE HOUR OF THE CRYING WOMAN)
4:45 P.M.
May 5, 1977.
I'm ten years old.
Abuelita lived near an arroyo, she called it "el río".
In any case, water ran near her house.
Hers was the only house with a cross in the back.
Crosses were common.
Women carried them, people had crosses hanging around their necks, in their hands, in a room in the house, but seldom in the back.
Her house had a cross in the back.
image source
This is where we sat. She called us all, all seven of us.
"¡Vengan mi'jos!", Come my children," she said to us, "I will tell you a story about a woman named Maria. ¡Pobrecita!, poor thing, she lost it all.
I will tell you this, because you need to know. You need to know her story...
She lived right over there, you see...over there, near those trees. I met her while we were washing clothes in el río...
image source
...you know back in those
days, we used to have to wash clothes by hand,
in the river, it was very hard work!.
Not like today.
Now you have those fancy machines.
No, no...we had to do it by hand...
scrubbing against those rocks, you see.
Life was hard back then.
in the river, it was very hard work!.
Not like today.
Now you have those fancy machines.
No, no...we had to do it by hand...
scrubbing against those rocks, you see.
Life was hard back then.
Still is...but in a
different way..."
My abuelita was like that.
She spoke in phrases,
going back and forth from past to present then back to the past,
as if time were entwined.
She said Maria came from the mountains,
from Los Andes,
carrying a baby.
No one really knew who had fathered her baby.
She came down from the mountains,
from a place called La Azulita.
She came down to find work
in the barrios of Tia Juana,
hoping for a better life.
I asked my abuelita what it meant,
the word La Azulita,
she said it meant "The blue."
I thought to myself, Maria came from "the blue"?
Strange.
Seemed strange to me that anyone could come from "the blue".
Abuelita continued her story...
"Maria came down, looking for work. Your abuelito gave her a job.
She took care of your father when he was a child.
She cooked and cleaned and together we washed clothes.
You see, I had met her at el río,
and it was there that she told me of her misfortune.
She had a baby, had no place to go.
I told her to come by the house, that we could use some help.
And she did.
Your abuelito gave her a job.
She was very happy, as was I.
I had someone to keep me company and help out with all the chores.
She was happy, as was I.
We kept each other company.
She had a boy, a baby boy.
Narciso was his name."
family photo
"He was special," said abuelita "Narciso era especial.
He loved playing near the water,
tirando piedras, skipping pebbles on the water,
haciendo muecas en el agua,
looking at his reflection and making faces,
always active, always running, always asking for attention.
It was hard mi'jos!.
Don't think it was easy washing clothes in el río and watching the kids at the same time, them all running back and forth, mamá this, mamá that...
it was hard mi'jos, it wasn't easy!"
"¡Pobrecita Maria! She never got over it,"
Abuelita kept repeating these words as if Maria was still with us.
And then she said it.
She finally told.
She crossed herself
and as she crossed herself she cried
"¡Ay, Dios mio!, Oh Lord!
How could she have known?"
Chills ran up my spine!
"You see...it was late,
getting dark,
she had to hurry,
no time to spare.
Narciso was there,
his usual self,
mamá this,
mamá that,
look at me,
look mamá!
No time to spare,
no time that day...
poor Narciso,
she looked away!
The child was gone...he drowned that day...his poor mother could not forget.
The boy's body was never found.
You'd think it'd be easy to spot in an arroyo,
but that day,
that dreadful day,
for some reason, it drifted away
and took with it
su espíritu, su crorazon.
Yes,
along with it,
it took her heart,
Maria's soul."
She came from La Azulita, from the blue...She killed herself, you know?
Tears ran down my face!
How could a mother ever forget?
Abuelita looked at me and saw my pain,
"Mi Lloronita, come wipe your face, it is Maria who sheds those tears...
Listen carefully, this I know: she's still looking for her lost soul."
image source
"Come close to me, her pain is great, her sorrow forever more.
She lost a child, a little boy."
"¡Cuidado! "said abuelita, "she'll take you in place of him."
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
These are the words
abuelita said
we would hear
right before she would appear.
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
Llorando, she would call for him...
for her...for me...for you...her child,
her lost soul.
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
image source
"Cuidado,"said abuelita, "Maria has yet to find him.
That crying woman still looks for him.
She comes out right about the same time she lost him,
right before the sun sets.
My abuelita was like that.
She spoke in phrases,
going back and forth from past to present then back to the past,
as if time were entwined.
She said Maria came from the mountains,
from Los Andes,
carrying a baby.
No one really knew who had fathered her baby.
She came down from the mountains,
from a place called La Azulita.
She came down to find work
in the barrios of Tia Juana,
hoping for a better life.
I asked my abuelita what it meant,
the word La Azulita,
she said it meant "The blue."
I thought to myself, Maria came from "the blue"?
Strange.
Seemed strange to me that anyone could come from "the blue".
Abuelita continued her story...
"Maria came down, looking for work. Your abuelito gave her a job.
She took care of your father when he was a child.
She cooked and cleaned and together we washed clothes.
You see, I had met her at el río,
and it was there that she told me of her misfortune.
She had a baby, had no place to go.
I told her to come by the house, that we could use some help.
And she did.
Your abuelito gave her a job.
She was very happy, as was I.
I had someone to keep me company and help out with all the chores.
She was happy, as was I.
We kept each other company.
She had a boy, a baby boy.
Narciso was his name."
family photo
"He was special," said abuelita "Narciso era especial.
He loved playing near the water,
tirando piedras, skipping pebbles on the water,
haciendo muecas en el agua,
looking at his reflection and making faces,
always active, always running, always asking for attention.
It was hard mi'jos!.
Don't think it was easy washing clothes in el río and watching the kids at the same time, them all running back and forth, mamá this, mamá that...
it was hard mi'jos, it wasn't easy!"
"¡Pobrecita Maria! She never got over it,"
Abuelita kept repeating these words as if Maria was still with us.
And then she said it.
She finally told.
She crossed herself
and as she crossed herself she cried
"¡Ay, Dios mio!, Oh Lord!
How could she have known?"
Chills ran up my spine!
"You see...it was late,
getting dark,
she had to hurry,
no time to spare.
Narciso was there,
his usual self,
mamá this,
mamá that,
look at me,
look mamá!
No time to spare,
no time that day...
poor Narciso,
she looked away!
The child was gone...he drowned that day...his poor mother could not forget.
The boy's body was never found.
You'd think it'd be easy to spot in an arroyo,
but that day,
that dreadful day,
for some reason, it drifted away
and took with it
su espíritu, su crorazon.
Yes,
along with it,
it took her heart,
Maria's soul."
She came from La Azulita, from the blue...She killed herself, you know?
Tears ran down my face!
How could a mother ever forget?
Abuelita looked at me and saw my pain,
"Mi Lloronita, come wipe your face, it is Maria who sheds those tears...
Listen carefully, this I know: she's still looking for her lost soul."
image source
"Come close to me, her pain is great, her sorrow forever more.
She lost a child, a little boy."
"¡Cuidado! "said abuelita, "she'll take you in place of him."
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
These are the words
abuelita said
we would hear
right before she would appear.
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
Llorando, she would call for him...
for her...for me...for you...her child,
her lost soul.
¡ Mi hijo...Aay...mi hijo...!
image source
"Cuidado,"said abuelita, "Maria has yet to find him.
That crying woman still looks for him.
She comes out right about the same time she lost him,
right before the sun sets.
Be sure to be home before
this time...
es que this time belongs to her, es que es la hora de La Llorona."
es que this time belongs to her, es que es la hora de La Llorona."