La Llorona
Entertaining my three granddaughters when they come to our house doesn't
require much imagination or effort. What we mainly do is Play. Among their favorite
past times are drawing, playing house and racing the Matchbox cars that
belonged to their dad. We've also invented a few games that they never tire of.
There’s “Monsters and Animals” which
involves pushing, shoving and tickling on top of their grandparents’ bed.
“I’m an alligator with
sharp teeth.”
“I’m a hippo with a
huge mouth.”
“And I’m a lion with
sharp claws.”
And we roll and tickle and shove and laugh until grandmother Sue calls time
out for a rest.
Another all time favorite is our
version of Jack and the Beanstalk. They call the game “Fee-fi-fo-fu.” I, the
giant, stomp around the house hunting for them in their hiding places, while I
growl, “Fee-fi-fo-fum.” Their giggling usually gives them away, followed by
screams when I find them and threaten to take out a bite of a plump arm or leg.
Last week, we played a Latin
American version. We had just watched a Mexican movie, “La Llorona,” based on a legend of Maria, whose children had
drowned. Destined to haunt the villages at night in a shroud, wailing for her lost
children, she kidnaps village children. I learned of the legend years ago in
California and heard the song “La Llorona” on Mexican radio stations. But my
Chilean husband had never heard of it.
Throwing a large dark blue shawl
over my head, I announced to the girls, “Soy
la Llorona. I’m the Llorona”. With
hysterical screams, they ran off to find hiding places. I wailed throughout the
house, discovering their curled up bodies in dark closet corners, behind
armchairs and, finally, under their grandfather’s office desk, with him trying
to put on an innocent face.