Nota de la editora: Las columnas semanales de Torres contienen una mezcla de vocabulario formal en inglés con un Español fonético y coloquial que el autor aprendió durante su niñez en el área de Taos.


As he was watching his old grampo nap-ear, Canutito thought about just how much estaba aprendiendo from him. He himself was still a little wet-behind-the ears; a real mococito, but one day él también would be wise. Once he heard his grampo give the first ronquido, Canutito decided to sneak away. With all of his snoring, no one would see him descabullirse. By slow degrees, paso a paso, he came up to the vato over in front of La Fonda Bar.

"Dispénsame," he began addressing the older boy tímidamente. "I heard you say que tu nombre es Joe."

"That's what the vatos in my cantón call me, ese," he replied, all the while sucking on the wrong end of a match."

"My name is, uh..." Canutito paused briefly to think about what he was going to say next. "Uh, yo me llamo Junior. I think your wheels son muy cool," he continued, trying to sound as hip como posible.

"They're not too bad," retorted Joe. "I got a real good precio on them, mainly porque uno de los fenders was un poco chueco. But, cuando le doy gas, I can pelar llanta like nobody's business."

Canutito snickered, trying to imaginarlo 'peeling tire'.

"What? You've never heard anybody say 'pelar llanta' before?" questioned the older boy. There's a whole mess of cosas that I can teach you, ese."

"Like what?" asked Canutito, glad to be talking a una persona que sabía different things than his grampo.

"Like this," said Joe, indicando his shirt.

"Your camisa?" Canutito asked.

"Not a camisa, ese," Joe corrected him. It's a 'lisa."

"'Lisa," repeated the younger boy. And pointing to the cigarette que Joe tenía detrás de su ear, he asked, "And what do you call that?"

"That's a frajo and you light it with a mecha," he said pointing to the match hanging out de su boca. I keep a whole bonche here in the pocket of my troles," he said, indicando sus low-slung pants.

"And what do you call your zapatos?" asked Canutito, indicando que he wanted to know the 'chuc word for shoes.

"Those are papos, ese," Joe answered. And the shoe laces are called cintas."

"Where did you learn so much?" asked Canutito.

"From listening to my old man. My jefito used to like to hang around La Fonda, pero un día one of the wisas that drinks birria here, stole a twenty dollar bill from him and she hid it en el mero siete. So he don't go there no more."

The younger boy tried to imaginarse just what 'the very seven' might be. He had often heard his grampo talk about people que venían out of nowhere as coming from el quinto infierno and that conjured up all kinds of images for him, this Fifth Hell. But el mero siete? Hmmm, he just no tenía un clue.

"¿Por qué es you're not in school?" he ventured to ask Joe.

"I don't do the iscue thing," Joe answered. I didn't like the jale.

Canutito glanced nervously toward his grampo allá en el park bench. He was coming out of his siesta and stretching.

"Bueno, bye," he threw back over his shoulder as he hurried back.

"And where were you?" grampo asked sleepily.

"I was with that vato loco with the cool 'lisa and the baggy troles. He has a frajo behind his ear and a mecha in his boca. His papos don't have no cintas cuz that's what he learned from his jefito who likes to swig birria while he thinks that his son is in the iscue and he stays away from wisas who steal his money and stick it en el mero siete."

Grampo Caralampio opened his eyes wide.

"Arredo vayas!" he exclaimed. Where did you learn how to talk 'chuc?"...

¿Le gustaría compartir sus anécdotas sobre su vida Spanglish con Torres o comentar con él sobre esta columna? Envíele un corre electrónico a lartor@unm.edu