Sunday Paella

Every Sunday for as long as she could remember, Inés's grandfather had made paella. Not the kind tourists ate in cheap restaurants by the beach, but the slow kind, with bones and saffron and rabbit on a good day. He made it on the patio over a wood fire he started himself, even now that he was eighty-three.

Kila Jumapili kwa muda mrefu Inés alivyoweza kukumbuka, babu yake alikuwa akitengeneza paella. Sio aina ambayo watalii hula katika mikahawa ya bei nafuu kando ya ufuo, bali ile ya polepole, yenye mifupa na zafarani na sungura siku nzuri. Aliitengeneza kwenye uwanja juu ya moto wa kuni aliouwasha mwenyewe, hata sasa akiwa na umri wa miaka themanini na tatu.

This Sunday Inés had come home from Madrid to see him. He was thinner than the last time. He moved more carefully. But when she walked into the patio, he was already crouched by the fire, adjusting the logs with a long iron stick.

Jumapili hii Inés alirudi nyumbani kutoka Madrid kumwona. Alikuwa mwembamba zaidi kuliko mara ya mwisho. Alitembea kwa uangalifu zaidi. Lakini alipofika kwenye uwanja, tayari alikuwa ameinama karibu na moto, akirekebisha kuni kwa fimbo ndefu ya chuma.

"You're late," he said, without turning around. He always said this even when she was early.

"Umechelewa," alisema, bila kugeuka. Alikuwa akisema hivi kila mara hata alipowahi.

She knelt next to him and looked at the pan. The rice was just starting to absorb the broth. The kitchen behind them smelled like garlic and rosemary. Her grandmother was somewhere inside, banging plates onto the table.

Alipiga magoti karibu naye na kutazama sufuria. Mchele ulikuwa umeanza tu kunyonya mchuzi. Jikoni nyuma yao ilinukia vitunguu saumu na rosemary. Bibi yake alikuwa mahali fulani ndani, akipiga sahani mezani.

He pointed at the pan with his stick. "You watch this one. Don't stir it. People who stir paella don't understand paella."

Alionyesha sufuria kwa fimbo yake. "Angalia hii. Usichanganye. Watu wanaochanganya paella hawaelewi paella."

Inés didn't move for thirty minutes. She watched the rice change color, watched the bottom of the pan catch and brown, watched her grandfather watch her. When he finally took the pan off the fire, he nodded once. She did not need him to say anything else.

Inés hakusogea kwa dakika thelathini. Alitazama mchele ukibadilika rangi, alitazama chini ya sufuria ikikauka na kuwa kahawia, alitazama babu yake akimtazama. Alipomaliza kuondoa sufuria kwenye moto, alitikisa kichwa mara moja. Hakuhitaji kusema chochote zaidi.