Lingguhang Paella

Tuwing Linggo, mula pa noong bata pa si Inés, gumagawa na ng paella ang kanyang lolo. Hindi ito yung klase na kinakain ng mga turista sa murang kainan sa tabing-dagat, kundi yung mabagal na luto, may buto, saffron, at kuneho kapag may maganda-gandang araw. Ginagawa niya ito sa patio gamit ang kahoy na apoy na siya mismo ang nagsisindi, kahit ngayong siya ay walumpu't tatlong taong gulang na.

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.

Ngayong Linggo, umuwi si Inés mula Madrid para makita siya. Mas payat na siya kaysa noong huli silang nagkita. Mas maingat na rin siyang kumilos. Pero nang pumasok si Inés sa patio, nakayuko na ang lolo niya sa tabi ng apoy, inaayos ang mga kahoy gamit ang mahabang bakal na pamalo.

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.

"Late ka," sabi nito, hindi man lang lumingon. Lagi niya itong sinasabi kahit maaga pa si Inés.

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

Lumuhod siya sa tabi nito at tiningnan ang kawali. Nagsisimula pa lang sumipsip ng sabaw ang kanin. Amoy bawang at romero ang kusina sa likod nila. Ang lola niya ay nasa loob, naglalatag ng mga plato sa mesa.

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.

Tinuro ng lolo niya ang kawali gamit ang pamalo. "Ikaw ang bahala dito. Huwag mong hahaluin. Ang mga humahalo sa paella, hindi naiintindihan ang paella."

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

Hindi gumalaw si Inés ng tatlumpung minuto. Pinanood niya ang pagbabago ng kulay ng kanin, ang pagkapula ng ilalim ng kawali, at ang lolo niyang pinapanood siya. Nang sa wakas ay inalis na ng lolo niya ang kawali sa apoy, tumango ito ng isang beses. Hindi na niya kailangang magsalita pa.

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.