Honoring the ancestors (Eng/Esp)

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We must honor our ancestors because from them we received the teachings that have been transmitted from generation to generation. You are now the result of everything that has happened in the past That was what my grandmother used to say to my brother Alberto and me, for as long as I can remember.

But behind this speech that she repeated over and over again like a litany to convince us, I began to suspect that there was an elephant in the room.

My first suspicion was when I was in high school. We had been sent to do research on our ancestors, where my grandparents and great-grandparents were from and if we could get to the great-great-grandparents and with this information elaborate the family tree. My maternal grandparents were German, hence my name: Adelaide Hernandez Müller and I was very proud to carry my second last name.

My grandfather Humberto had died a year ago, he did not live with us, he was a lonely and adventurous man. I remembered him as a child when he would come to the house to visit us. I would see him as a giant when he bent down to pass through the door. His piercing, cold gray eyes contrasted with his warm smile. He would sit my brother and me on his long legs and give us money to buy candy and tell us about his adventures.

To begin my research, I took advantage of an afternoon when my parents and my maternal grandmother were sitting on the big sofas in our house, drinking coffee and talking.

The house was very old, located in a colonial area of the city, where some houses of that era were still standing, with large inner courtyards and long corridors.

I arrived with my notebook and a pencil, sat between my grandmother and my mother, and began to question them.

"Grandma, what part of Germany was your family from?"

She looked at me with her deep blue eyes and I admired her soft pink skin, after a few seconds she answered me slowly.

"I already told you that my family was not from Germany, but from Austria".

"Ah! Okay!". And I kept asking for details.

"My grandfather, yes he was German, and his parents, my great-grandparents too, I needed their full names"

"Daughter!, why do you want to know so many details?".

"Well, mom, it's a job I need them. I have never known the full names of my great-grandparents. I only know that their names were Joachim and Magda Müller".

"That's all you can know, I don't remember much about them, I only saw them in pictures"

I felt that my grandmother didn't want to tell me more, for some reason I didn't understand, I forgive that she aroused my curiosity. She and my mother were hiding something from me and my father was not very interested in this matter because he had no opinion, he was like a zero to the left.

From that moment on, I set out to find out what the mystery was with my grandfather and his parents.

My first step was to search the internet, but with so little data, it was very difficult to find information that related to the names of my great-grandparents. The surname Müller was very common, and it was also very difficult to find information about my great-grandparents' names.

The only piece of information I had was the city of Colonia, because my grandfather told me that he was a Colón because he was born there.

As a second strategy, I decided that I would talk to my mother alone. Maybe without my grandmother present, she would give me some information.

"Daughter, it's better that you don't keep investigating, leave it at that, I don't know the details in my grandparents' life. My parents were very reserved and I respected their decision".

"But mother! weren't you curious to know about their lives, to know why they didn't stay in Germany?"

"Daughter, there was a terrible war, many Germans fled from that madness."

"But my great-grandparents didn't come, why?"

"Daughter, let's leave this conversation until here, and don't even think of bothering your grandmother. She is 98 years old, her memory is failing her, and it is not good to distress her"

But my mother instead of making me desist had increased my interest and I decided to talk to my father. Maybe he knew something my mother had told him about her family.

I found him in the courtyard, sitting under the shade of the mango tree, and when he saw me coming he figured out what I was up to.

"You look so much like your mother, the same shade of honey-colored hair but with black eyes".

"I wish I had gray eyes like her and my grandfather"

"Your black eyes are beautiful and look just like mine".

I smiled, I knew he was sometimes jealous of my love for my mother's family..

"Daddy, I need you to help me find out who my grandparents and great-grandparents were"

"Your grandfather was the loving person you knew and loved very much and your grandmother has been with you since you were born, loving you and taking care of you Your great-grandparents lived in a difficult time That is all I know and that is what you should know".

My father's words moved me, and I decided not to continue my research. I accepted that the past must be left behind. The important thing is that my grandparents were able to start a new life, and I was content with that.

That night I went to my room calmly because of the decision I had made and as I passed by my grandmother's room to say goodnight, she asked me to sit next to her on the bed.

"I want to show you something"

She took a polished wooden box she had on the nightstand and opened it.

"This box was given to me by your grandfather, he worked very well with wood, he had learned with his father. They were good, hardworking people until hatred filled their hearts. As she spoke, my grandmother showed me some yellowed photos of my father as a young man next to his parents. A tall, thin man with a serious expression, and she was a stout woman with long black hair.

"They were swayed by the desire for revenge and supported a terrible war"

In the other photograph, my great-grandfather was in the uniform of the German army.

"But your grandfather and I disagreed and escaped from that horror and hid it, we didn't want you and your brother to know"

"You were right, grandmother, my father made me understand"

"No, Adelaide, I have been thinking about it these days and the truth should not be hidden. Do you remember that I told them that we have to honor our ancestors?"

"Yes, grandmother"

"That is what it means to honor them. It is knowing the past through their lives and becoming better and better people and knowing that despite what happened, we love them. They taught us through their mistakes to be tolerant and accept differences in order to live in peace. Do not forget and don't forget us"

"I won't do it grandma!" I hugged her tightly and felt very happy and proud. I understood that my grandparents had suffered a lot, but they had found peace and tranquility in this land.

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Honrando a los ancestros

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Hay que honrar a nuestros ancestros porque de ellos recibimos las enseñanzas que se han transmitido de generación en generación. Ustedes son ahora el resultado de todo lo que ha ocurrido en el pasado. Eso era lo que nos decía mi abuela a mi hermano Alberto y a mí, desde que recuerdo.

Pero detrás de este discurso que repetía una y otra vez como una letanía para convencernos, yo comencé a sospechar que había un elefante en la habitación.

Mi primera sospecha fue cuando estaba en bachillerato. Nos habían mandado a hacer una investigación sobre nuestros antepasados, de dónde eran mis abuelos y mis bisabuelos y si se podía llegar hasta los tatarabuelos y con esta información elaborar el árbol genealógico. Mis abuelos maternos eran alemanes, de ahí mi nombre: Adelaida Hernández Muller y yo estaba muy orgullosa de llevar mi segundo apellido.

Mi abuelo Humberto había muerto hace un año, no vivía con nosotros, era un hombre solitario y aventurero. Lo recordaba de niña cuando venía a la casa a visitarnos. Yo lo veía como un gigante cuando se agachaba para pasar por la puerta. Sus penetrantes y fríos ojos grises contrastaban con su cálida sonrisa. Nos sentaba a mi hermano y a mí en sus largas piernas a darnos dinero para que compráramos dulces y a contarnos sus aventuras.

Para iniciar mi investigación, aproveché una tarde en que mis padres y mi abuela materna, estaban sentados en los grandes sofás de nuestra casa, tomando café y conversando. La casa era muy antigua, ubicada en una zona colonial de la ciudad, donde se mantenían algunas viviendas de esa época, con grandes patios interiores y largos pasillos.

Llegué con mi cuaderno y un lápiz, me senté entre mi abuela y mi madre y comencé a interrogarlos.

—Abuela de que parte de Alemania eras tu y tu familia.

Ella me miró con sus hundidos ojos azules y admiré su piel suave y rosada, luego de unos segundos me contestó con lentitud.

—Ya te he dicho que mi familia no era de Alemania,, sino de Austria.

—¡Ah! ¡Ok! —Y seguí preguntando detalles.

—Mi abuelo, si era alemán, y sus padres, mis bisabuelos también, necesitó sus nombres completos.

—¡Hija! ¿por qué quieres saber tantos detalles?.

—Bueno, mamá es para un trabajo que los necesito. Nunca he sabido los nombres completos de mis bisabuelos. Solo sé que se llamaban Joachin y Magda Müller.

—Eso es todo lo que puedes saber, no recuerdo mucho de ellos, solo los vi en fotografías. —Sentí que mi abuela no quería decirme más, por alguna razón que no entendía, pero eso despertó mi curiosidad! Ella y mi madre me ocultaban algo y mi padre no se interesaba mucho en este asunto porque no opinaba nada, era como un cero a la izquierda.

Desde ese momento me propuse averiguar que misterio había con mi abuelo y sus padres.

Mi primer paso fue buscar por internet, pero con tan pocos datos era muy difícil encontrar una información que relacionara con los nombres de mis bisabuelos. El apellido Müller era muy común, y también el nombre de Joachin. El único dato que tenía era la ciudad de Colonia, porque mi abuelo me había dijo que él era colones porque había nacido allí.

Como segunda estrategia decidí que hablaría con mi madre a solas. Tal vez sin mi abuela presente, ella me daría alguna información.

—Hija, es mejor que no sigas investigando, deja eso así, yo no conozco los detalles en la vida de mis abuelos. Mis padres fueron muy reservados y yo respeté su decisión.

—¡Pero mamá! no te daba curiosidad conocer sobre sus vidas, saber por qué no se quedaron en Alemania.

—Hija, hubo una guerra terrible, muchos alemanes huyeron de esa locura.

—Pero mis bisabuelos no se vinieron, ¿por qué?

—Hija, vamos a dejar esta conversación hasta aquí y ni se te ocurra molestar a tu abuela. Ella tiene 98 años, su memoria le está fallando y no es bueno angustiarla.

Pero mi madre en vez de hacerme desistir había incrementado mi interés y decidí hablar con mi padre. Tal vez supiera algo que mi madre le hubiera contado sobre su familia.

Lo encontré en el patio, sentado bajo la sombra del árbol de mango, cuando me vio venir ya se imaginó a lo que iba.

—Te pareces tanto a tu madre, el mismo tono de cabello color miel pero con los ojos negros.

— Me hubiera gustado tener los ojos grises como ella y los de mi abuelo.

—Tus ojos negros son hermosos y se parecen a los míos.

Me sonreí, se que él a veces sentía celos de mi amor por la familia de mi madre.

—Papi, necesito que me ayudes a saber quienes eran mis abuelos y mis bisabuelos.

Tu abuelo fue la persona amorosa que tú conociste y al que quisiste mucho y tu abuela ha estado contigo desde que naciste, queriéndote y cuidándote. Tus bisabuelos vivieron en una época difícil Es todo lo que sé y es lo que tú debes saber.

Las palabras de mi padre me conmovieron y decidí no continuar con mi investigación. Acepté que el pasado debe quedar atrás. Lo importante es que mis abuelos pudieron iniciar una nueva vida y con eso me conformé.

Esa noche me fui a mi habitación tranquila por la decisión que había tomado y al pasar por el cuarto de mi abuela para darle las buenas noches, me pidió que me sentara a su lado en la cama.

—Te quiero mostrar algo

Tomó una caja de madera pulida que tenía sobre la mesa de noche y la abrió.

—Esta caja me la regaló tu abuelo, trabajaba muy bien la madera, había aprendido con su padre. Ellos eran personas buenas y trabajadoras hasta que el odio llenó sus corazones. —Mientras hablaba, mi abuela me mostraba unas fotos amarillentas de mi padre muy joven al lado de sus padres. Èl un hombre alto y delgado con una expresión seria y ella una mujer alta y corpulenta de largos cabellos negros.

—Ellos se dejaron influenciar por el deseo de venganza y apoyaron una guerra terrible.

En la otra fotografía mi bisabuelo tenía el uniforme del ejército alemán.

—Pero tu abuelo y yo no estábamos de acuerdo y escapamos de aquel horror y lo ocultamos, no queríamos que tu hermano y tú lo supieran.

—Tenías razón, abuela, mi padre me hizo entender.

—No, Adelaida, yo lo he pensado en estos días y la verdad no se debe ocultar. ¿Te acuerdas de que les decía que hay que honrar a los ancestros?

—Sí, abuela.

—Eso es lo que significa honrarlos. Es conocer el pasado a través de sus vidas, ser cada vez mejores personas y sabiendo que a pesar de lo que sucedio, los amamos. Ellos nos enseñaron a través de sus errores a ser tolerantes y aceptar las diferencias para vivir en paz. No lo olvides y no nos olvides.

—No lo haré abuela. —La abracé muy fuerte y me sentí muy felíz y orgullosa. Comprendí que mis abuelos habían sufrido mucho, pero habían encontrado la paz y la tranquilidad en esta tierra.

La traducción del texto al inglés lo realicé en www.deepl.com