Juan Bobo Goes to Hear Mass

The following is my translation of “Juan Bobo va a oír misa” by Rosario Ferré. I will confess to a lack of familiarity with Ferré and her writing style, which could not have helped this translation.

Juan Bobo is a character from Puerto Rican legend, and the simpleton his name implies.

Juan Bobo Goes to Hear Mass

“Ma! I wanna go to mass today!” Juan Bobo said to his mother one Sunday.

“Oh, Juan Bobo, mijo,” his mother replied. “How wonderful it is that you want to go to mass! But I can’t take you. I’m very sick.”

“Don’t worry, Ma. Don’t worry,” Juan Bobo said. “Tell me where’s the church, so I know what I half to do!”

Then his mother told him which way to go and that where he saw a lot of people coming in and going out, right there was the church. Before she’d even finished speaking, Juan Bobo put on his new windbreaker and left to look for the church.

After walking a while, he arrived at a house where a baptism was being celebrated. Many people were coming in and going out from the house, and Juan Bobo moved closer, to see what was happening. The table was set, and all sorts of trays sat on the lace tablecloth, illuminated by silver candelabra. The trays were filled with an array of exquisite dishes: sausages of veal and chicken, golden-fried pork, cold baked ham, duck jelly, pickles, pickled meats, soft cookies, deep-fried bananas filled with meat, fried cornmeal, fried strips of codfish, and so on and so on.

Juan Bobo approached the table like someone who passes the gates of delight. But seeing the world on its feet greeting each other and making polite conversation, he kept himself in a corner, watching everything without breaking in to try anything. The child baptized and anointed with oils and salts, the obligatory congratulations between priest and parents fulfilled, the guests came to the table, where with great elegance they ate and drank everything. Finally, they left the church, saying goodbyes as they went. When Juan Bobo found himself alone before that table, with a feast of leftovers and crumbs like he’d never seen in his life, he had his afternoon snack and dinner all at once, scarfing down what they’d left him. As soon as he was full, he ran back to his house.

“Hey, Ma,” he said. “If you only knew what a great mass I heard! I stayed there until the end, and boy, did I eat!”

“Eh, muchacho, but what have you done!” his mother said. “God knows where you’ve been. I was very afraid you wound up where there was no mass.”

The next week, Juan Bobo said, “Listen, Ma. I wanna go back and go to mass this Sunday.”

“Oh, yes, mijo,” his mother said. “How nice that you want to go to mass! But be careful where you stick your nose, and remember, the church is over where all the people are coming in and going out.”

Right away Juan Bobo put on his jacket again and, as misfortunes seek and find the unlucky, he went out in the street to look for the church. He actually came across it this time.

When Juan Bobo cam in through the atrium, the main mass was being held. He greeted the whole world with great ease. At the back of the nave he made out a great table laid with beautiful lace tablecloths and lit by silver candelabra, something that reaffirmed his confidence that he was in the place he’d been looking for. He stopped at the door of the church, and saw how all of the people coming in dipped their hand in the stoup of holy water and made the sign of the cross. Juan Bobo thought that, as they were very refined people, they would only come over and, with their fingertips, try he delicacy at the bottom of the stoup. He kept himself stolen away in a corner, waiting for all of them to go by. When he found himself alone, he grabbed the stoup of holy water with both hands and drank it all in one gulp.

“Avemaría purísima! What a salty stew!” he said. “Why, if they ate all the stew and left me nothing but the water…”

Juan Bobo waited for the ceremony to end. When he saw that the parishioners, at communion time, approached the altar on the tips of their toes, he kept himself put one last time. Then he drew himself closer and closer, with great affectation, to where the priest stood. He opened his mouth wider than a funnel, so that he too might be given something to eat. But when his turn came and the host was placed on his tongue, he shouted out, “Avemaría purísima! What a sick-looking little cookie they’ve given me!” And, sticking his hand in the chalice, he grabbed ten more hosts and swallowed them in a single gulp. With that, the priest rose, indignant, calling to the usher. The two of them threw Juan Bobo out of the church on his ass.

Juan Bobo beat it out of there, and as soon as he arrived back at his house, went to where his mother was and sadly told her of what had happened.

“Oh, Ma, if you knew what a crappy mass I heard! I feel like I haven’t even had breakfast! I got to the church and waited patiently for the ceremony to end. But when mealtime came, they wanted to give me a little pot of salt water and a little cookie, and when I asked them to give me more, they beat the crap out of me. I wound up where I shouldn’t have.”

And Kikirikí, Kikirimoche, this story is over. To anyone who takes a turn, may you shit during the day, not at night.