From Carol-Ann Rudy

I’ve just read the article, “The Cayman Islands: nature and wildlife”, and these sentences:

“Little Cayman, a last remnant of a truly wild Caribbean, is home to the largest population of the red-footed booby in the Western Hemisphere. This comical-looking bird shares its pond with magnificent frigate birds, with their 6ft wingspan; West Indian whistling ducks, little blue herons, snowy egrets and barn swallows.”

[go to: http://www.ieyenews.com/2013/05/the-cayman-islands-nature-and-wildlife/]

It prompted me to recall one of my original folktales, so I’m attaching it, and hope you’ll get a kick out of it. It’s straight out of the imagination of……

Cloud Leaper

By Carol-Ann Rudy

There was a boy who lived in a village snugged against a mountainside. With his friends, Padreo learned his lessons in school. With his family, he sat and listened as the elders of the village spoke. With the animals and the birds playing at the waterhole, he laughed. Life was as perfect as perfect could be.

He saw gardens like huge dinner plates stacked one above the other, spilling down the mountainside. In those gardens grew flowers and ferns of every color and shape. Vegetables and roots grew there too, and fruit and nuts fell from the trees. In the kraals, cattle, sheep, and goats mooed and baahed. In the yards, chickens clucked and pecked at grain.

He looked down the mountain at the valley below and saw the green and gold quilt of fields where wheat, barley, and oats waved in the wind. A river wound its way slowly between them while fish swam and leaped.

“What makes our home so perfect?” Padreo asked his father.

“It is the blessings of the rain, the sun, and the goodness of the soil.”

Padreo thought about this. “But what would happen if the grain died, Father?”

“We would still have all that grows on the mountainside.”

“But what if all that were to die too, Father?”

“Well, we would still have our cows, goats, sheep, chickens and the fish that swim in the river.”

“But Father, what if they were to die? What if they all died?”

His father stroked his chin.

“Why, then, Son, so would we.”

Padreo thought about this a long time.

One day he went to the river with his father to fish, but caught nothing. Walking through a field of grain, he saw that it was brown and withered before its time. “Why is it brown, Father?”

“Because the soil is dry, Padreo. The fields need rain.” Together, they shaded their eyes and looked up at the sky. Clouds heavy with rain flew across the skies, but not a drop fell.

Padreo went to pick pears in the orchards above the house. They were shrunken and dark. Turning to his father again, he asked, “Why are the pears all dried up, Father?“

“It has not rained for a few months now, Son.” For a long moment, his father looked dark too.

Sad, Padreo went to the watering hole. It was half-empty. Only one creature was there, a bird he had never seen before. It had a crest of red feathers, a bib of neon-bright blue plumes, and the biggest bright red feet he had ever seen on a bird! When it stood up and shook water from itself, its crest and bib shook from side-to-side and its skinny knees wobbled.

Padreo laughed, “Ha, ha, ha! You’re a clown!”

He laughed even louder as he watched the bird hop through the pond, first on one leg then the other. Every time it did that, its huge red feet caused the water to splash over the edge of the pond, watering the bright green moss that grew near its edge.

“Hey, little clown-bird,” he called out, “you’ve given me an idea!”

That evening he walked with his father, mother, sisters and brother to the campfire around which the elders sat listening to ideas and giving advice to all who asked.

Padreo could hardly wait for his turn to speak to them, his first time ever.

“I am proud of you, Son,” said his father, “that you wish to speak. I know that you will make your family proud.”

“Revered Elders,” Padreo began, “my father and I have seen how the clouds fly over our home on the mountain, refusing to give up their gift of rain. We have seen how the fields wither, the fruit shrivels, the fish do not leap and the animals do not play.

The food on our plates grows scarce and we wither too. But I have an idea that will make all things as they were before!”

The elders looked at each other in great surprise. They murmured amongst each other, “Who is this boy that claims to cure the illness that strikes our village and the valley?”

Padreo’s father stood beside him, “This is my son, honored Elders.” Padreo was sure his father stood taller than usual.

“Well, then, speak up young man, and tell us your idea.”

Padreo was more excited than before. “It is this, Revered Ones. I will be like the red clown-bird who jumps in the pond causing the water to splash all around. I will go to the top of the mountain and there I will leap onto the first passing cloud and the rain will be forced to fall.”

The villagers fell silent. The elders stared. Even his father turned and stared at him.

Finally, the headman spoke, looking directly at Padreo’s father. “Have you raised an idiot for a son? Everyone knows that if you step onto a cloud, you will fall right through it.”

Padreo looked up at his father, who was turning a shade of crimson. His father turned him around and marched him back home without a word. Once there, he placed both hands on Padreo’s shoulders and said, “How have I failed you?” then he turned and said not another word.

I have shamed my father, thought Padreo.

The next day he walked to the pond with his head hung low. Everyone stepped to the side of the road rather than speak to him. That’s all right, he thought. I will talk to the clown-bird. He will understand that my father is ashamed of me and my friends don’t want to be seen talking with me, but he will not care.

Once again, clown-bird was the only creature at the pond. Padreo smiled at the sight of him in spite of his sadness. There was little water left. He watched as the clown-bird leaped with his big red feet from one green lily pad to another. Water still splashed over the edge.

“Ah, clown-bird, tomorrow there may be no water left. Meantime, let’s laugh.” And laugh they did, Padreo with his “Ha, ha, ha” and the clown-bird with a marvelous

“Whoo-whoo!”

Clown-bird grew tired after a while and sat on a lily pad to preen his feathers with his beak. When he was done, he stood up and walked out of the pond, dragging his huge red feet behind him.

Padreo’s eyes grew big. “Why, clown-bird, you’ve done it again! Now I know how to make the rain come! Thank you, clown-bird!” He ran home as fast as he could.

Early the next morning, he put a few things into a bundle. “This is not so heavy, it won’t slow me down.”

He ran to the mountain.

He ran up the trail that switched back and forth.

He reached the summit of the mountain.

He was ready. “All right, clouds. You are full of rain and we need you. You ran from the mountains, you ran from the orchards, you ran from the fields and the river. But you won’t run away from me!”

Padreo prepared to face them. The wind blew hard, trying to push him back down the mountain. He bent over, unwrapped his bundle, and prepared to take on the clouds.

Ready, Padreo took a big deep breath. “Okay, clouds, here I come!”

And he leaped onto the nearest cloud—with his feet wrapped in huge red banana leaves, tied with vines.

He leaped from place to place on the cloud with a “splat!” and never for more than a second.

Rain splashed out of the cloud with every leap. It gushed onto the mountain below and poured onto the orchards, the gardens, the village, and the fields. From far below came the sound of many voices cheering.

At last, his big red feet of banana leaves started to shred. He made one final leap onto the mountain top, unwrapped the worn-out leaves and walked down the mountainside in the rain.

“Padreo! Cloud Leaper!” everyone cried out. “We love you, Padreo! You have saved us.”

His father reached out to him. “You’ve made your family proud, Son.”

From that day forth, every summer when the clouds grow heavy on the hottest days of the year, the villagers dance to remember Padreo’s brave attack. With red banana leaves tied around their feet, they shake their headdresses of red feathers and bibs of blue plumes, bend their knees and wobble to and fro.

As for Padreo, never again did he have to leap the clouds, and never again did the clouds fail to give up their gift of rain.