The Tale of La Llorona: A Mexican Folktale (On My Own Folklore)

Anansi and the Box of Stories

The Magic Pomegranate

Calamity Jane

Mike Fink

Casey Jones

Paul Bunyan

The Dragon Emperor

Pecos Bill

John Henry

The Tale of La Llorona

The Tale of La Llorona

On My Own Folklore titles

LOWERY/ KEEP / PORTER

AY-EEEE! A SPOOKY HOWL PIERCES THE DARK NIGHT. Is it the wind? Or is it the ghost called La Llorona? La Llorona is said to haunt moonlit roads and riverbanks, crying for her lost children. Before she became a ghost, La Llorona was a beautiful young woman named Maria. But Maria’s wish for wealth led her to doom. Read this haunting tale to find out more.

MILLBROOK

Adapted by

Linda Lowery and Richard Keep

j

Janice Lee Porter

Illustrated by

Adapted by

Linda Lowery and Richard Keep Illustrated by

Janice Lee Porter

J Millbrook Press/Minneapolis

Text copyright © 2008 by Linda Lowery Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review. Millbrook Press, Inc. A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc. 241 First Avenue North Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A. Website address: www.lernerbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lowery, Linda, 1949– The tale of La Llorona / by Linda Lowery and Richard Keep ; illustrations by Janice Lee Porter. p. cm. — (On my own folklore) Summary: Expands on a popular Mexican folktale about a ghost that haunts riverbanks at night, crying as she searches for her lost children. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN-13: 978–0–8225–6378–5 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0–8225–6378–9 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper) 1. Llorona (Legendary character) — Legends. [1. Llorona (Legendary character)—Legends. 2. Folklore—Mexico.] I. Keep, Richard Cleminson. II. Porter, Janice Lee, ill. III. Title. IV. Title: Llorona. V. Series. PZ8.1.K27Tal 2008 398.2—dc22 2006005478 Manufactured in the United States of America 1 2 3 4 5 6 – DP – 13 12 11 10 09 08

eISBN-13: 978-1-58013-658-7

Para Diego y Emilia Lowery, con cariño —L. L. and R. K.

¡Cuidado! Beware the moonlit river path, the wispy fog along the trail. You may see a woman there, all dressed in white and ghostly pale. AY-EEEE! she weeps. My children! You will hear her lonely moan. AY-EEEE! AY-EEEE! She hunts you, haunts you, wants you for her very own.

What makes a little girl end up as a lonely old ghost? ¿Quién sabe? Who knows? But here is the story of La Llorona, a ghost who was once a girl named Maria.

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The Family Inn Maria worked hard at the family inn. She swept f loors and washed stacks of dishes. She rolled and patted tortillas for dinner. She helped her mother fluff up pillows on the beds. Maria wished she did not have so much work.

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Rich travelers came to the inn on horseback. Sometimes they arrived in fancy carriages. They wore velvet cloaks and shiny jewels. Their boots had golden buckles. Maria always pretended to be happy to see them. But she really just hoped to get a few pesos for her trouble. “¡Buenas tardes, señor! ¡Good evening, señora!” she greeted them sweetly. Secretly, Maria thought, How rich they are! How lucky they are! Why wasn’t I born rich and lucky too?

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The posada—the inn—was run only by Maria and her mama. Papa had left them years ago. “Life is too hard for me,” said Maria. She blamed it on her father.

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“Life is hard,” said her mother. “But life is also good. Just think, my daughter, you have a cozy home and a mama who loves you.”

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The Blue Dress Sometimes Maria played with her friends. They drew pictures in the dirt. Her friends drew burros and f lowers and little houses. Maria drew castles and carriages. She drew handsome princes. “I will be rich someday,” Maria bragged. “I will be more than rich. Everyone will envy me. Then I will be the happiest girl in Mexico.” Other times, her friends played with dolls made from colored rags. “Let’s rock our babies to sleep!” her friends said. But Maria shook her head. She did not care for rag dolls or babies.

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Maria strolled to the market. People were selling many things she could not buy.

“¡Rebozos!” they shouted. “Handmade shawls!” Maria wanted the best rebozo, with golden threads and silver fringe to show off to her friends. She saw fancy dolls that glittered, and she wanted them. She wanted the puppets that danced in the toy maker’s shop. Her mother could not give her any of these things. “Life is too hard for me,” said Maria. She blamed it on her mother. Why did her mother have to be poor? “Maybe my mother thinks life is good,” she thought. “But life will be good for me only when I am rich.”

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That evening, Maria served dinner at the inn’s long table. One man quickly ate his entire bowl of spicy posole. “¡Más!” he called. “More!” He ate six of Maria’s corn tortillas.

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“¡Más!” he called. “More!” As Maria hurried to bring more food, she saw a heavy woven bag beside the man’s chair. He must be rich, thought Maria. His bag must be full of treasures.

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After dinner, the man opened his bag. Carefully, he pulled out a soft satin dress. It was as blue as a morning sky. It had hundreds of ruffles. “¡Qué bonito!” cried Maria. “How beautiful!” The man held the dress up to Maria. It was exactly her size. Maria began to tremble. She had only one dress, the thin white dress she wore every day. She had mended it many times. This satin dress seemed like a dream. “¡Perfecto!” the man said. “You are the same size as my daughter. This dress will fit her perfectly.” Then he folded the dress back into his bag. So the blue dress was not for Maria?

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Maria’s heart felt as if it had been struck by lightning. She f lew up the staircase. She ran to her room. She f lung herself down on the bed.

These people were so rich and so selfish. “Life is too hard for me!” she cried. She blamed it on every rich guest she had ever met.

A Handsome Guest Soon Maria was 18. She still had a cozy home and a mama who loved her. But, ah, she still had dreams of princes! She dreamed of living in a palace with many servants. She dreamed of marrying a rich man who would give her beautiful gifts.

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One day, a handsome guest rode up to the inn. His name was Don Ramón. He was called Don because he was wealthy and important. Don Ramón will make the perfect husband, thought Maria as she smiled at him. The minute he saw Maria, Don Ramón fell in love with her. “Will you buy me a big hacienda one day?” asked Maria. “¡Sí!” said Don Ramón. “Will you buy me gowns of silk and Spanish lace?” asked Maria. “¡Sí!” said Don Ramón. “Will you buy me diamonds to sparkle like the stars in my eyes?” asked Maria. “¡Sí!” said Don Ramón.

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“But do you love him?” asked Maria’s mother. Maria shrugged. She did not love Don Ramón. But she loved his clothes and his horse and his riches.

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From that day on, Don Ramón came and went. He was home with Maria at the inn one week. He was away on adventures the next.

Years went by. Maria had two beautiful children. But she still did not have what she wanted. “When will your father buy me a palace with gardens and fountains?” she asked her children.

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“Where are my fancy clothes, my jewels, and my servants?” she asked her mother. Every night, Maria lay on her hard straw bed. “Life is too hard for me,” she wept. She blamed it on Don Ramón.

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The Terrible Day One day, Maria was washing clothes in the river. Her children played beside her, drawing pictures of fish in the sand. A carriage rumbled up the road. Out stepped Don Ramón. Maria ran to him, excited. “A carriage, just for me!” she cried. But then she stopped.

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Don Ramón held out his hand as a lady stepped from the carriage. She looked rich and pretty.

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Don Ramón had come to tell Maria that he was going to marry this woman. He no longer loved Maria. He no longer loved the children. He was leaving Maria forever.

Maria’s heart filled with rage. “You cannot leave me, Don Ramón!” she shouted. “You cannot leave our children!” But Don Ramón and the woman stepped back inside the carriage. They sped away, beyond the hills. “No!” cried Maria. “Come back, Don Ramón!” She threw herself to the ground. She sobbed. She screamed. She beat the dirt with her fists. She would have no glittering jewels, no silky rebozos. Maria’s dreams had died in the dust.

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Now who was to blame? Was it the fault of her children? Without them, maybe Don Ramón would have stayed. Yes, they were such a bother, those children with their runny noses and hungry mouths. “Life is too hard for me!” cried Maria. She blamed it on her children.

Just then, a wild wind rose, whipping dust into Maria’s eyes. Dark clouds rolled across the sky. Cold rain began to fall. Maria slowly dragged herself to her feet. Her dress was muddy. Her eyes were swollen. She looked back and saw that her children were not playing by the river.

Maria was angry. “¡Hijos!” she called. “¡EEE-HOHHS! Children! Come here this instant!” But her children did not come. Rain hammered down. Maria fought her way to the spot where the children had been drawing. The river rushed and tumbled in the storm. The little fish pictures had been washed away. Maria was worried. She raced to the inn. The children were not there. “Children!” cried Maria. “¡Hijos!” Had they run away? Maria rushed to the top of the hill. Stones and cactus tore at her bare feet. The wind f lung rain in her face.

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From the hilltop, she looked north and south. She looked east and west. She shouted into the distance. “¿Hijos, dónde están? Children, where are you?” There was no answer. Night fell, black as a bat.

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Maria dragged up and down the river. Her hair swirled, a wet mop of weeds and f lying branches. “¡Mis hijos!” she screamed. “My children!” Terror struck Maria’s heart. Had they fallen into the raging river? Had they drowned?

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Why had she left her children all alone? Why had she not loved them as they deserved to be loved? “Life is too hard for me!” Maria wailed. She blamed it on herself. Yesterday, she had two children who loved her. Now, without them, she had nothing. Maria raised her face to the black sky. “¡AY–EEEEE!” she howled, like the wailing wind. On and on, Maria walked on her torn, bloody feet. She wandered for days and nights, weeks and months, calling for her children. “¡EEEEE-Hohhhhhss!”

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The Ghost Called La Llorona Years passed. Centuries passed. Some say that one terrible night, Maria drowned in the river. But her spirit haunts the moonlit roads and riverbanks as she searches for her lost children. She is known in all of Mexico as La Llorona—the weeping woman.

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Some dark night, you may hear La Llorona crying through the trees. “¡AY–EEEEE!” you will hear. “¡EEEEE-Hohhhhhss!” And you will know what to do, won’t you? Run! Run away as fast as you can. Because here is the question you must ask. If La Llorona sees a child by the river at night, will she think that child is her own? Will she take that child away with her forever? ¿Quién sabe? Who knows?

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Authors’ Note Every child in Mexico knows the story of La Llorona, the Weeping Woman. Many children in the southwestern United States have heard the story too. But each child knows a slightly different version of the tale. Our story is told in our own way. It is based on the many versions we have read. Mostly, it is based on tales told to us by children, teachers, and parents in central Mexico, where we live. Here in Guanajuato, Mexico, La Llorona wanders along the Rio Laja, our local river. In New Mexico, you might hear her wailing in hidden mountain passes under the full moon. In cities such as Los Angeles, she even travels highways. Nobody is sure who first told the legend of the Weeping Woman. Many people say that long before the Spanish came to Mexico, the Aztecs told the story. Then the Weeping Woman was called Serpent Mother. People say that Serpent Mother appeared in the early 1500s, just before Hernán Cortés and his Spanish soldiers invaded Mexico. She wailed in the night, they say. It was a warning. She was weeping for her “lost children”—the native people of Mexico who would soon be conquered by the Spanish. As time passed, the Spanish ruled Mexico and the southwestern United States. The ghost took on a Spanish name— La Llorona. Parents told La Llorona’s story to their children. It was a way of warning them that there may be danger at night along rivers, lakes, and dark, lonely roads. It can also be a way to tell parents to love their children, because if they do not, they will pay for their wicked deeds. Every legend is a mystery. The mystery of the Weeping Woman makes us wonder if she is only make-believe. Or is she real? Have people really heard her crying for her children along dark riverbanks? ¿Quién sabe?

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Further Reading and Websites BOOKS Anzaldúa, Gloria. Prietita and the Ghost Woman/Prietita y La Llorona. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press, 1995. When a young girl meets La Llorona in the woods, she finds that the ghost isn’t so scary after all. Hayes, Joe. ¡El Cucuy!: A Bogeyman Cuento in English and Spanish. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press, 2001. This spooky book is all about the bogeyman—a monster known as el Cucuy in Mexico. WEBSITES American Folklore http://www.americanfolklore.net This page features a wide variety of American folktales. You can read ghost stories, tall tales, Native American legends, and more. México for Kids http://www.elbalero.gob.mx/index_kids.html Visit this site to learn all about the people and culture of Mexico. You can also read more fun stories from the country.

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Glossary Notes: In Spanish, exclamation points and question marks appear in front of sentences as well as behind them. The punctuation that appears in front of words is upside-down. And a double l in Spanish is pronounced like a y in English.

bonito (bo-NEE-toh): beautiful. ¡Qué bonito! means “How beautiful!” buenas tardes (BWAY-nahs TAR-days): good afternoon or good evening cuidado (kwee-DAH-doh): beware; be careful don (DOHN): a title of respect for an important man dónde (DOAN-day): where. ¿Dónde están? means “Where are you?” or “Where are they?” hacienda (hah-see-EN-dah): a large country house hijos (EE-hohs): children. Hijas (EE-hahs) are daughters. Hijos are sons. Sons and daughters together are called hijos. Mis hijos (MEES EE-hohs) means “my children.” La Llorona (lah yo-ROH-nah): the weeping woman más (MAHS): more perfecto (pair-FECK-toh): perfect pesos (PAY-sohs): Mexican coins posada (po-SAH-dah): inn. An inn is a place to stop for food and sleep. posole (po-SO-lay): a stew made with corn, meat, chili, and seasonings ¿Quién sabe? (key-EN SAH-bay): Who knows? rebozos (rey-BO-sos): traditional handwoven shawls worn by Mexican women. Rebozos have beautiful fringe on the edges. señor (sen-YOHR): mister señora (sen-YOHR-ah): ma’am or Mrs. sí (SEE): yes tortillas (tor-TEE-yas): f lat, round cornmeal patties

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Anansi and the Box of Stories

The Magic Pomegranate

Calamity Jane

Mike Fink

Casey Jones

Paul Bunyan

The Dragon Emperor

Pecos Bill

John Henry

The Tale of La Llorona

The Tale of La Llorona

On My Own Folklore titles

LOWERY/ KEEP / PORTER

AY-EEEE! A SPOOKY HOWL PIERCES THE DARK NIGHT. Is it the wind? Or is it the ghost called La Llorona? La Llorona is said to haunt moonlit roads and riverbanks, crying for her lost children. Before she became a ghost, La Llorona was a beautiful young woman named Maria. But Maria’s wish for wealth led her to doom. Read this haunting tale to find out more.

MILLBROOK

Adapted by

Linda Lowery and Richard Keep

j

Janice Lee Porter

Illustrated by