Tales from the Caribbean Read online

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  The First Kingfisher

  Too Choosy-Choosy

  Two Dinners

  The Three Tasks

  The Race Between Toad and Donkey

  Sookooyah

  Coupay Cord-la

  The Man and his Servant

  Brer Anansi and Brer Snake

  The Elf-Stone

  Papa Bwa and Monkey Trouble

  The Singing Pepper Bush

  Compère Lapin and the Good Sense

  Compère Lapin Looks for Wisdom

  The Spirit of the Rock

  The Elephant Drum

  Anansi Tricks Three Kings

  The Special Pumpkin

  The Singing Turtle

  The Girl with the Star on her Head

  Why Cat Chases Rat

  Why Rabbit has a Short Tail

  Read On

  TRISH COOKE was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire. Her parents are from Dominica in the West Indies, and she comes from a big family with six sisters and three brothers. For eight years, Trish was presenter and scriptwriter on the hit preschool BBC programme Playdays and has many other acting credits. She also writes scripts for TV, theatre and radio. Trish has written stories for as long as she can remember. Visit her at www.trishcooke.co.uk.

  Also in Puffin Classics

  TALES FROM AFRICA

  by K. P. Kojo

  TALES FROM INDIA

  by Bali Rai

  and by Roger Lancelyn Green

  TALES OF THE GREEK HEROES

  MYTHS OF THE NORSEMEN

  TALES OF ANCIENT EGYPT

  For my granddaughters,

  Chantelle and Charmaine

  Author’s Note

  My mother and father travelled from the Caribbean to the UK in the late 1950s, as did so many other West Indians at that time. I was born in the UK, in Bradford, Yorkshire, and my parents are from the Commonwealth of Dominica. In Bradford, thousands of miles away from the tropical Caribbean island of Dominica, my parents told me stories about sookooyahs and Jab and characters like the mischievous Compère Lapin. They also told me about real people they remembered too, larger-than-life characters. Carnival songs have been made about some of them. At the time, I did not realize my parents were passing on a legacy. The precious stories they were sharing with me were a link to their past, my heritage, some of which were told to them by family members or raconteurs.

  Long before TV and internet, people in Dominica would often share stories at outside gatherings. When the raconteur announced he was going to begin a story he would call to the people ‘Eh Kwik!’ and the people would answer ‘Eh Kwak!’ and the raconteur would call again ‘Eh Kwik!’ and he would do so several times during the story, and each time he called the people listening would call back ‘Eh Kwak!’ This call and response traditional way of telling Caribbean folk tales has its roots in African storytelling. Different Caribbean islands have their own call and response phrases. I have used the Eh Kwik, Eh Kwak call and response style of storytelling in the retelling of ‘The Man and his Servant’, a folk tale from Dominica. Call and response works particularly well when read out loud with a group. For the rest of the stories I have used a traditional classic folk-tale style of telling, making the content of the stories (without the performing storyteller) the main focus. These stories can be shared or read alone.

  The stories in this book have a mixture of West African and Amerindian roots. ‘Two Dinners’ is based on an Ashanti story brought over to the Caribbean from West Africa and features the familiar Brer Anansi, a popular character in Jamaican folklore. ‘The First Kingfisher’ and ‘The Spirit of the Rock’ have their roots in the traditions of Carib folklore and they each have a strong mythological element featuring spirits, rituals and spells based on the beliefs of the indigenous Carib people.

  I have chosen to retell stories from the Commonwealth of Dominica, Guyana, Jamaica, Tobago, the Dominican Republic, Trinidad, St Vincent, St Lucia, Haiti, Martinique and Antigua. Each Caribbean island has its own stories. It is also common to find versions of the same stories in different islands, with characters such as Anansi (Jamaica), Compère Lapin (Dominica, St Lucia) or Brer Rabbit playing the same trickster character in them all.

  In my version of these Caribbean tales I have added and taken away some elements to tell the stories in my own way. This is quite common with Caribbean folk tales, as originally the stories were passed down by word of mouth and the storyteller would have added and taken away parts of the story to make it work for a specific audience. In their original oral form the stories would have been told using the colloquial language, patois or Kwéyòl of the specific island, but I have used mostly standard English. I have had such fun researching these stories and finding my own way of telling them.

  Enjoy!

  TC

  The First Kingfisher

  This story is based on a Carib (Callinago) legend from the Commonwealth of Dominica

  Long, long ago, when roads were not quite roads but just footpaths and tracks formed between trees and bushes (made by the many who walked from village to town), there was an island called Why-took-abuli. The shape of the island resembled that of a tall woman and the Callinago people who lived there had named it so, for Why-took-abuli means ‘how tall is her body’. On this island there lived a grumpy little man called Karahu. Karahu had a frown always fixed on his face. His brow was always furrowed and his shoulders always hunched over. He lived in a small house on a plateau by a lake and he spent his days fishing. Karahu would fish alone, cook alone, eat alone and sleep alone. He had no one to share his life with and he was very, very lonely.

  All day long he would mumble and moan to himself, ‘What a life … what a life … I wish I had company!’ More than anything in the world, Karahu longed for someone to share his life with.

  One day, Karahu was fishing by the lake as usual when he noticed a colourful stone by the water’s edge. The stone glistened in the sunlight, radiating all the colours of the rainbow.

  ‘I am your magic stone,’ the stone whispered. ‘What is it you most desire in the whole world?’

  Karahu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was he out of his mind? How could a stone be speaking to him? He thought perhaps the sound of the stone whispering was in fact the sound of ripples in the water, or the gentle breeze rustling the trees around him. Perhaps his mind was just playing tricks on him. So Karahu ignored the murmurings from the stone and carried on with his fishing.

  Then the stone spoke again. ‘I am your magic stone. What is it you most desire in the whole world?’

  Karahu immediately stopped fishing and looked at the colourful stone in shock.

  ‘In all my life I have never seen or heard such a thing!’ he said. ‘Are you truth or dream?’

  ‘Truth,’ whispered the colourful stone. ‘And I haven’t got all day! Answer me now before I change my mind.’

  ‘In that case,’ Karahu said quickly, ‘that’s easy. More than anything in the world, I would like a wife to share my life with.’

  ‘So be it,’ said the stone. ‘I will grant your wish. Continue your life as before … your wife is on her way.’

  Karahu was in shock. He didn’t know what to do. He had never had a stone speak to him before and still he wasn’t sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But he didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity of getting a wife to keep him company, so he did as the stone had told him. He continued to fish, went home, cooked, ate and slept as before. He even cleaned himself up, bathed and shaved so he would look good for when his wife arrived. And each day Karahu went back to the lake to fish, and he waited and waited for the wife the stone had promised him. But each day, all
he came home with was the fish he had caught. He sat at home, alone, waiting for his wife. But there was no sign of her. After a week Karahu gave up on his foolish dream and he went back to his mumbling and moaning.

  ‘What a life … what a life … I wish I had company!’ And he forgot all about bathing and shaving and making himself presentable.

  Not long after this, in a village a few miles away from Karahu’s home, a Carib named Amos and his wife Sylvan had to go to town for business. In those days the Caribs went everywhere on foot and it took days and days to get into town. Amos and Sylvan gathered their things together and arranged to travel with a few friends who also had to go to town. They rose bright and early and set off on the long journey. As they went along they sang and, as the custom was, they clapped their hands and slapped their thighs.

  ‘Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  We’ll be on our way …’

  They had brought enough food and drink to keep them going. The journey felt like a party.

  After a little while Sylvan decided she wanted to take a rest from all the dancing, so she sat down by a lake with her feet in the water and told her husband, Amos, that she would catch them up. Amos and the others went along their way, singing and dancing as before.

  ‘Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  Clap hands and slap our thighs,

  We’ll be on our way …’

  After Sylvan had rested for a little while, she stood and looked out across the lake. ‘What a beautiful lake!’ she said to herself. Looking down on the ground, Sylvan noticed the same colourful stone that Karahu had seen weeks ago. Once again, the stone was glistening in the sunlight, radiating all the colours of the rainbow.

  What an unusual stone, Sylvan thought, and she picked it up and took it with her. She hurried to catch up with the others but she could not see them anywhere. She listened to see if she could hear them singing but she couldn’t hear them either. ‘That’s strange,’ she said to herself, ‘I must have rested for longer than I thought. My husband and friends must be a long way ahead of me.’ Sylvan began to walk more quickly to catch them up but, after a while, she found herself back by the lake where she had started. It was beginning to get dark.

  What am I doing still here by the lakeside? Sylvan thought. Then, as she looked one way and then the other, she noticed a bright glow lighting her way. It was coming from the colourful stone in her hand. How amazing! she thought. The stone is like a torch lighting my path. Maybe, if I follow it, it will lead me to the others. Once again Sylvan set off on her journey, this time following the glow of light coming from the stone in her hand. She walked and walked but once again she only returned to where she had started. ‘How can that be?’ she said to herself. ‘I’ve walked for such a long time and yet I am still by the lakeside!’

  Tired and weary, Sylvan clasped the glowing stone in her hand and walked as fast as she could. But still she found herself back where she started. ‘Oh no!’ she sobbed as she threw the stone down. ‘This is terrible! I’m lost! How am I to find my way out of here?’

  Refusing to give up, she set off again. She walked and she walked, on and on, up and up, until finally she came to a plateau. She crossed the plateau and saw a little house ahead of her. At last, she thought to herself. I’ll speak to the people who live there and ask them for directions back to my village!

  ‘Hello! Is there anybody there?’ Sylvan called out as she made her way towards the house. There was no answer.

  As Sylvan drew nearer, she saw that the kitchen (which was at the side of the house) was empty and that the door of the house was closed. However, she saw that there was an open window and she was able to see inside.

  ‘Hello!’ she called again. ‘Is anyone home?’ No one answered.

  Sylvan hoisted herself up through the window and into the house. On the table there was some cassava bread. Hungry now, Sylvan broke a piece off and ate it. Then, tired after all the walking, she fell asleep.

  Meanwhile, Sylvan’s husband, Amos, and the other villagers had begun to worry about Sylvan. It had been hours since they had left her. Wondering where she could have got to, they made their way back to the lakeside where Sylvan had stopped for a rest, but when they arrived of course Sylvan was nowhere to be found. They searched everywhere for her.

  ‘Sylvan! Sylvan!’ they called. But she was too far away to hear them.

  The villagers knew that anyone who was separated from a travelling group would make their own way back home. Amos and the villagers began to think that was what Sylvan must have done. ‘Perhaps when she couldn’t find us she went back home!’ Amos said to the others. Everyone agreed that that was what Sylvan had done, so they decided to continue on their journey, believing that Sylvan was safe at home.

  Some time passed and Sylvan woke from her sleep. As she did so she heard the sound of someone approaching the house.

  ‘What a life … what a life …’ she heard the person mumble. Whoever it was stopped outside the kitchen and when Sylvan peeped out of the window she could see a strange little man carrying a string of fish.

  She called out to him, ‘Hello, I’m lost. Could you tell me the way to get home?’

  Karahu was startled, but on seeing her he remembered straight away the wish that the colourful stone had granted him and he knew at once that this woman was the wife he had wished for.

  ‘Home?’ he said. ‘But my dear, you are home! You are the wife I have been waiting for!’

  Was this man mad? Sylvan couldn’t believe what she was hearing!

  ‘Wife?’ she scoffed. ‘I already have a husband and I already have a home and I am not staying here!’ Sylvan ran out of the house as fast as she could. Karahu watched as she disappeared into the darkness and chuckled. He wasn’t worried at all that she wouldn’t come back, as he was sure his wish had come true. Sylvan ran and ran but it was no good, she didn’t know where she was going and all she could see around her was darkness. She would have to go back to the little man’s house until she could work out how to get home.

  When she returned, Karahu felt very pleased with himself. He had finished cleaning his fish and prepared supper for two. He set the table and he waited for Sylvan to join him. Sylvan could smell the wonderful aromas of the tasty fish supper that Karahu had made and she felt very hungry. But she did not want to share a supper with this strange little man who wanted to claim her for his wife, so she refused to eat.

  ‘No worries,’ Karahu said smugly. ‘When your belly gripes, you will eat!’

  ‘Never!’ said Sylvan. ‘I will never eat your food!’

  The next day, when Karahu went fishing, Sylvan tried to see if she could find a way to get home, but every time she wandered out of the house she ended up back where she started. When Karahu returned, Sylvan refused to eat once more and the day after that she did the same again. On the third day, however, Sylvan could bear it no longer. She was very weak. Her belly was rumbling loudly and she was very, very hungry. She needed to build up her strength so she could keep searching for a way out, so she joined Karahu at his table and she ate the fish supper.

  After that, each evening they ate together in silence and this went on for weeks and months. But Karahu wanted more than just sitting at a table in silence with an unhappy woman. He wanted a family.

  So one evening Karahu cooked a special fish broth for Sylvan and as he cooked it he blew kisses into the pot and chanted some words over the food:

  ‘As you eat my delicious broth,

  We are forever bound together.

  Before this year has come and gone

  You will bear for me a son.’

  ‘Now you will stay here with me forever!’ said Karahu gleefully and Sylvan wept. She hoped above all hopes that one day her husband, Amos, would find her, for she still loved him very much. But, alas, as time went by the spell that Karahu had cas
t over the food finally began to work and before long Sylvan came to bear Karahu a son.

  Back in the village Sylvan’s husband, Amos, had not given up on her, though a whole year had passed. There was not a day that went by without Amos trying to find his missing wife. Everybody in the village knew about Sylvan’s disappearance but nobody knew how to help. That is until one day a wise old woman, who knew just about everything about anything, came to find Amos and told him all that had happened.

  ‘Your wife is living with a grumpy little man who goes by the name of Karahu,’ said the wise old woman. ‘They live together in a house above the lake. She has even borne him a child. If you want to get her back, this is what you must do. Go to the house in the daytime and there you will find her alone, because Karahu spends all day fishing. She will follow you, but before you take her away you must know how to break the spell that Karahu has cast on her. If not, then Karahu will only follow you and take her back. Be sure to find the colourful stone that your wife threw down between the lake and the house. When you find it, break a little piece off and carry it with you. When you find your wife and you’re about to leave Karahu’s house, ask your wife to blow a kiss in the living room, blow a kiss in the bedroom, blow kisses all around the house and blow a kiss outside in the kitchen. Then place the colourful stone where the child sleeps, take your wife and go!’

  Well, Amos set out straight away. He walked on and on, until at last he reached the lake. He found the colourful stone that his wife had dropped between the lake and the house and he knocked it against a rock until a piece broke away. Then, carrying the piece of the colourful stone with him as he had been told to do, he followed where the stone led him, singing:

  ‘Clap hands and slap my thighs,

  Clap hands and slap my thighs,

  Clap hands and slap my thighs,

  I’ll be on my way …’

  Eventually he could see a small house in the distance.