La Llorona “The Weeping Woman”
Deep in the heart of Mexico, there lived a very beautiful widow and her three young girls. The oldest was eight, and her loose tooth wiggled and tickled her lip whenever she would whistle. The middle girl was six, and she loved to braid her mother’s dark, flowing hair. The smallest was only four, yet she had the sweetest voice that often matched a robin’s song. Together, they lived in a quiet home off the beaten path. But the kindly mother wanted desperately for her three children to have a skilled future, and married a horridly ugly man, for his wealth would send her daughters to school. The old, wealthy man cared nothing of his betrothed, only marrying her for her beauty which was unmatched by any other woman in the whole country.
The wonderful wife knew of her new husband’s greediness of the eye, but decided to focus instead on her daughters, and how they would flourish in the wealth they’ve acquired.
The three daughters loved their new home. They basked in their new rooms, excited for the pillow-topped beds that they were eager to slumber in, the polished halls that glimmered in the afternoon sun, and the abundance of caramels they could indulge in. Most of all, they loved going to school. Attending a place crowded with children their own age, and being able to make a plethora of new friends, was a luxury the girls were never permitted while living off the beaten path. Every morning, they would wake their compassionate mother and her grumpy old husband, and ask for their blessing for another wonderful day full of education. Together, the family would ready for the day and walk the girls to school. The mother and her daughters were thrilled.
But the grumpy old man was not. He despised all children, especially ones as young as his new daughters. They never cleaned the beds they slept so comfortably on, their sticky hands ruined his glossy hallways, and they had greedily eaten all of his favorite caramels. And the girls had the gall to ask if they may bring their friends over as well.
More disgusting children were exactly what he needed in his glorious home.
He complained to his beautiful wife, telling her he had no time to clean up after their mess and to buy more caramels. She nodded in understanding, and dutifully cleaned after her children as a good wife should. And it satisfied the aged husband, but only for a moment. Three little girls were much livelier, and much much messier, than one devoted, lovely mother no matter how often she swept and swiped, and the old man’s grand house soon fell into a ruined disorder.
The little girls’ rooms were in disarray, the marbled hallways had a stickiness to them that could not be shined off, and the caramels were eaten just as soon as they were purchased.
The old man had enough of the children, and, used to having his way, demanded his gorgeous wife to rid of them. The mother denied this, threatening to leave if he tried to rid of her precious daughters. The vain and ugly old man, desperate to keep his beautiful trophy wife, agreed not to rid of the girls so long as she stayed.
But that night, just before the dawn, the man snuck into the room of the eldest daughter. Her loose tooth swung in her gums to her soft snores. Quietly, the old man took a large pillow and pressed it roughly against the girl’s face. The eldest daughter swung and struggled under his grasp for a long while, before her body fell limply against her bed spread. The man removed the pillow and checked the girl’s pulse to make sure she was only rendered unconscious. He then gagged the eldest daughter, blindfolded her, tied her limbs together, and threw her in a large brown sack.
Next, he snuck into the room of the middle daughter. Her braided hair was kept perfectly neat throughout her sleep. Quietly, the man took a pillow and pressed it roughly against the girl’s face. The middle daughter swung and struggled under his grasp for a few moments, before her body fell limply against her bed spread. The man removed the pillow and checked the girl’s pulse to make sure she was only rendered unconscious. He then gagged the middle daughter, blindfolded her, tied her limbs together, and threw her in a brown sack beside her older sister.
Lastly, he snuck into the room of the youngest daughter. Even in her sleep, you could hear her sing-song voice dreaming sweetly. Quietly, the old man took a small pillow and pressed it roughly against the girl’s face. The youngest daughter did not swing or struggle for more than a few seconds, before her body fell limply against her bed spread. The man removed the pillow and checked the girl’s pulse to make sure she was only rendered unconscious. He then gagged the youngest daughter, blindfolded her, tied her limbs together, and threw her in a tiny brown sack beside her sisters.
As the sun rose, so did the beautiful mother. Realizing the time, she rushed to her daughters to wake them for school only to run into her vain, aged husband. She asked him where her daughters were, and why they had not awoken her this morning for class.
He had taken them to school already, he replied. He had also claimed to have cleaned all of their messes and now all that was left to do was dispose of the trash. He asked his wife to rid of the three brown sacks into the river.
The dutiful wife, naïve to his wicked doing, dragged the three sacks, much heavier than she had expected, and discarded them into the vicious river. She watched as they drifted away, eventually swallowed up by the river’s hungry stream. By the time she returned home, she had hoped her daughters would be back from their classes.
They were not.
Heated, the frenzied woman rushed to her husband, threatening to leave him if it turned out that he had rid of her precious daughters.
Her husband answered calmly: I did not rid of your daughters. You did, when you disposed of those sacks to the river.
The mother was crushed. Overwhelmed with guilt and denial, she searched the whole house, the school, the city for her lost children. She went mad, doing nothing else but looking for her daughters for days on end, her despair only comparable to that of a screaming banshee. Her wails of agony could be heard throughout the town until finally, her tears were silenced with her own tired death.
As she ascended into heaven, she was stopped at the pearly gates. She looked up at the kind-faced angel in confusion, asking why he would not allow her consent.
The angel replied in a somber tone, you will not be allowed permittance into Heaven’s paradise until you find your lost children.
The mother’s spirit was sent crashing back onto the mortal realm, where she still haunts the riverbanks with her ghostly beauty, wailing eternally for her missing daughters.
She would appear to any child who braved the daring night sky. A child would first know her by her endless crying, before making out her soft white dress in the darkness. Tenderly taking their hand, she would ask if they might have seen any of her children, asking a dozen times ‘Where are my children? My children, where are they?’ The child, usually entranced by her haunting beauty, wouldn’t answer, caught in her hypnotic stare. Instead, they would follow the beautifully weeping mother in a daze. The wailing woman would then lead the spellbound child to the river, hoping this would be the one to sanction her back to heaven...
Based on the old Hispanic Legend, I, as well as many Hispanic children, have grown up in fear of the white dressed lady by the riverbanks.
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