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Cecil thought for a minute. “Well, now. Let me see. I know a story that doesn’t have Anansi in it, but I think it’s one that ol’ spider would like….”
    “The River Mumma,” by Cousin Cecil
    “In Jamaica, we don’t have a lot of big rivers. You can go rafting down the Martha Brae in Trelawny, or on the Rio Grande in Portland, and boats can travel for a distance on the Black River in St. Elizabeth, but that’s probably it. Most of the rivers are quite small. In the rainy season, of course, they canbecome raging torrents, but generally they just run quietly, minding their own business. Some of them, though, do have places where the water is like a large pool, and these can be very deep.
    “In the rural areas, some villages don’t have piped water, so water is fetched from the river to do daily chores. Usually that’s the children’s job when they are old enough, especially the boy children, since they are stronger.
    “Most times, the boys in the village would go to the river at the same time each day, have a swim, play a game or two or just chat, before returning home with their buckets of water. This is Orrin’s story.”
    Orrin was a young man living in one such village. Although they owned a few acres of land, his family was very poor. He and his father farmed the land without much success. He was fed up with his life and wanted to run away to the nearest city where he thought he would be able to make a better living. Since he had no brothers and sisters, there was no one else to go to the river and that remained his task, even after he left school. He had outgrown going to play with the other lads, so now he went alone, usually around midday, when few people wanted to walk in the hot sun to fetch water. Often he sat on the bank of the river fretting and wondering how he could make his life better.
    One day, he was feeling particularly sorry for himself. He sat by the riverbank, bucket at his feet, wishing there was some way he could get his hands on some money. If he had some money, he could buy fertilizer for the crops; he could get better tools and hire help and plant more crops.
    He could see it in his mind’s eye: a thriving farm, his father sitting on the veranda, feeling good, and perhaps presents for everyone in the family.
    Orrin sighed as his foot kicked the bucket and he came back to reality. He picked it up wearily, then paused. Out in the riverbed, there had been a flash of brilliant light, much more brilliant than the sun.
    What could it be? He rubbed his eyes and looked out into the middle of the river where the sparkling water flowed deep blue and peaceful. Then he gasped. There on the rock…there, sitting on the large rock in the middle of the water…could it be…
    “River Mumma!” cried Selvin, startling all of us. I had been so wrapped up in the story, I was almost surprised to find that I was still on the veranda in the semidarkness.
    “That’s what country people call a mermaid,” Olivia told me, in a soft voice.
    “Thank you very much,” Cousin Cecil spoke sternly. “May I continue?”
    I sighed and sat back in the chair. Yikes! Cousin Cecil was so uptight.
    “Please do,” said Grandma Ruby.
    Yes, it was a River Mumma, or, as Olivia explained, a mermaid. Now all his life, from when he was a little boy, Orrin had heard about this fabulous creature who lived in the depths of the water. Every now and then she would come to the surface, sit on a rock, and comb her long hair with a golden comb. If something frightened her and she left the comb behind and you found it, you would have to return it or she would call your name forever until you came and returned the comb.
    Orrin had always believed this was just another folktale to amuse children, but here she was in living color, sunning herself on the rock and combing her long, long hair. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face.
    He was so surprised that the bucket fell out of his hand and clattered against the