A Journey to Cloudland - Un viaje al país de las nubes
by Mario Lamo-Jiménez
In this collection, seven bilingual stories showcase the richness of Latin American folklore, fantasy, and fiction. Latin American literature is rooted in the history and culture of the world from which it arises, and this book explores many facets of those roots within everyday occurrences, historical events, and traditional folk stories, sometimes using imaginary characters in real situations and other times, real characters in fanciful situations. Transporting readers to such places as the Amazon jungle and nineteenth-century Bogotá or through epic events of the Latin American War of Independence, the author has compiled, researched, and invented stories by turns whimsical and deeply moving, and has cast them, with a dose of his own imagination, in an agile, poetic language that keeps readers enthralled from start to finish.
Whatever the subject matter - be it a fictitious chihuahua (a breed native to Latin America), a fresh batch of tamales, an Amazon legend, a piñata maker, a hero of Latin American independence, a generations-old priest's tale, or a magnificent journey through Andean topography - the author leads us in among the intertwining roots of Latin American life and shows us its reality through a different prism, one in which the everyday is fantastical and fantasy seems commonplace.
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Excerpts
ENGLISH ESPAÑOL
ENGLISH
A Journey to Cloudland
I
In the land of Thinkingofyou, in the town of Forgetmenot, lived Valeriano and his sister Isaura. Every day they played at imitating bird songs. In the morning they imitated the oriole, an early-morning bird that liked to sing while pecking at orange peels. At midday they splashed around in the lake, imitating the call of the herons that bathed there every day. And at night they imitated the night owl, with its moonlike eyes and a beak like a hook. But one day, when they were outdoors imitating the toucan, a parade of clouds appeared in the sky and stopped right over Forgetmenot.
Soon it began to rain.
All kinds of things rained down.
It rained sweet oranges and bitter lemons, pineapple birds and mango flowers, rose-colored feathers and feathered roses. Valeriano and Isaura took cover inside their house and amused themselves by watching the rain through their window. And watching a constant rain of amusing things, they got bored. So they went to see their grandfather, Ismael Lanchas, in his bedroom, and said in chorus:
“Grandpa, tell us a story.”
But their grandfather did not respond. He was very busy, counting the one thousand five hundred sixty-nine little colored fish swimming in his fish tank, and he didn’t want to lose count. Once he finished counting, he looked up and stroked his white beard, and on his lips the children saw a story smiling.
“And what story do you want to hear today?” asked their grandfather.
“Grandpa, where do clouds come from?” they asked.
And Grandpa answered, “Clouds come from faraway lands. I am one of the few to have visited the city of the clouds.”
“What is that city called?” asked the children curiously.
“It’s called Farawayland. It’s a very cold place on the top of a mountain. There’s a lot of fog there, and people always wear black, because black is the warmest color. The rocks there are made of salt, and the birds don’t sing, they scold,” answered Grandpa.
“And when it rains, does it rain oranges and lemons, pineapple birds and mango flowers?” asked the children, with eyes so wide that four more windows appeared in the house.
“That’s not all it rains,” said Grandpa. “One time in Farawayland, I saw it rain mango juice, and the runoff formed a lemonade lake.”
“Mango lemonade! We want to go there,” said the children, and they rushed to the window, just as a snowfall of rose petals was melting away.
ESPAÑOL
Un viaje al país de las nubes
I
En el país de Piensoentí, en el pueblo de Nomeolvides, vivían Valeriano y su hermanita Isaura. Todas las mañanas jugaban juntos a imitar el canto de las aves. Por la mañana imitaban al toche, un pájaro madrugador cuya especialidad era cantar y comer casquitos de naranja. Al mediodía chapoteaban en la laguna, imitando el graznido de las garzas que se bañaban allí todos los días y por la noche imitaban al búho trasnochador de ojos de luna y pico de garfio. Pero un día, cuando salieron a imitar al pájaro diostedé, un desfile de nubes apareció por el cielo y se posó justo encima de Nomeolvides. Al poco rato, empezó a llover.
Y llovió de todo.
Llovieron naranjas dulces y limones agrios, pájaros de piña y flores de mango, plumas rosadas y rosas emplumadas. Entonces Valeriano e Isaura buscaron refugio en su casa y desde la ventana se divirtieron viendo llover. Y de tanto ver llover cosas tan entretenidas, terminaron por aburrirse. Entonces fueron al cuarto de su abuelo, Ismael Lanchas, y a coro le dijeron:
—Abuelo, cuéntanos un cuento.
Pero el abuelo no les respondió. Estaba muy ocupado contando los mil quinientos sesenta y nueve pececitos de colores que nadaban en su pecera y no quería perder la cuenta. Una vez que terminó, levantó la vista, se alisó su barba blanca y en su boca, los niños vieron que les sonreía un cuento.
—Y, ¿qué quieren que les cuente hoy? —preguntó el abuelo.
—Abuelo, ¿de dónde vienen las nubes? —preguntaron ellos.
Y el abuelo respondió:
—Las nubes vienen de tierras lejanas. Yo soy de las pocas personas que han visitado la ciudad de las nubes.
—¿Cómo se llama esa ciudad? —preguntaron curiosos los niños.
—Se llama Quedomuylejos. Es un lugar frío en lo alto de una montaña. En esa ciudad hay mucha niebla y la gente siempre se viste de negro, porque el negro es el color que más calienta. Allá las piedras son de sal y los pájaros en vez de cantar, alegan —respondió el abuelo.
—¿Y cuando llueve, llueven limones y naranjas, pájaros de piña y flores de mango? —preguntaron los niños, con unos ojos tan grandes, que a la casa se le abrieron otras cuatro ventanas.
—No sólo llueve eso —respondió el abuelo—. Una vez, en Quedomuylejos, vi llover jugo de mango y con el zumo se formó un lago de limonada.
—¡Limonada de mango! Nosotros queremos ir allí
—dijeron los niños y de inmediato se asomaron por la ventana, justo cuando estaba acabando de nevar una tormenta de pétalos de rosa.
