Serena of the River. A Texas Tale.

Imagine a bundle of energy packed in a 5′8″ frame, with a shock of almost orange hair, a face covered in freckles, and a laugh that starts as the sound of a chicken cackling over a newly laid egg and ends as a donkey’s bray. If you’ve got that in your mind, it’s the storyteller Finley Vance Stewart.

Fin’s life was extinguished in a fire that engulfed his home in 2003, when he was only 41. I still have trouble believing he is gone. He was my friend, my mentor, my confidante, and the little brother that I never had. There are days that melancholy sweeps over me when I think about him. I ache to answer the phone to hear him say, in a sing-song voice, “Shelly, Shelly, Shelly. You were always my favorite.” That phrase was always followed by some ridiculous new request he had for me.

Last night, my head was full of thoughts about Fin. I decided I want to share a story, a tale from Texas that I first heard from him twenty-some-odd years ago. I don’t tell it the same way he did. As all storytellers do, I put the story in words that “fit my own mouth.” But the essence of the story came from him. Keep in mind, if you read it, that the story flowed through my fingers this morning as I told it out loud. With a written story, I don’t have the normal “tools” I use as a storyteller: my voice, my facial expressions, my body language. I don’t have a clue if it comes across the same way on the page. It’s long, and I just can’t condense it, so I apologize for that. It’s a tale from Texas, a Native American story, a love story, and a ghost story all rolled into one. And, it’s on this page to honor the memory of “my little brother.”

SERENA, OF THE RIVER

Serena was her name. That will tell you something of her beauty. For Serena was the most lovely young woman of the Comanche tribe. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky; her hair fell to her waist like a river of black water. It was so black that in the sunlight it shone blue, like the raven’s wing. Her skin was flawless and the color of sand on the river; her teeth were as white as freshly fallen snow. Serena’s smile was a gift, which all of the young men of the tribe sought. Each of them wanted to make her their wife, but she could not marry so many.

So they held contests of strength, running, racing, shooting the bow and arrow, to show Serena that they would make the best husband. She watched the games, but she would not speak to the young men. They brought her gifts when they came back from the hunt: venison for her fire; skins to make her clothing and her home; feathers, shells and brightly colored stones with which to adorn herself. She took these gifts, but still ignored them.

Serena was like many of us. She did not want what she could easily get—she wanted what she could not have. What she wanted was one particular young man of the tribe. He was the bravest of the hunters. He was also the smartest, the strongest, and the handsomest. But, this man ignored Serena, which served her right.

In her sadness, Serena took to going to the creek each day to bathe in the clear water. Then, she sat on a stone beside the creek combing out that blue-black hair while singing mournful love songs that echoed in the hills around. One day, as she sat singing, the water at her feet began to bubble and swirl. From out of the depths of that creek there arose a huge and ugly catfish. Serena knew it was no catfish—it was a shaman, a medicine man, a shape-shifter.

That catfish shaman rose upon his tail in the water and laughed a horrible cackle that rang from the hillsides. His eyes glimmered with evil, his whiskers twitched, and with his muddy lips he began to speak, “You want the hunter? I can give you the hunter, if you will do one favor for me.”

Serena fell to her knees in the water, “Please,” she said. “I will do anything to buy his love.”

“This, then, shall be our bargain,” bellowed the catfish. “I will give you the hunter. I will make him love you and marry you. But, in return, one night each month—the night of the full moon—you will come to the banks of this creek. You will wade into the water and be transformed into half-fish, half woman for the night. In the morning, you can return to your hunter.”

Serena thought about this. This was an ugly thing, but it was not too big a price to pay to buy the man she truly loved. “I will do it!” she cried.

The catfish shaman danced on the water and laughed saying, “One thing you must remember, Serena: If any human ever sees you in your half-fish, half-woman form, you will remain in that form for all eternity and you will be mine!”

The catfish dove into the water and disappeared. Serena stumbled up the banks of the creek. When she lifted the flaps of her tent, she saw that her home was filled with gifts. They were from her hunter! He did love her; he wanted to marry her; and he paid her father a bride price that well matched her beauty.

Serena and her hunter were married and they were very happy together. But, once each month—on the night of the full moon—Serena secretly crept from their bed to go to the creek. She waded into the water and became half-fish, half-woman for the night. One night, she waded into the water, and her body was transformed. Suddenly she gasped in pain! A fish hook that had been left dangling in the water had caught upon the scales which now covered her leg.

Serena sat upon a stone in the water, trying to pull the fish hook out. But, if you have ever had a fish hook caught in your flesh, you know that because of the barb on the tip the more you pull, the deeper it bites. Each time she pulled, Serena screamed in pain.

In his bed, her hunter awoke, for he had heard his wife’s cries and though it was in his dream. Confused from sleep, he looked around for her—but she was not there. Knowing that his wife loved the river, the hunter wrapped himself in his sleeping robe and walked out in the night toward the water. But there on a stone in the river he saw a strange sight. It was half fish! It was half woman! It was disgusting! It was Serena!

He called out her name. She looked into his eyes, and in that moment Serena felt her blood run cold for all eternity. In that one moment, Serena learned something we all must know: True love cannot be bought. It must be freely given and freely received.

Serena dove beneath the waters of the creek, and was never seen again by The People. But, The People will tell you this: “If you go to the banks of the creek on the night of the full moon, you might hear her mournful love songs echoing in the hills or the ugly laughter of the catfish.: And, the Comanche People will tell you that the ice cold tears of Salado Creek are fed by the ice cold tears of Serena.

[ If you are a storyteller and wish to tell this story, please feel free to do so. But, please tell it in words that fit your own mouth, and give credit where it is due.]

For my little brother Fin, with love. Shel

Related posts:

1. Wordless Wednesday #5, Serena of the River
2. At The Catfish Plantation, You Get More Than You Pay For
3. Oven Fried Catfish Is Dadgum Tasty
4. Just My Imagination?
5. Up A Creek Without A Paddle

Tagged as: folk tale, Ghost story, love story, Texas Travel