Paul Bura - Poet, Broadcaster, Writer

THE PUDDLE MAN

The moon reflected and lit up the shiny, smooth, glass-like wetness of the rain-soaked landscape. It had been raining now for three days. The Puddle Man was not yet ready to emerge but he - non-the-less - kept his eyes on the full moon from beneath where he lay, kept his attention on her fullness and her ripening and her pull.
Something was calling him into being but he was not yet ready, the call had to be more urgent, more compelling for him to take any notice, for his intent had to be what was required of him and his breed, his elemental breed, and that intent was not yet.

********

In a village not far away there was a baby being born. The midwife was there administering to the mother’s firstborn. It was a difficult birth, only the midwife’s skill could turn the baby around in the womb thus saving it from a breech. The young mother’s screams rent the air with ear-splitting ferocity, the piece of wood clamped firmly in her jaws. The midwife had to turn the baby or the young mother would die, and so probably would the baby, for the midwife, with the help of the doctor - who was on his way - would have no choice but to break the pelvic bone to get the baby out.
The husband, a young farmer, was out fetching the doctor who was in the ale house and the worse for drink. But on hearing the news from the young woman’s harrowed husband sobered up almost immediately and with whip flying sent the horse and carriage on its way, splashing through the puddles!

*******

The Puddle Man then emerged. This was what he had been waiting for. The young woman’s screams had summoned him. The intent had come, the intent had surfaced.
           He immerged out of an immense puddle that stretched the entire road where the doctor and the young husband were heading at breakneck speed! His timing was impeccable. He took form just as the back wheels mounted the indentation at the far shore of the puddle and lifted him self onto the back axle where he lay un-noticed…dripping, until he had solidified enough.
            The doctor grabbed his bag and with the husband leading the way hurried into the Farm House. The doctor rolled up his sleeves and with hot water washed his hands and arms and set to work with the midwife trying to turn the baby, this enormous baby. They worked for about half an hour and all the time the young woman screamed. But she was becoming weaker. Her husband held her while she struggled.
            The doctor had to make a decision. The baby had turned but the head was too big: either the baby’s head had to be squeezed or the pelvic bone had to be smashed - or both - either way they couldn’t guarantee that the wife would live or indeed the baby. The husband was torn between his wife’s pleas to ‘save her baby at all costs’ or his anguish to save his wife.
            The door quietly opened and a tall, thin man stood before them. He had a pointed nose and small dark eyes that glittered with compassion. He wore a black jacket and leggings that were too big and he wore a wide-brimmed, soft felt pointed hat…and he was wringing wet!
            In a calm, clear, yet beautiful, voice that rang with authority, he said:

“I can save the baby AND your wife!”

         He bent down and calmly drew the child out of the mother with the ease of a healer who had been doing this sort of thing all his life. He wrapped the ten pound baby boy in a blanket and gave it to the young mother who started to weep with joy, her pain now a thing of the past!
          Then he vanished whence he came. Whether he just disappeared in a fine spray of water or he just left the room, none could say for sure.
          Without a word the doctor put on his coat, grabbed his bag and left. With wide, fear flecked eyes he had a real reason to get drunk this time!

         The young mother’s eyes and that of her equally young husband turned questioningly on the midwife.
         The midwife avoided their gaze and went about her work snipping the umbilical cord, severing it from the afterbirth and with clearing up.
          “Who was he?” asked the mother, slowly, “You’ve seen him before, haven’t you, Aggie?” The midwife pretended she hadn’t heard and went to leave the room. Again the young mother put the question to her: “Who was he, Aggie? I have to know!”
         The midwife came back into the room and sat on the end of the bed. She took a deep breath and, avoiding the young mother’s eyes and that of the husband, said simply but slowly “I’ve seen him before… twice, and each time it was a breech birth and the baby was unusually large and each time it had been raining and each time that he comes he is very wet and each time he says the SAME words:
         “I can save the baby AND your wife!”
          Then he draws the baby out, wraps it and gives it to the mother and leaves! It is always a first birth and always a boy.
         “Who is he, Aggie?”
          There was a pause. Then the midwife began to silently cry, tears falling down her rosy cheeks.
         The baby began to whimper and the young mother put it to her breast. But she persisted in the questioning of the midwife. “Who IS he, Aggie? There is something you’re not telling us.” The midwife paused again. Then she said: “He is called the Puddle Man and he will come again when the young’un is seven-years-old. He’ll come in the night when it rains and there is a full moon. You’ll not know when he comes but from that time on…”
          The midwife hesitated.
          “Yes, Aggie: from that time on…what?”
          “He-He will just disappear!”

*******

During the course of the years the midwife’s words became a mere memory that was pushed to the back of her mind. But the young mother gave birth to a further two children: a boy and a girl. A different midwife was called upon, not that the young mother had anything against Aggie but she wasn’t - seemingly - available and it seemed her younger colleague was always to hand.
            Her first born grew in health and stature and was a very handsome lad and very popular with the other children of the village. He and his other brother and sister grew up to be very happy, well adjusted, children!
            It was not until the elder boy’s seventh birthday that his parents became, shall we say: nervous. They found themselves checking the boy out of the window when he went out to play with his pals and brother and sister, asking him not to play further away then perhaps he should. When his birthday party took place a dozen or so children were invited. There were sandwiches, jelly and ice-cream and cake. There were games of blind man’s buff and musical chairs…and hide and seek. This made his parents very nervous indeed and they insisted on overseeing the proceedings to a point where the children grew fed-up with their interfering.
            At last night time arrived and the party-children were all collected by their parents and a very happy seven-year-old and his brother and sister finally went safe and sound to bed.   Now his parents could relax, safe in the knowledge that their first born was safe in bed!

That night it rained, it rained very hard! But the parents were so exhausted by the children’s party and their constant watching that they fell instantly asleep and didn’t hear the Puddle Man as he squelch, squelch, squelch climbed the stairs, and lifted the still sleeping birthday boy from his bed!
In the morning the boy had gone, only the wet footprints of the Puddle Man - who else? – was clearly visible up and down the stairs to and from the boy’s bed.

            A wail went up from the young mother:
         “I would rather have died than he should have taken my boy!”

          Her lament was answered far in the distance, from beneath the living earth came the reply, beautiful, comforting and haunting, a truism in its simplicity:

“Rather I had done nothing at all then save you and the boy. Look for him at the full moon when it rains and the puddles re-appear. No harm will come to him, you have my promise!”

            Such was the potency and tenderness of the Puddle Man’s voice that the young mother was immediately comforted. That voice was SO beautiful and so compelling, but only she could hear it! She dried her eyes immediately but it was three whole months before a full moon appeared with the rain!
            There was a knocking at the back door. Her husband opened it as his wife was too scared!
            The Puddle Man stood there holding the hand of their son. The boy’s clothing was as dry as a bone but the Puddle Man’s clothes were sopping wet. He looked just the same with his ill fitting clothes and felt, wide-brimmed, pointed hat and as before was dressed all in black! He was indeed as tall and thin as they remembered. His eyes glittered with the same compassion and kindness. He held his fingers to his lips for silence; then quietly handed over the boy. His mother gathered him up in her arms. The tears of both husband and wife came then.
            Then the Puddle Man spoke:
            “When there is danger that a child may die - especially a boy-child - when there is a danger that his mother may also die, then you can be sure that this is a special child with qualities and wisdom that go far beyond this earth. Not every child can be saved but most can. For you see there are many of us, us Puddle Folk, and we treat the children only with kindness, teaching them and drawing out of them what they were born to do. ‘What, you may ask, are they born to do?’ They are born to heal and are possessed of a great wisdom. Our work is to gently remind them before they go out into the world and the ‘Great Forgetting’ takes hold. Now his childhood is over and his work begins!”
            Before their very eyes the Puddle Man dissolved into a fine mist, a sudden breeze caught it and bore him away!

            The boy slept for three days and three nights and on the forth morning when he awoke there was a look in his eyes that reminded his parents of the Puddle Man, yet he was just the same boy as ever he was but wisdom lay on him and in him like a strange perfume and exuded from him without effort and children brought him animals to heal as though they knew that he could do it and laying his hands on them they were truly healed.

And in time when word had got around of this strange boy’s powers and his adult wisdom, hundreds more made their way to the young farmer and his wife’s door. And to each he administered healing and to each he whispered in their ear - a habit that was to become a hallmark - a gentle wisdom that only they could understand, and they nodded, tears streaming down their faces. Yet he did not mention a God or any religion, he just was!

His parents could not make head nor tail of it but just accepted him as: this is what our son does, now, God help him!

            On his 16th Birthday he went out whilst a violent storm was raging… and was never seen again!
            Word got back to his parents that he had been working tirelessly and effortlessly - and entirely alone - his words, though mainly for the young, were aimed also at the more mature. He administered love like the charity workers would administer soup to the homeless. He continued to heal and continued his habit of whispering in the ears of all. And all, all, went away in silent tears, either tears of happiness or tears of understanding and reconstruction of their lives!
            He had so touched them as to bring them to their knees!
            And still he worked alone, seeming to shun friendship on a personal level and yet to give out love like no other.

His parents heard no more, only that he had gone abroad! Fifty years on, and fifty years to the day that he had left home (his father having died in his absence) his mother, brother and sister still lived at the old Farm House and had families of their own. The families all lived in the old house and still worked the land for a living.

            He knocked on the kitchen door in the early evening whilst the wind howled and the rain clattered against the windows. He had a ‘knock’ all his own that all but his mother had forgotten. She was seated near the fire when the knock came.
            “Who the hell…” said his brother, getting up. But with a wave of her hand and a finger to her lips to keep silent his mother went to the door!
            When she opened the door she fainted at the sight of him but catching her in his strong arms he carried her inside.
            His brother demanded to know who he was, until the firelight lit up his face and those eyes, those eyes gave him away and he had no need to explain. His mother regained consciousness and started to cry, they ALL started to gently cry.
He told of lands that he had been too far across the sea and left in his wake a trail of the ‘special children’ that it was his duty to seek out and instruct in the ways of the Infinite. But still not in a religious way but in the ways of wisdom and love, just as the Puddle Man had instructed, and reminded him of his duty! Then he would leave in order to be alone, and they, in turn, would heal the sick and gather communities together and spread love and laughter. He told of his sometime despair at the wars that he witnessed and the death and destruction of whole communities and countries, and of his black depression and deep sorrow.
            But he was home again now and could see that they had followed his instruction and cared and loved each other to the very letter.

          Then he asked to see the child that was born to his brother’s son and of the visit from the Puddle Man when she had difficulties with the birth!
            There was silence.
            His mother then spoke up: “He came just as before. He hadn’t changed one scrap from when you were born all those years ago, but there was one difference. He said in that beautiful voice of his:

          “I can save the children AND your wife!”

          “Yes, there was not one child but two this time, but he did as before: drew them both out, wrapped them both in a blanket and gave them to their mother, one boy and one girl! Andit was just as before: it had been raining heavily for two days or more and there was a full moon! Then he said something further that somehow seared into my mind forever, for there was such power and music in his voice!”
          And with her eyes glistening in the firelight his mother recalled all that the Puddle Man had said:

         “When your first-born yearns for his return, tell him this: ‘Now is the turn of the female form as well as the male. The moon has got her way at last and the cycles of male and female are nailed to the mast, for the ‘changes’ that she has predicted are here and through the ensuing chaos steer, though there will be much upheaval, the seer of all, the Eternal One, will choose and cannot lose for all will reign over this fair terrain and peace and beauty will surely live. Of the Puddle Men their work is to give, and in the giving their happiness lie, for the work of the Puddle Men is to die, but in their dying they will surely live!’

            “Then, as before, a gentle breeze took him!”
            There was a silence pierced only by the crackling of the fire.

         Then the returning brother, the first born, looked at each and every one of them in turn. In his gaze was the Eternals’ look, full of happiness, joy and freedom. And then he smiled. And such a smile lit up not only that room but penetrated their hearts.
          With a final look at his mother he said:
          “Now I have to join my brethren. It has always been this way. That is why I have always seemed to be alone but I was NEVER alone, for the elementals sustained me and embraced me, the Puddle Folk were always close to me and ‘time’ is changing, the whole of the earth and all that’s in it is changing!”
          He said this with such joy in his voice…

          Then, as if the heat in the room seemed too much for him, he appeared to dissolve and disappear in a fine spray of moisture shot through with a rainbow of brilliant colour and in his wake nothing but a small pool of water where once had stood the Puddle Man in his eternal quest for more children, to remind them of who they were!

P A U L B U R A

THANK YOU, THEO