An ejection from a town always hurt Mr. Chubs in a way he found difficult to describe. It evoked in him all the failures he had thought he had outrun…but that was a can of worms best left to its own devices.
He was about five kilometers out of Goya, the town he had spent two months in, a record of sorts for him. They had even given him the use of an abandoned shop to make his own. No one had ever done that for him. It had taken him three days to put it to rights but they had been the happiest days he had spent – cleaning, airing, setting up a little nook for children and a table for the adults.
That really had been the problem. He had become too happy, too soon. He had started to form roots in Goya, dreaming for the first time after a long time what it would be like to call it home. The feeling had lasted all of two days. Not long after, he had sniffed the discomfort brewing. So, before they could have thrown him out, he had left Miss. Rosina and her ilk behind.
He knew he wasn’t far enough away from Goya – the townsfolk had been known to chase him away to make sure he didn’t return – but he was tired and despairing. He was not built to be a nomad and though he hadn’t felt the touch of a feather bed in many years, he often dreamed of such luxuries.
Shaking himself, he looked at the sky and the approaching dusk and knew he had to find shelter soon. He found one, an hour of rumbling along on the dirt road later. He settled his trusty wagon, the one that contained his entire world, at the foot of a tree. He gathered some twigs and stones and started a fire. He didn’t need the fire, he wasn’t going to cook anything after all, but there was something cheery about a fire that made him forget he was so far from home.
He thought about dinner but couldn’t be motivated to move just yet. He wanted to wallow, a little more, on his situation. But it didn’t bring him the same satisfaction it usually did. His mind was too keenly aware that he was the person responsible for his own misfortunes. It was harder to wallow when there was no one but yourself to blame. He could blame the people of Goya but his usual strain of self-pity availed him no comfort tonight.
Mr. Chubs sighed and gave it up as bad work. He removed his bag from the wagon, a tiny slot he had sacrificed instead of stuffing in more books, and rummaged in it. He came up with dried bread, some cheese and a packet that contained mint leaves for some tea. He smiled at the gift. How had Miss. Rosina managed to slip in that packet he did not know but he was grateful. The way he gorged on his dismal dinner would have you think he was dining at the king’s table!
After he had had his bread and cheese, he removed his iron bowl contraption, added water and made some tea. It was only once he was on his second cup that he lifted his eyes again to look at the sky. It was inky black now but the stars were out. While it meant he would have a cool night, it also reminded him to be thankful that he was here, alive, and able to enjoy the beauty of a sky filled with stars.
This time, his sigh was a contented one. He cleaned up and while stowing away his bag, he saw his harmonica. It had been a gift, a costly one. It had been specially designed for Mr. Chubs and as he caressed its body, his fingers found the little dove engraved there. Sudden tears stung his eyes. He wanted to throw it away and lock his wagon tight and go to sleep. But he was in a mood to torture himself so he brought it out.
He sat near his fire and put the harmonica to his lips and gave it a tentative spin. It worked, just as well as it used to all those years ago. Despite himself, he smiled and tried a tune.
One two diddly doo
Three three shucks where is four
Five six tickle me fix
Seven eight I don’t know
Nine ten let us all go
To the tip, to the tip
Where the rose bud grows
Snip snap cut the rose
To get it back for the miss.
One two diddly doo… He sang it three more times before putting it aside. He got his bedroll out and settled in, still humming the song, his mood vastly improved after the song and tea. Finally, he closed his eyes, stars in his eyes, a song on his breath, wondering what the next town would bring him.
This is Chapter 1 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.
Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!
- Read The Gunslinger here.
- Read 23 Letters of Love here.
tales of Suchita 
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