Birgitta the Nun

Part 32 - Charlie the Wizard

Charlie didn't have enough water. The well was dry and she had to convey bucketsful from the village every week. It was hard work - not the conveying of water, but the meeting of people. Indeed it was no simple task. A member of the society couldn't just enter the village and get some water, and get it over with—no, one had to stop and talk to people, and be a citizen. That was the price. If one stayed long enough, and did enough talking, people would even forget to charge for the water. For Charlie, that was expensive. Words were not plentiful with her. In fact, her words were less plentiful than the water in her well.

Charlie sighed when she once more hauled a dry bucket from the well. The owl on her shoulder stretched its heavy wings and casually pushed the bucket back down the well. There was a distant thud when the bucket hit the very bottom, no water there to catch it.

"Woo-Oo, these summers are a pain," the owl cried. "These bright nights won't bring any sleep, and now the drought is stealing our water—where will it end? Woo-woo."

Charlie again sighed and left the well with her friend clinging to her shoulder. It was no use grieving. The yard still needed work and someone to keep it running - with or without water. The bird settled in a nearby tree while Charlie lifted her axe and continued her wood-chopping. The sound from the cleaving was monotonous, stilling, and the work seemed silent, almost mute.

This was the best time of the day, Charlie and the owl agreed, and they didn't hurry anything. The bird kept watch in her tree and spied at every sound unfamiliar, letting the wizard do her work in peace. Wizards don't hear very well - the owl knew that, and took pride in its duty.

The bird listened with care, not sure if she had caught some sound far away in the distance. She strained her sharp eyes. A truck was approaching. It was visible from far away, jumping up and down the lengthy gravel road, making its way towards Charlie's yard.

The owl started making all kinds of disturbing noises. Charlie raised her head.

It was Barbara and Gunther, Charlie's closest neighbors. Though they lived several miles away. Charlie raised her axe over her head, and tried to look intimidating. But it was no use. Barbara stopped her big green truck by the yard, unimpressed by the weapon, and climbed down to have a talk with her neighbor. Gunther remained inert in the truck, looking curled-up and avoiding eye contact.

A smile spread on Barbara's face, and Charlie let the axe fall.

"Hi there Charlie," Barbara called, waiting for Charlie to leave her work and meet up with her guest. "I've got some meat here—won't have time to sell it all on the market. Want some?" She removed the tarpaulin covering the back of her truck and made a show of her fabulous mountain of meat.

The meat was fresh and red, and surely would last several days. Charlie inspected the mountain with put on indifference. It looked rather tempting and delicious, and she could indeed use some. But Barbara was not the right person for her to deal with.

Charlie shrugged. The owl tightened its grip around her shoulder so as not to fall off.

"Maybe your friend there would like some, eh?" Barbara went on. Then, turning to the bird, "Come kitty-kitty, you want some? Must be hard hunting in these bright nights?" She lifted the corner of one fine piece of meat and grinned at the curious bird with her big white teeth.

"Who are you calling a kitty, you featherbrain," the owl cried. "I can hunt down a whole forest if I like—woo-woo." The bird flapped its wings and managed to hit Charlie in the head once or twice, almost knocking her hat off.

"Oh, it's a feisty one you've got there," Barbara said with a big grin. "Aren't owls supposed to be night creatures? Why is it awake now, eh? I don't know how you do it Charlie, but owls and people don't agree. They just don't." She shook her big head and it seemed to wobble on her sturdy shoulders. "You know what, we could make a trade: meat for wood. Good deal, eh?"

Charlie was silent. She didn't want to take up on the offer. Meat was nice, sure, but chopping wood was hard work.

"You've come a long way, I can see," Barbara noted, aiming a nod at the woodpile behind Charlie. "You won't be needing all of that—now, will you? Living here all alone—" She nodded to herself, and seemed to understand something - something worth nodding about. "Alone, apart from your bird of course," she hastened to add, not wanting to upset the owl again.

The bird stretched its legs, sinking its claws into Charlie's shoulder, and leaned towards the meat on the truck. It sure did smell nice—

"I'll tell you what," Barbara said, recovering the meat with the tarpaulin. "I'll let you think about it. The day is still young, and when the market is over—who knows? You might be hungry."

She climbed back into her truck with her sulking husband, and set off in a jumping cloud. By going this way to the market, via Charlie's yard, Barbara was making a detour. Charlie was aware of this - of the falseness of the seemingly convenient encounter by a random tradeswoman - but Barbara couldn't have cared less. She hid her intentions as well as she could, and if something shone through—well, it was probably for the best.