The Ballad of Tubs Marshfield

by Cara Hoffman

  11

  “Tubs,” said Virgil. “I ain’t that grizzled, and I’m a mite offended you think I need saving. And if I did need saving, I highly doubt shouting out my name from the window of a train would do it. I would hope you would take me to a doctor.”

  “It’s a song,” said Tubs, cutting another piece of cake. “Not instructions on how to save a water rat. It’s a goodbye song.”

  “A what?” cried the woodpecker.

  “A goodbye song,” said Tubs. “I’m going to the city.”

  Now the room was quiet and there was only the sound of the insects outside.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in Pythia’s prophecy.”

  “I don’t believe Pythia can tell the future,” said Tubs. “I know that y’all believe in her—well, not you, Virgil, but most of y’all. I respect the decisions of everyone here, and maybe she is right, and maybe I’ll find the thing that will make us better. It’s too big a risk to ignore her warning. Besides, I can bring our songs to the city. Who knows what kind of luck that will bring us?”

  “Did she say when you had to go to the city?” asked the bullfrog with the long fingers.

  “No,” said Tubs. “But I know it’s time.”

  When Lila came home from work, the party was still in full swing, but Tubs’s bandanna was packed and waiting in the red-and-white boat.

  As soon as he saw his cousin, Tubs grabbed a plate from the cupboard and piled it with fiddleheads and cinnamon cake and handed it to her. He poured her a glass of bog-birch soda.

  “Thanks, Tubs,” she said.

  They went out on the dock and climbed into the boat together like they had when they were young, and Lila ate hungrily.

  “It’s nice to hear music so late into the night,” she said.

  “It’s nice Billy and Beau didn’t come to the party,” said Tubs.

  Lila smiled. She said, “I hope they’re okay.”

  “Lila,” said Tubs. “Did you find any more answers?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “But I did find this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small rectangular box and handed it to Tubs. Inside was lovely gold harmonica.

  “Lila!” Tubs said, jumping to stand in the boat and sending it rocking from side to side. “Where did you get it? When did you have the time?”

  “I ordered it from a store in the city,” she said. “Try not to feed it to an alligator.”

  “This is the best going-away present, ever,” said Tubs.

  Lila laughed. “Oh no, Tubs. You’re not taking those things Billy and Beau said seriously, are you?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I’m just doing more research—like you. I need to figure out what the witch’s prophecy means or if there’s something to it.”

  “Oh, Tubs,” said Lila. “There’s no prophecy.”

  Tubs lay on his back in the boat and looked up at the stars. “Life’s mysterious,” he said.

  “Are you going to say goodbye to Gloria?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Tubs.

  “I’m gonna miss you,” said Lila. “But you really do belong in New Orleans, just like Elodie—not for some crazy fortune-teller, but because you can really sing. You know, getting out of the swamp and going to Paris was one of the best things I ever did. I want you to go, too. It might be too late for the swamp, but you could be healthy.”

  “Will you come with me to the edge of the swamp?” Tubs asked.

  “You’re not going to say goodbye to everyone else?”

  “I sang them a song!” he said.

  Lila put her plate down and picked up the oars. They pushed off from the dock and she rowed north beneath the stars, following the path of moonlight on the water, listening to the sweet sound of Tubs’s harmonica rising into the night.

  Gloria had built a lovely house in the hollow branch of a mangrove that overlooked the coastline, farther from the interior of the swamp. Tubs and Lila docked among the roots and climbed together into the branches, making their way up to the round door. They knocked twice and then let themselves in.

  Gloria’s house was cozy. There was a soft couch in the center of the room, and woven rugs. Paintings of meadows and barns and reedy marshes hung on the walls. It smelled like sweetgrass and seeds inside and there was a dim lamp burning. On a small table beside the couch there were bottles of pills and tubes of arnica balm and discarded tissues.

  Tubs looked around at Gloria’s lovely things. Gloria herself was so small and frail now, he didn’t notice she was lying on the couch beneath a pile of blankets. Then Lila brought him over to sit beside her. Gloria’s bright black eyes seemed dull and distant. She was very thin, and her white skin shone pale beneath her remaining feathers. The red bumpy rash had spread across her chest. She was resting fitfully, shivering and pulling the covers up around her. Tubs put his cool hand on her forehead. Gloria looked up at him.

  “You’re going to feel better soon, Gloria,” he said. “I know you are.”

  “Thanks, Tubs,” she chirped hoarsely.

  “I’m going to the city to see if Pythia’s prediction is right,” he said. “Soon you’ll be out flying again.”

  Gloria nodded and closed her eyes. “Good luck.”

  Then she was very still and it frightened Tubs. There were no sounds coming from the trees in that part of the swamp, no music from peepers or calling of night birds. A terrible dark silence enveloped them in the dim little room as he watched his friend shiver in her sleep.

  Part Two

  Magic Melodies for Everyday Life

  12

  Lila pulled the boat into a little cove at the edge of the swamp and told Tubs to write when he arrived in New Orleans. She gave him a little tube of arnica balm to put on his rash.

  “This will stop the itch,” she said. “Hopefully in the city, you won’t get sicker.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m a doctor, Tubs; putting your collar up wasn’t fooling me. Plus, you’ve been scratching your neck with your toe for half an hour. If it keeps up, go to a doctor in New Orleans. I hear there are many good frog doctors there. If my theory is right, though, you should be feeling better once you are out of the swamp.”

  Tubs rubbed some of the cool balm on his skin. He was frightened of becoming as sick as Gloria. And yet he was sad to think that he would be getting out and getting better while his friends stayed behind. It was a bad feeling.

  Lila said, “Once I’ve found the source of the problem and people are well again, I’ll come and hear you play.”

  Tubs hopped off the boat onto dry land and watched Lila row back to their home.

  When she was out of sight, he headed north inland, toward the railroad tracks.

  The sun was coming up, sending golden beams through the clouds. The land was hard beneath his feet. He walked for a long way—feeling the air getting warmer. He opened his mouth to sing but something in him didn’t want to. He thought about his friends in the swamp, dancing even though they were sick, and it made him smile. Then he thought about the ones who couldn’t come out and dance at all.

  His breath caught in his throat. Please let the right song come to me, he thought.

  He headed away from the water and traversed a wide field bordered by a little wood. Copses of thick scraggly bushes and trees lined his path and he walked for some way before he realized he was thirsty. Tubs had never really felt thirst before. He’d never been this far from the swamp. He put another glob of arnica balm on his skin to keep it wet and cool.

  The grass on the trail got higher and soon it didn’t look like a trail at all—or at least not one that many animals used. He turned around and looked at the sky, hoping to navigate by the position of the sun, but it was directly over his head.

  Finally, when he thought he couldn’t walk any farther, he saw a little house. It was tucked into the underbrush and its roof was covered with kudzu. Tubs jumped into the air and clicked his heels. A winding brick path led to the door o
f the house, which was painted deep blue. The top floor had a beautiful wraparound balcony, and he wondered what kind of creature lived there.

  Tubs knocked and waited. After a moment he heard a voice from just above.

  “Yoo-hoo! Frog!”

  Tubs adjusted his gaze and saw a round creature with brown fur and long whiskers, no larger than a vole, standing on the balcony and waving. The animal had bright dark eyes and a friendly smile and was wearing a purple bedsheet like a cape.

  “Hello!” said Tubs. “I’m afraid I got lost looking for the train.”

  “Lost?” The creature hurled itself off the balcony, and Tubs could see that the corners of the bedsheet were tied to its shoulders and ankles. The sheet poofed out as it caught the air and the animal floated slowly to the ground, gliding to land at Tubs’s feet.

  “That was fantastic!” said Tubs.

  “You’re fantastic!” said the creature in delight. “I’ve never seen a frog with a white beard before!”

  Tubs reached up to touch his face. “Oh, this isn’t a beard,” he said. “It’s arnica balm. Makes you less itchy.”

  “I see,” said the creature. He looked disappointed. “I thought maybe it was a disguise, and you had robbed a bank and needed a place to hide until you met up with the rest of the robbers. Or maybe you were working with a traveling theater company and that’s your costume. Or the circus! It would have been so wonderful if it was the circus.”

  What a strange creature, Tubs thought.

  “I’m Tubs,” he said, holding out his hand to shake the creature’s paw.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said the small animal. “I’m Roy. Come on in and rest for a while—it’s hot out there.”

  13

  Tubs ducked his head to get through the door of Roy’s house. The inside seemed much bigger than the outside. The walls were painted yellow and there was a desk in the center of the room covered in papers, drawings, pens, pencils, a ruler, and a paintbrush.

  Roy took off the bedsheet and gave Tubs a glass of water.

  Tubs drank one glass, and then another, and then he poured a little over his head to cool down.

  The walls of Roy’s living room were covered with paintings and photographs of small bright-eyed creatures. A large roll of paper was spread out along the floor with tiny illustrations and mathematical equations on it.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” said Tubs, “are you an artist or a scientist?”

  “No, no, no.” Roy laughed. “I’m a southern bog lemming!”

  “Huh,” said Tubs. “But you don’t live in a bog?”

  “I don’t, no,” said Roy. “The others certainly do. They really like to do everything together. But I like to get away from the crowd.”

  As the lemming talked, Tubs thought about how he did not like to get away from the crowd. He would like to be back with his friends right now.

  “Are those your drawings?” Tubs asked.

  “They’re not really drawings,” Roy said. “They’re more like ideas for inventions.”

  “What sort of inventions?” Tubs asked.

  “Parachutes for small animals,” he said. “The bedsheet doesn’t always work—I’m hoping to make one that’s foolproof. Where are you headed?”

  “To New Orleans,” said Tubs. “And I have to get there soon.”

  “Oh!” said the lemming, his eyes bright. “The city! Where you can stay up all night listening to jazz. And dance! And eat delicious cakes and shaved ice with custard! Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” Roy said, “if you went there and you ate at a bakery? And the cake was so good you just had to meet the baker to say thank you? And then when you saw each other, you fell in love? And the two of you took a steamboat down the river and docked in the harbor? And while you were there you heard about a contest to make the best pralines? And the baker entered the contest and the prize was one million dollars and your own airplane? And the baker won, and the two of you got to fly to Paris and live by the river?! I think it could happen.”

  Tubs had never heard of shaved ice with custard. Roy’s sure got a lot of interesting ideas, Tubs thought.

  “Have you been to New Orleans?” Tubs asked.

  “I have,” said Roy. “There are strings of beads hanging from the trees, and places to eat spicy delicious seafood. There’s a party just before spring that lasts for days. And the streets have beautiful names, and there’s music music music. And everyone is different from everyone else.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Tubs said.

  “No,” said Roy. “I think heaven is green and full of mist and water and dappled sunlight.”

  “That sounds like the swamp where I come from,” said Tubs.

  “To each his own heaven,” said the bog lemming. “Maybe the city will be yours.”

  “Well, thank you for the water,” said Tubs, “but I should be going—I have a train to catch.”

  “Wait!” Roy’s eyes were sparkling with a new kind of friendly delight. “Wouldn’t it be lovely,” he said slowly, “if I had magical powers? And you could rub the tip of my nose and count to eight and it would transport you anywhere in the world you dreamed of, in just one instant? And you didn’t have to take the train—and once you were there, as soon as you appeared on the street, you could make one wish—any wish at all—and it would come true?”

  Suddenly, it all made sense, Tubs thought. This strange creature, who had traveled so far, and who lived completely alone in a beautiful little house in the middle of nowhere, gliding down from his balcony, inventing parachutes, talking about all his dreams and visions and big ideas. Of course, he must have magical powers! Tubs could just dream to be in New Orleans.

  “Yes!” said Tubs. “Yes! Let’s do that!” And as soon as he got to the city, Tubs thought, he would use his wish to make the sickness go away. And everyone would be happy. Maybe Pythia was right.

  Roy smiled and clapped his paws. “Okay!” he cried. “Let’s go!” He leaned his nose toward Tubs, his whiskers quivering.

  Tubs closed his eyes and rubbed the end of Roy’s nose.

  He counted slowly to eight and then opened his eyes.

  14

  Roy stared back at Tubs, the big grin still on his face. Tubs looked around.

  They were standing in Roy’s living room.

  “It didn’t work,” said Tubs, a lump rising in his throat.

  “No,” said Roy. “It didn’t. I’d never tried it before—I guess I don’t have magical powers—or not that kind anyway. Maybe it only works the third time you try it? Or maybe it only works the three hundredth time you try it! I really don’t know.”

  Roy gave Tubs a large canteen of water and walked him back to the road that led to the train tracks. The world outside the swamp was dry and hard and bright.

  “Good luck in the city!” Roy called as Tubs made his way down the road.

  Tubs took out his harmonica and played a tune. Roy was one of the strangest creatures Tubs had ever met—with his visions of the future, and his whiskers quivering while he spoke. It was a shame he wasn’t magical, Tubs thought.

  He wondered if he acted like Roy sometimes. If he was kidding himself—dreaming of a song that could make people better, or of a song that could last two hundred and sixty-five million years.

  Soon Tubs could see the steel rails of the train tracks gleaming in the sun. People were lined up at the brick station house to buy tickets, holding suitcases, fanning themselves in the heat. The animals who hopped trains, and who understood how to live without money, were beginning to line up near the edge of the tracks. Tubs went and stood with them.

  There was a star-nosed mole wearing a pair of dark glasses and carrying a small round suitcase. Five salamanders dressed in identical dark suits also waited for the train.

  Tubs took out his harmonica and played while he waited. The sound of the music called the salamanders over and soon they were forming a circle around Tubs. They clapped in rhythm, then began to make up a song. Their voices rose�
�each one distinctly different, but perfect as one sound. They were like a living harmonica, Tubs thought. The timbre of their voices carried all the mystery and excitement of meeting a new friend. Their harmonies drifted through the train yard and lifted Tubs’s spirit.

  “Froggy by the train track with the long white beard

  Tell us, tell us, is the train comin’ near?

  Is it rolling down to get us through the sky so clear?

  Or is it time to ride to Texas on a little spotted deer?

  Froggy by the train track with the bindle stick

  Tell us, tell us, how’d you get so quick?

  Did you learn to dance from angels on the head of a pin?

  Or did you race along the river till the ice got thin?

  Froggy by the train track so bright and green

  Tell us, tell us what you have seen?

  Have you come to the city to be its queen?

  Or is this just a little trip to buy some shaving cream?

  Froggy by the train track with the golden eyes

  Tell us, tell us how you got so wise

  Have you listened to the bullfrogs have you listened to the flies?

  Have you held the hands of sailors as the seas began to rise?

  Or did your smarts come from the joy of eating sweet potato pie?”

  The salamanders finished their song and smiled at Tubs, slapping him on the back.

  “You’re all right, Santa Frog!”

  “Oh,” said Tubs. “This isn’t a beard.”

  “Well, you’re still all right,” said the tallest salamander. “And you sure can play the harmonica.”

  “What’s taking you to New Orleans?” said the shortest salamander.

  “An alligator who can see the future thought it would be a good idea because everyone in my home is getting sick,” said Tubs.

  “Huh,” said the shortest salamander. He turned to the fattest salamander. “Didn’t that same thing happen to Ruby?” he asked.