The Babbling Brook

once lost, now found

Sometimes he babbled, sometimes his thoughts flowed freely, and on rare occasions he was a soothsayer, spouting almost prophetic words of wisdom. It was the latter that Emily was hoping for as she searched the forest checking the map she’d purchased from the old hag in the swamp. And by purchased she really meant bartered, and for quite a considerable price. The scent of burnt flesh still lingered as she paused rubbing the cauterized stump of her recently bartered arm. The old hag had driven a high price, but had convinced her it was a good trade. The hag was good to her words though, taking the fresh arm and reaching under a floorboard to retrieve the map. Lucky for Emily she’d found the hag, and even more lucky she’d found the map to the brook.

No one really recalled the brook’s name, and its location had been long forgotten as well, except to the old hag who was likely as ancient as the brook itself. Lore had it that the brook foretold the return of Arthur, King of the Britons, which was now no more than an ancient fairytale told by people from England trying to relive the glory of centuries past. But for now, she could use a bit of that fairytale magic as she shuffled forward, the sound of water gently flowing over rocks smoothed with time rippling in the background. She approached the edge of the brook, her foot catching on something covered in vines. Brick… and mortar, out here? Of course, this had to be the spot. If not for her misstep, the brook would’ve looked like any other little stream swallowed up in the woods, choked off in the underbrush.

Her heart raced as she turned the map over reading some notes she’d quickly scribbled with her one remaining hand after… well, after paying for the map and leaving the hag’s hut. The hag had told her that if her footing was honest, and her intent was true, then the brook would speak.

“I think this is it,” she mumbled to herself. Lifting her head, she held the map up to match it to the surroundings. “Just as the hag described. Brick bridge and all. It has to be it,” she said smiling.

Now on to her next problem. The idea of a talking body of water was crazy to her just a few days ago, back when everything was normal and ordinary in her life. But much had changed since then. It struck her at how quickly life can turn from good to bad–flick of a switch. But she wanted to know who had flicked the switch, who had taken her daughter from her. She steeled her nerves and stepped to the edge of the brook intending to speak as loudly and clearly as she could even though she felt silly at the idea. Not sure just how to talk to a brook, what tone to take—how formal and the like. She defaulted to how she imagined people in fairytale stories would talk to an omniscient body of water, perhaps how Arthur had spoken to it.

So she began.

“Oh great and mighty water… I mean, the great and honorable brook of this ancient forest,” she paused, clearing her throat and collecting her thoughts. “I haveth come to your pearly banks on a quest, a quest that can only be completed with your wisdom, your guidance, your grace, and your mighty words. I bow to you now in deep and humble respect, in the hope you will find I have the truest of hearts, and the most honorable of intentions. I seek the child of my loins that has been lost to me, stolen from my breast to a yet unknown location.” And then Emily curtsied. In fact, she did one of the finest curtsies that has ever been done in the world to date or anytime after, likely credited to the many hours of ballet as a child. The water in the brook bubbled along, rambling over the rocks, but it did not speak a word or send any signs of sentience. The water merely flowed over the rocks, as it had been doing all along, babbling away. Her hopes faded. Deep inside, she admitted it was a bit of a long shot even though she’d sacrificed her arm for the mere possibility of finding her daughter. It seemed like an imprudent sacrifice now, but the hag, the map—it was all so convincing.

She rubbed the stump of her arm, shaking her head, surrendering to the sheer stupidity of the idea that a brook could be a soothsayer, let alone talk. Stupidity, pure and simple. But as she turned to leave, it struck her that perhaps she was just in the wrong spot—the hag did say something about honest footing or something like that. Maybe she needed to try it from the other side of the bridge. Even though it seemed ridiculous, she’d made the sacrifices, endured the journey to get here, so she might as well try. Stepping onto the bridge, she moved across, pausing midway as she swore she heard the sounds of a man mumbling incoherently. Her head lifted and her eyes perked up.

“Is someone there?” She asked, glancing around the woods.

There was more of the mumbling, and she lowered her head to watch her footing, slowly stepping forward, barely moving a foot or so.

“There, stop! Freeze right there, lady. That’s my sweet spot.” A male’s voice called out, now clear and vibrant. “Anywhere else and I’m just all nonsense… but right there, right where you are. Brilliant! That’s what people come here for.”

Emily literally froze in place, like a child playing freeze tag, afraid to move a muscle out of fear of losing the channel between her and the voice. She stood hunched over, looking down at the bridge, uncertain what to do. Was she talking to the Babbling Brook? Had he really just ordered her to freeze? She was uncertain of anything now and stood, holding her position as ordered.

“Well, you don’t exactly have to totally freeze lady,” the voice said with a chuckle. “You can stand up and look at me.”

Continuing to do as commanded, Emily stood and turned, looking up stream, not certain what to expect. Perhaps just a stream of water, perhaps a mouth formed in the water talking, but what she saw was spectacular and unexpected. There was a man, literally made of water, roughly her height, standing on top of the surface of the little brook. He was transparent, but you could see his image clearly, the forest behind was slightly blurred where he stood. She said nothing, mouth agape, staring.

He lifted his hand, snapping his fingers in front of her face as a splash of water hit her skin, drawing her out of her trance.

“You’re the Babbling Brook?” Emily asked with a deep reverence, still not convinced this was actually happening or whether she’d tripped, hit her head on the brick of the bridge, and was now dreaming.

“Well, yes. But that’s kind of a weird name, don’t ya think? Please, just called me Bob.”

“Ok, Bob?” She repeated, uncertain how to proceed.

“And you are here for…” he said, motioning with his hand for her to continue as if suddenly impatient.

“Oh, right. Did you hear my request from earlier, from over there?” Emily said pointing to side of the brook.

“Oh, that. Yeah, I did, but I thought you were practicing for a part in a Shakespeare play or something. That was real?”

Emily paused as a thought came to her mind, “You know, you don’t really babble. You talk pretty clearly.”

“Well, thank you,” he said smiling.

“Oh, and yes. That was real. That's why I’m here asking for help.”

“Wow! Really, that’s like… a pretty big one,” he said tapping his fingers on his chin. “So you lost your daughter, and you want me to help you find her?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly lose her. She was taken, and, yes, I need your help to find her.”

“Phew,” Bob exhaled, water again spraying Emily’s face, this time dampening her hair as well.

“Do you think you could? You know?” She said, shooing him away as she brushed the water from her face and slicked back her damp hair.

“Sure, sure,” he said, taking a step backwards. “No problem, but listen, lady.”

“Emily. My name is Emily,” she said, interrupting him.

“Ok, ok… listen, Emily, I’d love to help you, but I can’t.”

Taken aback, Emily’s brow furled. She wasn’t certain how to get angry at an incorporeal body of water, but she did it anyway. “Can’t or won’t?” She fired back.

“Can’t. It’s kind of against the…” he paused searching for his words. “The rules. Yes, it’s against the rules.”

“What?” She said flailing her one good arm. “There are no rules. You’re making it up. You just don’t want to help because…”

“What happened to your arm?” Bob asked, interrupting her and pointing to the stump of freshly cauterized meat.

“You’re useless,” Emily vented and turned, about to storm off, but Bob called her back.

“Wait, wait. Maybe we can make a deal, you know a trade. Nothing’s free lady. I mean, Emily,” he said quickly correcting himself, extending his hands in pleading.

“I’m listening,” Emily said through gritted teeth, keeping her back to him, ready to bolt at the sign of any more nonsense.

“How about you commit to clearing the path up to here, sprucing up the bridge, clearing this brush and then, you know, getting some people to come up here and talk to me. Maybe you could even have your daughter help, you know. It could be a new family business. Hell, you could even charge people for it. No water off my banks.” He said, chuckling to himself. “You commit to that, and I’ll tell you where your daughter is.”

“Deal,” Emily said without hesitation.

“Wait, what? No negotiation? Who taught you how to make deals? Did you take the hag’s first offer too?”

Emily blushed, saying nothing.

“Geez, just don’t go buy a horse by yourself, please!”

“Where is she?” Emily interrupted. “We have a deal now, so where is she?”

“Whoa… slow down, Emily. You’ve got some work to do before we get to that. You know, a little prepayment on the deal. I just met you. Not sure that I can trust you to follow through.”

Emily looked at her stump and Bob’s eyes followed. “Really? Plus, I’ve got this.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tattered scroll, unrolling it for him to see. It was a Deed to this little acreage in the forest, including title to the little stream and the bridge and Bob. “Seems like I own your ass.”

“Well, ahem… you don’t really own me. That’s just a piece of paper. I existed well before property rights were acknowledged and traded.”

“The King says different,” she said, pointing to the seal on her Deed. “But that’s good news for you, I’ve been looking for something new to do with my life. People would definitely pay good money to see you, and why not? You’re amazing…”

“Thank you, thank you,” Bob said, interrupting her again. “Yes, it’s agreed. I am a bit amazing.” Bob stood looking at the watery reflection of his body as the morning sun lightly glimmered off his rippling surface.

“…amazingly stupid, amazingly self-centered. I can see it now, maybe the Babbling Buffoon or Silly Stream. People will come from all over and wonder how we did it—animatronics, illusions, voice displacement. But, yes, we’re totally in on this new family business, like 100%,” she said as she started clearing brush from the bridge.

“Wait, wait. Can we just stick with the Babbling Brook? You have to admit, it’s kind of kitschy, and it’s kind of my thing, you know, from the fairytales and all.”

“We can talk, and don’t worry we’ll do our end. I’m actually pretty excited about it,” she said with a smile, but then her face hardened. “So, now, tell me where Emma is? Where is my daughter?”

“The hag, in the swamp. The one with your arm,” he said, motioning to her stump. “She’s got Emma. Surprised she didn’t tell you,” he quipped.

“What?” Emily said. “That makes no sense. Why would she give me the map to here if it just led back to her?”

“That’s a great question, and one you’ll have to take up with her.” He said, turning disinterested, looking off into the forest. “Perhaps another arm or other appendage, who knows really, with that hag.” As he finished, he stepped forward looking at the bridge. “Oh my, we’re going to need a mason out here, stat.”

“Nothing more is happening until I get back. With my daughter, and with all my appendages. Wait here,” she announced before turning and storming off through the forest, the coherence of the Babbling Brook fading into the background.

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