by Cara Hoffman
“You’re right,” said Lila.
The duck jumped up on top of the piano, his eyes turning dark with terror.
“Not about eating a duck, Billy,” she said, shaking her head. “But Beau is right; since I came back from the Sorbonne, people have been getting sicker. We need to figure out why.”
4
There was only one animal in the swamp who might answer such questions. Few creatures were brave enough to visit her, and some didn’t believe in her advice at all. Still, Pythia’s lineage was nearly as old as the frogs’, and her house was a broken-down shack beneath the willows, where the branches of the trees were filled with muck and moss and nests. Her shack was nearly invisible because of the haze of insects and swamp gas that surrounded it.
Tubs was not afraid to visit Pythia. He believed most creatures were good at heart, as long as they weren’t too hungry. Still, he kept his journey a secret from Lila. She wouldn’t want him to visit the old shack, and would certainly try to stop him from speaking to a witch.
Instead he told Virgil.
The old water rat nodded gruffly and started unmooring his boat.
“Ain’t a good idea to swim all the way there,” he told Tubs. “Be mighty hard to swim back if she takes a bite out of you.”
Tubs and Virgil left before dawn. Virgil paddled slowly through the marsh, his corncob pipe giving off little puffs of sweet-smelling smoke.
The rhythm of the oars in the water was hypnotic. Tubs was enjoying himself, lying back in the stern and gazing up at the sky. Soon, he thought, their troubles would be over. Pythia would tell him what to do, then creatures would be well again, and Lila wouldn’t have to work all the time. There would be fish and tadpoles, and parties, like before.
He began planning a great party in his head. There would be a five-piece band and dancing. There would be delicious food and special willow-sap sodas and sweet cakes and chicory coffee. He’d invite all the egrets, and all the sparrows. Everyone would make up new songs and play them long into the night. He even began composing a little song in his head, humming to himself. He was in a fantastic mood.
Tubs and Virgil had traveled together a good distance before Virgil said, “Oh, and Tubs, she’s known to occasionally eat you instead of answering your question. I ain’t so sure she’s magic.”
“Pythia won’t eat me,” Tubs said, grinning at his friend. “I’ve brought my harmonica!”
“You’re going to give her the harmonica to eat?”
“Huh?” said Tubs. “Of course not! It’s just that no one eats a frog with a harmonica.”
“Tubs, but . . . I mean . . . ,” Virgil began.
“Yes, I know, I know,” said Tubs. “But Millie was a toad and she was playing a violin.”
“Uh, and then there’s . . .”
“Okay, yes,” said Tubs. “But Franklin was playing the clarinet. That’s why I didn’t bring my clarinet.”
“Uh . . . ,” said Virgil.
“I hope you’re NOT going to bring up Deedee,” said Tubs.
Virgil puffed on his pipe and squinted off over the swamp. Then he shrugged.
They were coming into view of the cloud of insects, and Tubs had a light snack.
When they reached the misty border of Pythia’s property, Tubs slipped from the boat into the water and swam through the deep green swamp. The light from the sun broke through the water and reached down to the mud beneath him, illuminating the gleaming stems of water lilies and duckweed and cinnamon fern.
He emerged at the edge of Pythia’s dock. The smell of swamp gas was strong, like it was coming from inside. The wood creaked as Tubs crept up onto the first step of Pythia’s shack. Her door was shut, but it wasn’t much of a door. It looked suspiciously like someone had taken a bite out of it.
Tubs peered through the ragged door into the mist and gloom. Inside, he could see a large green creature with an enormous mouth. The pupils of her eyes were vertical lines and these strange eyes stared drowsily back at him. Tubs walked into the strange and steamy room, transfixed by Pythia’s stare. He had never seen a witch before!
She was sitting on a three-legged stool, balanced directly over the source of the misty haze, and was wearing a flowing red dress. She wore sapphire rings on all her fingers. On her head was a wreath made of swamp rose.
She smiled slowly, showing three feet of sharp yellow teeth, and Tubs trembled. Remember, he said to himself, she is a creature just like me.
“Have you brought me a present?” the witch asked.
Tubs cleared his throat. Swamp gas was going to his head and he was beginning to feel dizzy. “I have,” he said.
“Very good,” said Pythia. “Play it for me.”
Tubs took out his harmonica and began to play—slowly at first, then with feeling, slapping his foot on the wooden floor.
Pythia listened, her eyes gleaming. Soon she, too, was tapping her foot, her long claws scratching like brushes on a drum, her enormous weight thumping down on the floor, making the furniture jump and rattling the pots and pans in the kitchen. The sound of the thumping, jangling song filled Tubs with delight.
He began to dance and the alligator witch swayed from side to side. She clapped her hands, and her rings clicked with a lovely snap. When Pythia’s teakettle began whistling, it was more than Tubs could bear. He spun, enthralled by the mysterious music of everyday life, the brushing and snapping and whistling and stomping, and his own harmonic melody tying it all together.
Ravished by the beautiful noise, Tubs flipped up into a handstand, holding the harmonica with his feet, then tossed the harmonica high into the air. But before he could catch it, Pythia snapped it up in her mouth and ate it whole.
The music ended abruptly, and Tubs stood still. A hot haze hung in the room and he was sweating. Only the teakettle’s shrill whistle continued to sound.
Pythia leaned down to look into his eyes, grinning so he could see every one of her sharp yellow teeth.
“Would you like some tea?” the witch asked in a low growl.
5
Tubs wished there was something cool to drink in the steamy shack, but he didn’t want to risk Pythia thinking he was rude by refusing her tea. It had long been believed Pythia knew everything—that she talked to spirits, that the swamp gas gave her visions, that the creatures she ate were sacrificed in the name of knowledge. He considered himself lucky. The ancient witch had only eaten his harmonica.
Pythia returned from the kitchen carrying a dented silver teapot and two chipped china cups, which she set on the stool. She poured them each a steaming cup of murky green tea, then sat down on the floor beside him.
“Now, my bright young friend,” she said, “you may ask your question.”
Tubs looked in the cup and watched something dark and strange churning at the bottom. The tea smelled like mushrooms and dirt.
“My question,” said Tubs, “is why are so many creatures getting sick? Why are there no fish? What happened to all the tadpoles?”
Pythia appeared lost in thought, her eyelids drooping. She breathed deeply through her enormous nostrils, her head nodding as though someone unseen was speaking to her.
Finally, she said. “Haven’t got a clue.”
“WHAT?!” Tubs shouted.
“No idea,” said the witch.
“WHAT?!” Tubs shouted again, unable to think of something better to say.
“No. Ideeeeaaa,” the witch said slowly.
Tubs jumped up, knocking over his teacup. “But this is serious,” he said.
“I see the future, not the past,” said Pythia, waving her hand in the air. “I don’t know where the fish have gone or why birds are losing their feathers.”
Pythia leaned in close to Tubs and stared at him with her strange heavy-lidded eyes. “But I do know this,” she whispered. “It’s not going to stop.”
Tubs’s breath caught in his throat, and he backed away from the witch.
“That can’t be true,” said Tubs.
&nb
sp; “Oh, dear dear, my bright little friend,” she said. “It’s quite true; the spirits don’t lie. There is only one thing that can stop it.”
“What?” cried Tubs. “Tell me.”
“You, Tubs Marshfield, must leave the swamp. You will travel to marvelous places that frogs only dream about and hear music like you’ve never heard before. You will stand beside the greats and people will cheer your name. You will eat delicious food and drink delicious drinks and play new songs that frogs will sing for ages to come. Crowds will carry you upon their shoulders.”
“But I don’t—”
“It’s the only way,” said Pythia. “You will walk to the railroad tracks and hop on a train. You will ride through the countryside, and when the train enters the city you will jump off. You will find yourself in a glorious place, where there are parties that last for days and songs that last for centuries. That’s where your marvelous life is. Not here.”
“But—”
“You must do it,” said the alligator. “Because if you stay, there will be only ruin and misery for everyone.”
6
Tubs turned from Pythia and ran from the room, through the rickety door of the shack, and out along the dock. He dove straight back into the swamp. He swam until he knew he was far away, then popped up to the surface.
Virgil was still waiting for him in his boat, smoking a pipe and reading a book.
Tubs grabbed the side of the boat and hurled himself over, flopping into the bottom and lying there dazed and silent. He had a prickly feeling on his neck and cheeks.
Virgil put down his book.
“Tubs, you okay? That witch put a spell on you?”
“She ate my harmonica,” whispered Tubs, then he started to cry.
Virgil switched his pipe to the other side of his mouth. “Cheer up, Tubs,” he said. “Harmonicas are quite easy to come by. ’Magine we could have it replaced by the end of the day.”
“And she doesn’t know why anyone is sick.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Lila studied medicine, then,” said Virgil. “Seems she might-could figure out why people are green around the gills . . . you know . . . get to the bottom of all this. I’m quite a believer in modern medicine. And that Lila is sure good at fixing things.”
“And she said I have to leave here because if I stay, there will be ruin and misery!”
“Huh,” said Virgil. “The word here is not so precise. Could be interpreted in so many ways. . . . Don’t seem there’s much of a time line for such a trip.”
“She said I was going to have a marvelous life and stand beside the greats and frogs would sing my songs for thousands of years.”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” said Virgil, puffing on his pipe. “Frogs get a song in their heads, they just keep going with it—so a thousand years ain’t nothing to write home about. How ’bout we head back now?”
“I love this swamp!” Tubs sobbed, covering his eyes with his hands.
“Tubs,” said Virgil, “you ain’t gotta lissen to no alligator witch.”
Tubs remained in the bottom of the boat with his speckled belly facing the sky, and Virgil began to row home. In a short time, the splash of the oars cutting through the water and the songbirds calling from the trees lulled him. He could hear a melody in his head and soon he began to hum, then sing to himself.
“Oh, I went o-o-o-out to the witch’s shack
To find a way to get the old swamp back
To find the fish
To find the trees
To find the rain
To find the breeze
But all I found was gloppy tea and swamp gas fumes and misery
It’s not for me
It’s not for me
I don’t want that misery”
Tubs was beginning to feel better. He bent his knees and tapped his feet on the bottom of the boat.
“I won’t go down to the railroad tracks
I won’t say goodbye to the water rats
I won’t live alone in an old top hat
On a windy road with a feral cat and sing love songs to a horseshoe crab”
Tubs leaped to his feet and spread his arms as he sang.
“Tubs,” said Virgil.
But Tubs wasn’t listening. “It’s not for meeeeeee,” he sang.
“Tubs,” Virgil tried again. “There’s a—”
The boat passed beneath a low branch, which hit Tubs in the back and toppled him from the boat. He landed in the water with a splash, then bobbed back up, laughing. The swamp was beautiful and green and nothing in the world seemed wrong to him now. No kind of pain could last when he was singing his songs.
7
That night the stars were brighter than ever, shining even in the gloaming dusky sky. The creatures gathered in boats and on lily pads, and on the leaves, and roots of trees. They surrounded Tubs’s dock—waiting to hear the tale of his visit to the witch—and they whispered to one another about the secrets she might have told him.
Inside the house, Tubs was singing and cooking dinner. Lila was sitting at the kitchen table, her doctor’s bag and briefcase standing on the floor next to her chair. She was looking through a pile of papers and lab results and talking to Gloria, who was perched on the back of her chair, reading intently over her shoulder.
Tubs noticed that the feathers at Gloria’s neck were now gone, and a red rash was there, too. It was the first time he had seen her not wearing a tie. It must have hurt to put it on. Gloria seemed thinner than before, and her dark eyes shone bright. The wood thrush was wrong, he thought. She wasn’t just losing her feathers. She was sick, too.
“There’s got to be something we’re missing,” Gloria said.
“Every patient I saw today has the same symptoms,” Lila said. “Woodpeckers, crawfish, water rats, even a dragonfly. It’s unusual to see so many different kinds of animals with the same complaints. Crawfish don’t get the same colds as birds.”
“It’s true,” said Gloria. “And the lab results for birds were the same for fish and salamanders.”
“Well, we’re not that different from one another,” Tubs said. “We all live in the same swamp.”
Tubs put bowls of soup on the table for Lila and Gloria and gave his cousin a little nudge. He had already set the table without them noticing, using Elodie’s special silverware—the kind with engravings of flies on the handles. He set out three small jam jars full of water, and fancy linen napkins.
“Time to eat,” said Tubs as he sprinkled some dried mosquitoes on top of the soup. Lila smiled.
“My favorite,” she said. “Thank you, Tubs, you’re the best.”
“Thanks, Tubs!” said Gloria, giving him a wink. “Oh, hey, Tubs,” she continued. “What’s worse than an alligator coming to dinner?”
“What?” he asked.
“Two alligators coming to dinner.” Gloria laughed at her own joke and poured everyone a glass of willow-sap soda.
Then Tubs raised his glass. “Here’s to no alligators coming to dinner,” he said.
“You were brave to visit Pythia,” Lila said.
“That’s true,” said Gloria. “If the word brave also means crazy.”
The friends sat at the table amid Lila’s papers and began to eat. Suddenly they put down their spoons and grabbed their jars of water, drinking quickly. Gloria gave a little shriek and flew to the sink to run water over her beak.
“Hoo-wee,” said Tubs, fanning the air in front of his mouth and beginning to sweat. “Heavy on the hot peppers!”
Lila gulped down her water. She ran to the sink to get more, then stopped suddenly and stood perfectly still. “Wait!” she said, a smile breaking out on her face. “Wait! The symptoms! It’s almost like everyone has eaten the same bad food.”
“Hey!” said Tubs. “Bad food?”
“No, no, no. This food isn’t bad—just hot. But the sickness—maybe it’s not a cold or a virus or a disease. Maybe it’s the same as you and me and Gloria feeling hot pepper on
our tongues at the same time.”
“Yes!” said Gloria. “And that’s why a crawfish can have the same kind of sickness as a woodpecker!”
“Huh,” said Tubs. “But we don’t all eat the same foods.”
Lila sifted through her papers, took a pencil from her briefcase, and began to write furiously. “You’re exactly right, Tubs,” she said. “But like you said—we all live in the same swamp!”
Gloria hopped from report to report, her shiny black eyes reading every document in a matter of seconds. “There’s got to be something that all of us eat,” she said.
This sounded very ominous to Tubs. The thing that was making them sick might be the thing they needed to stay alive—food. “So if we’re eating it, then we’ll just keep getting sicker?”
“Right,” said Lila. “And if we stop eating or drinking whatever it is, there’s a good chance we’ll get better! It’s okay, Tubs, we’ll figure this out.”
Tubs wondered if there was a way he could help, besides making dinner and playing songs. Lila and Gloria were so hard at work all the time. He wanted to help. But music kept calling to him. Sometimes it was hard to think of anything else—even in the midst of the sickness. Other times he was angry that this sickness had come and distracted him from his songs. He wanted everyone to be well—of course he did. But somehow in his heart, there was nothing more important than making music.
The peepers were getting restless outside, beginning to call to one another. A thud on the door made Tubs and Lila jump, but didn’t ruffle Gloria’s feathers. Then they heard Beau calling Tubs’s name.
He thought of the alligator witch’s prophecy. The marvelous life she described was what the swamp was like before the sickness came. There were parties and ancient songs and delicious food. He couldn’t make sense of it. How could it be that he alone had to leave? How would that make things better? And what a disappointment it would be to tell everyone he had gone all the way to the witch’s shack and learned nothing at all.
