[A Traveler's Diary]

[Haffon]

I don't know.

 

[Haffon]

tab Pebbles scattered, their tumble muffled by the flattened dirt road. From above, saucer-wide eyes glued themselves to the patterns made through the dust, and when the gravel stones had rolled to a stop—Coello kicked them once more. For hours they continued like this; Coello and his rocks. The game of childhood's long past had always carried about it a strange therapeutic feel.

If only that were so this time.

Instead, only bitterness—with its salted burn—offered Coello any companionship in his moment of introspection. Pessimism and hindsight stirred together into a virulent syrup that twisted his insides, transformed them even—into reflections of a theater stage; his encounter with Stella portrayed on repeat in this mental auditorium, with his every mistake highlighted in each recreation. Maybe he just wasn't meant to be a hero in this story anyhow.

A hero never doubted themselves, or if they did, they were always able to find their spirit soon after. Coello couldn't remember the last time things didn't seem so hazy. Even in Konoha, which had been a home where none existed, had started to feel as if seen through a stranger's eyes. To travel, to think Coello could save himself with this marionette act of his old self—that had been his mistake.

tab "Excuse me, young man?"

The voice was not reposeful, but its sandpaper texture caught Coello out of his stupor. Wild pink eyes darted back and forth, unsure and unsteady with the realization that he had wandered far into some unknown corner of the village. From a few places away, a crowd stood with diligence before a shabby wooden platform. Their heads all turned in unison to face Coello.

tab "I said excuse me, young sir, but might you be interested in a magic trick?"

The voice called again, and this time Coello recognized it as the performer who stood at the head of it all. A hand, with fingers poked through holes of a worn glove, hung in the air. The strange insistence of the moment worked to convince the bunny, who muttered acceptance, despite the aversion felt as the sudden center of attention. "Wonderful, wonderful, I promise I don't bite." Light laughter sounded from the audience. "Now, all I need you to do is sign this ryo note. Sound easy enough?"

In a flushed moment of his embarrassment, Coello found his voice. "Yes." The word echoed louder than he wanted it to, but thankfully neither the magician nor the audience commented. As the ryo was signed and returned, the man directed Coello to stand with the crowd. "Now! This bill has been signed by two people. You know this because you've seen it. But, I'm afraid I haven't truthful with you. This isn't a real magic trick. I just wanted an excuse to share a story with you all."

With deft skill, the magician's fingers worked the bill. Coello, now able to relax, watched with empty thought. "Now, this is a story I learned from my grandfather. And if you'd excuse me, I'd like to begin it the same way he always did. Ahem. Y'ALL AIN'T GONNA BELIEVE THIS. But they was once this shoemaker, this cobbler, this man-what-made-shoes. And it came to pass that he got down to his last ryo. He had only one ryo left to his name. All of his former wealth simply flown away. And he did what he had always done; the man took his ryo, and he bought shoe leather. He had just enough money to buy enough leather for one pair of shoes. And he took that leather, and he worked it in, and he cut out the pattern. Then, tired as he was, he set aside the work to finish in the morn. The next day he got up early and discovered—a brand new pair of shoes sat neatly on his workbench. Hand-stitched, hand-dyed, hand-tooled, and so beautiful, it was almost magic. And no sooner had he opened the shop, and the shoes sold. And he had enough money, made a little profit, had just enough leather for two pairs of shoes. So, he bought the leather, and he cut out the pattern, and just of curiosity—he left it placed on his workbench. Next morn he got up, and sure enough—two beautiful pairs of shoes. Well, this went on, night after night. And eventually, the shoemaker regained his former wealth. But him and his wife were also curious people, and they decided to stay up late one night to get to the bottom of it all. Together they discovered that just at the stroke of midnight, a pair of juvenile, delinquent, vandal elves was breaking into his shop and making these shoes. Oh, but these were not any ordinary pair of juvenile, delinquent, vandal elves. No, they were nudist, juvenile, delinquent, vandal elves. They were without clothes—they was nekkid. Are any of you familiar with the term nekkid? The difference between nekkid and naked, is that naked is at home, a change of clothes in the shower—naked. Nekkid is out in public and up to sumthin. They was nekkid. Whose been nekkid? Actually, nevermind, we probably don't wanna go down that road. Now back to the story, the shoemaker's wife took pity on these poor nekkid elves. So, she created for each of them a suit of clothes. Left em to sit out overnight, and the elves were so overwhelmed with the show of gratitude, they taught the shoemaker how to make magic elf shoes. And they all lived happily ever after."

A soft clap began and ended when its owner realized the moment was not yet appropriate. The magician, ever masterful, played the air off quick with a warm smile of gratitude before he continued. "The moral of the story is you take whatever it is you have in your hands, and you use it to uplift and inspire somebody else. You use it to pass on the story. So, I took my ryo and the donation of your signatures, and I made a small magic elf shoe." True to his word, the magician revealed his project at last—a ryo, folded into the shape of a boot made fit for an elf.

Amidst a chorus of cheers, Coello stared from behind a fog. His body was wholly transfixed, not by wonder or amazement, but by the lifeless need to hold onto the things that once made him himself. The magician—still with his grin—passed his creation onto a woman, whom Coello assumed must have been the other sign the ryo note before him. "And I'll tell ya the truth, Rose. I've made thousands of these, I've made them all over the world, with all different kinds of currencies you could imagine. And I've never made one like this one; cause I've made this one for you. And this one is unique in all the world because in the heart of it—where real magic happens—is Coello's signature and yours. Never be another one like it, never will be another one like it. And of course, you can open it and spend it, and it's worth a ryo. Or you can keep it and pass the story onto someone else. And Rose... I know you'll do the right thing."



~~A skip and a tumble to the end of the magic show, with Coello still front and center~~


"As far as clechés go, I just did a card trick. A magician card trick—go figure. AND IF RGHT NOW!" The performer's gloved finger fell pointed at his bowler hat that sat on a plain wooden table. "I was to pick up the hat, and there was a rabbit underneath the hat. Well, that would be too cleché; every magician in the world would do that." The pull of stretched fabric sounded. A reveal of the hat and what was underneath let the audience agasp. "So I have an orange." Removed from the table, the displayed the fruit in an exaggerated motion of the arm, a waft of citrus air swirled as it passed within inches of Coello's nose. "But if within the orange—there was a rabbit? Well, that would be too cleché. Because this... this represents potential. This inside: the juice, the pulp, the meat, the zest, the seeds, are what makes it important. And it's like people; you get to know them, you look at the heart to what they got. You listen to their stories, to who they are, and what they're all about. You get something valuable, you get something you may not have expected, something that just absolutely should not be there. So this one, at the heart of this orange—is something unexpected... and it's... this."

Sticky nectar gushed outward to divulge a secret wonder—a boot, fit for an elf, a perfect twin to its older brother. "A ryo. A drippy wet ryo note. And not just any ryo, but one that has two signatures across the face." Tumultuous applause rang. Coello's pink satin eyes raised just the slightest amount in time with his breath. "So, ladies and gentlemen! We have an impossibility on our hands! They exist in the same place at the same time. Now, when I first heard the story of the elves and the shoemaker, I believed it like it was written history. I believed in true love and pure magic. I believed in elves that made shoes and cookies. I believed in the wonders of all the world. And I remember a moment, not too long ago, where I had come home to my daughter with a present. Beautifully colored paper that I had saved for months for. And as I gave it to her, she sat there with the brightest look on her face, but she wouldn't open it. So I says—honey, honey, what are you doing? And she says—well, right now, it could be anything. When I pull it open, I know what I get, but right now, I can use my imagination! This present could be anything at all. So, maybe the signatures are on this note, or maybe they are on the other note, maybe they're on both, or maybe they're on neither. But the only way to solve that mystery would be to destroy something beautiful, and I just don't think that's worth it. We don't have tomorrow, and we don't have next week. What we have: is this moment, this snapshot in history. We'll never be together like this, ever again quite like this. Some of us won't come back. Some of us will be asked not to come back. So, what we have is this moment and a mystery that will be represented here by this pair of boots. And I made this boot here, unique in all the world because I made it just... for... you." In a kneeled position before Coello, the precariously delicate boot fell into his palm. "And because it has your name on it." With a wink that implied more than he could have known, the nameless magician pulled back from the intimacy made between Coello and him. Not that the bun could have noticed, so transfixed was he, on the shoe that remained in his grasp.

The details were marvelous in their craft, and not a single element was spared in their complexity. A single strap even hung over the top, almost like... "Magic." The mere mention of the word brought a shadow over Coello's eyes. Careful not to crush his prize, Coello bolted through the crowd. All direction was aimless; it didn't matter where he ended up as long as he got away. To be alone, that was his desperation. Alone like he always was.

Here, beside darkness's cruel sister, Coello fell with his back to an alley wall. And he cried.