Sandra sighed and trailed after the old man as he hobbled through his rickety house, cackling quietly to himself. “You have to take your medicine, Hubert.”
She heard his raucous laugh from around the corner, echoing from the kitchen and bouncing down the halls. “Who says so?”
“Me,” she snapped crossly. She shrieked and fell backwards, landing on the floor with a thump as his head popped out from behind the corner, his worn top hat falling awry on his head. “I don’t have to listen to you!”
She muttered to herself and started collecting the laundry she had been holding as he receded again, humming some tune that she assumed was an old show song. Sandra staggered to her feet with the pile of laundry, taking a step forward to find her patient. She was quickly bowled over once more as he sped past her, his thick glasses trailing from a chain around his neck.
“I’m late!”
Sandra stomped after him, her fists clenched. “Oh, that’s it! You listen to me, you careless, nagging, cranky, stupid old man! I’m a registered nurse, and I’m supposed to be taking care of you, but I have really just hit my limit—“
She flung open the door and crossed her arms as he sped past her, newspapers falling out of his bag and hovering in the air behind him. He pedaled his feet frantically, careening down the road with a series of groans and creaks from his rusty bike following. “No time to talk! Gotta run, gotta go!”
“Oh no you don’t,” Sandra shouted, running to the garage and pulling her own bike out. She quickly plonked her helmet on her head and fastened it tightly under her chin before following the trail of newspapers that were quickly soaking up mud on the street. The neighbors were out on their lawns, clamoring angrily at her as she zoomed down the road.
“He knocked over my tea!”
“Hubert just biked over my freshly mowed lawn!”
“Sandra, you better catch that trickster, he replaced my paper with a picture of his face!”
“I’m trying!” Sandra shouted, panting as she pedaled closer and closer to the old man doing figure-eights from house to house, tossing newspapers this way and that. He stopped and hopped off his bike, sitting down squarely in the center of the road.
Sandra sharply veered her bike to the left to avoid running him over, jumping off her bike and carefully parking it with the kickstand. She stood in front of the old man, panting. Hubert just grinned at her and placed his glasses on his face. “Oops. Forgot to put the old glasses on.”
“Look what you’ve done!” Sandra yelled, stomping her foot. “My hair is ruined, my new blouse is destroyed, and you’ve managed to tick off everyone in a mile radius!”
“First of all, I’m perfectly happy,” Hubert pointed out. “Secondly, your hair looks better when you let it down, and your blouse will be fine after you give it a good scrub. Wasn’t that exciting, Sandra? Didn’t you feel a little thrill, a rush of happiness?”
“All I’m feeling is hot and cross,” she replied. Hubert grinned, then looked over his shoulder and scrambled to his feet, brushing off his coat. Sandra turned to see the neighbors gathering in a horde, shouting at the two of them.
Hubert looked at them, preening his mustache. “I’d say we’d better move, eh Sandra?”
Sandra groaned and followed the old man as he broke into a surprisingly fast run, his red coattails flapping behind him as he moved. The clamoring of angry voices quickly faded as Hubert led her into the bustling market. Sandra hugged her purse tight to her chest and brushed off her skirt, painfully aware of the straggling hairs escaping from her bun. The steady babble of voices haggling and conversing calmed her frazzled nerves and she took the helmet off her head, trying to smooth down her hair as much as possible. “Where are we going, Hubert?”
“I have a plan,” he whispered loudly over his shoulder. “As soon as we’re past this wretched fish stall, I’ll tell it to you.” Sandra hardly noticed the pungent smell of fish that permeated the air, shrugging and waving at the fishmonger, who tipped his hat at her. “You’re still not used to the smell?”
“Never will be. We never visited a small town like this one in the circus, only big cities. They have cars there now, did you know? Absolutely incredible.”
As they worked their way through the maze of shops, Hubert slowed his pace until they walked side by side. Sandra thought that they must have been an awful sight: a short old man dressed in old circus clothes and a young woman with mussed hair and dirty skirts. He pulled a small bundle out of his pocket and unwrapped it, shaking the stick out until it unfurled into a cane that snapped into position. “Here’s the plan. George has been a little prickly lately, so I’m going to sneak into his stall and put a pie in the money bin. He’ll be flabbergasted. I need you to distract him while I do so.” As he spoke, he pulled a rather smashed pie tin out of his coat. “It’ll be fun. Surprise pie!”
He chuckled to himself and Sandra anxiously twisted the strings lacing up her blouse.
“I don’t know if I should help you. What if he catches you and thinks you’re stealing?”
“That’s where you come in. He won’t catch me. Besides, I see the way his son looks at you, and George does too. He’ll want to make a good impression on his future daughter-in-law.”
“I’m not going to marry a butcher,” Sandra mumbled, her cheeks flushed. Hubert cackled and nudged her with a bony elbow.
As instructed, Sandra went alone to the butcher’s stall, waving hello to the older bearded man that towered above her. “Hello, Sandra!” he boomed, putting out a large hand for her to shake. She slipped her delicate hand into his and shook it with all the force she could muster. George nodded approvingly. “Strong handshake. I like to see that in a young woman. Girls need to be strong too.”
Hubert gave her a thumbs up from the other side of the stall and dropped below the counter. Sandra brushed her hair back behind her ear and pretended to look at the slabs of meat. “George! The meat looks especially fine this week. Did Harry help you? I would love to be shown around the butchery sometime.”
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate for a young lady,” George said. “It’s dirty work, killing animals. You’ve always been a clean one, miss Sandra.”
“Why thank you, George,” Sandra replied, smiling at him warmly. “You flatter me.”
A loud thud and an “Ow!” rang out from underneath the stall as the table shook.
George spun around, bellowing. “Hubert!”
Hubert ran around the stall, massaging his head, and grabbed Sandra’s hand. “Always a pleasure, George!” He dragged Sandra away, who apologized profusely as she started running. George’s booming voice followed them down the rest of the market as they ran, clambering up a small hill. Sandra and Hubert collapsed at the top of the hill, giggling. Hubert’s glasses were skewed, and Sandra knew her skirt must be getting grass stains. They looked at each other and burst into laughter again, gasping for air.
“You look like a witch!”
“You look like a homeless jester!”
After collecting themselves, they sat and watched the town below bustling in the mid-day heat.
Hubert nudged her, a glimmer in his eye. “That was fun, eh?”
“I hate to admit it, but it was fun,” Sandra reluctantly admitted. “I never knew one old man could cause so much chaos.”
“I like this side of you, Sandra. Bring it out more often. That’s the best way to keep this old man happy, and how to get me to take my medication.”
Sandra slapped a palm over her forehead. “Your medication!” She rummaged through her purse and produced a small bag, shaking two pills into her hand. George took them with his weathered fingers, winking at her as he pulled a small flask out of his pocket. He quickly downed the medicine and sighed contentedly.
“You’re a good nurse, Sandra.”
The smell of fish wafted gently away in the breeze as the unlikely pair sat and talked about nothing other than the birds and the clouds in the sky until the sun went down.
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