Short Story: The Wizard of the Wagon-Shop

Inspired by my friend @PoetRegressive

“Are you a wizard?” the boy asked.

The old man stood stiff for a moment and then he looked down. Two big searching eyes peered up at him as if watching a star in the sky.

“No,” the man said.

“But you are one,” the boy insisted.

“No, I just said I wasn’t one,” the man gruffed. “What even makes you say that?”

“Your robes.”

“It’s just a long coat.”

“Your wizard hat.”

“It’s but a pointed cap.”

“And you're very old.”

“Now that’s just plain rude. Go away, kid, if you ain't buying anything,” he said and pointed to the wagon-shop beside him. It was an old crusty cart with the varnish peeled off all over. At one point in time, the wood had been painted red, with green vines snaking at the edges, and golden flowers blooming between them, but now the colors had lost their lustre, and the wagon looked like a big dull smudge of brown. The only vibrant thing about it was a blue star hanging on the top of the right side of the cart which also opened outwards to display the wares of the traveller.

There were liquids in bottles, small simple toys of trains and animals, some dried leaves in wrapped paper, a number of rings in either the style of a band or a spiral with dim gems in some, a rusty pocket watch, some haphazardly sharp knives, and plethora of clothes.

“What kind of magic do these things do?” the boy asked and picked up the pocket watch. He opened it to find the glass in a much cleaner condition than the outside metal though the hands were unmoving. “Can this stop time?”

“It’s already stopped, isn’t it?”

‘Then why are you selling it?”

“It’s antique.”

“An tick?”

“Nevermind. It’s just valuable. Are you going to buy or not?”

The boy went and picked up a band. “If I wear this, can this make me invisible like Bilbo?”

“It’s not a magic item. It was made by some simple smith in China, not some dark lord.”

“Dark lord?”

The man sighed, pinching his forehead. “So you have not read the sequel. Nevermind, nevermind. Again: are you buying anything or not?”

“What kind of wizard sells magicless things?”

“The kind of wizard that is not a wizard!”

The kid sulked away. The man looked at the retreating figure and pursed his lips.

“Wait a moment,” –the kid turned around– “I might have something to show you.”

The man disappeared inside the wagon, and it shook from side to side, disturbing the dust and the wares. He got out and put something in the boy’s hand.

At a glance, it looked like a block of blue jello. But as the boy looked closer, he gasped. Little whites floated in the jello. Clouds. They were clouds, softly moving as if they were real clouds, in the jello which was not just blue, but sky blue. It was as if somebody had sliced a part of the sky and put it in his hand.

He looked up at the man with awe. “How did you make this?”

“Family secret.”

“Magic!”

“It’s craftsmanship,” the man said. “Now take it and eat it before you sleep.”

“Eat it?” the boy asked and then looked at the piece of heaven in his hand. “But it’s so beautiful.”

“Well you either eat it as I tell you or it will spoil.”

The boy put his hand in his pocket.

“No need,” the man said. “Take it as a gift.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But don’t call me a wizard anymore. Now be off!”

The boy when he was home went into his room and put the sky jello on a plate and did nothing that evening but stare and stare at it. He really did not have the heart to eat it, but the wizard did tell him it would spoil if he did not. He did not know why he had to eat it before going to sleep but something in his voice told him he should follow his instruction. So he waited and waited until the sun was gone and the moon came up.

And now the moment came. He took the jello in his hand and took a bite out of it. But he found nothing in his mouth. It was like cotton candy but even cotton candy had residue and a taste, while the jello just vanished in his mouth. He kept taking bites out of it and it kept disappearing in his mouth until it was gone. The boy sat there disappointed. He decided he was going to go back to the wagon-shop tomorrow and ask the man what was it about. He fell back into his bed.

And he fell. There was no bed, no floor, no house, no street, and no city. He plunged downwards, winds rushing above him, ruffling his clothes and blowing his hair. His stomach dropped. He felt weightless. All around him was blue and blue, and he knew he was falling into the sky. There were clouds and clouds as far as he could, numerous, glorious, with their shapes and sizes, some but little like birds or meadows, others tall as castles and mountains, some long like serpents and short like him. His heart boomed in his chest and each drum of it felt like it washed over the world he was in. He was surprised that he felt no fear and even turned around to look down. There was nothing but the blue sky and upcoming clouds. There was no down or up where he was. He was neither falling nor rising. He felt there was a whimsical chime in the wind and a sweetness in the sky. It was delectable and delightful in ways he could not fathom. He laughed for sheer joy as he stretched out his hands. “I am flying!” He could fall forever like this. Just him and the eternal sky.

But then, his arms felt heavy and the wind grew soft. He dropped down in his bed. He woke up and opened his eyes, panting like he had run a marathon. He looked at the table. There was the empty plate.

“So how was it?” the man asked.

“It was wonderful!” the boy said. “How did you make it?”

“Family secret.”

The boy caught himself before he said the words ‘magic’ or ‘wizard.’ “Can you teach me?” he asked meekly. He felt he already knew the answer to it.

The man looked hard at the boy for several seconds. Then, he turned around and started boarding up the shop. “Maybe,” he said finally.

“What?” the boy said. “Really? You will?”

“Maybe,” the man said as he put back the trinkets into their boxes.

“What will I have to do?”

The man jumped out of the wagon. He came up to the boy and knelt down at his eye level. The boy saw that he had sparkling blue eyes just like the sky.

“This is what you have to do. There is a little boy inside of you. Yes, don’t look that surprised. There is a little boy inside me as well. Now here is what I ask of you: never let go of him. Keep him close as you grow up. Keep him safe, secret if you have to. Many will tell you, ‘be done with him. Throw him away. Grow up!’ You yourself will too one day. But don’t you listen to them, and don’t listen to yourself. You listen to me. Write it down if you have to. One day that little boy will show you more wonders than what I can with my craft. And then, I will teach you.”

The man stood up and chuckled. “And who knows, you might not even need it by then.”

The man drove away. Years went by. The boy grew up into a man. But he kept the boy, hid him where none could probe. And strangely, the boy grew with him into a much more realized boy. And he came to know that the boy was the magic that he so desired.