Bobby’s Bridge

“What’s beyond the river?” Bobby asked his mother, Helen. He flicked his dark black hair over his shoulder. Curls tinged with amber fell against his red collarless shirt. Bobby had a way of turning up his head that made him look as though he were admonishing someone, especially when his curiosity caught the best of him, as it often did.

“Land,” was the quick response that Helen gave him back.

“I know that,” Bobby said. “What kind of land is it?”

“Nobody knows,” Helen replied. “I’ve never seen it myself.”

“Nobody’s seen it?” asked Bobby. His eyebrows narrowed as he latched onto that concept. Nobody knew what was beyond the Cryms. “I want to be a great explorer. I will discover what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“You’re barely twelve,” Helen said. “How do you plan to do that?”

“Ask, of course,” Bobby said, his eyes brightening. He wiped something brown on his coarse brown pants. “If we know there’s land, then someone’s seen it right?”

“Someone? Well, I suppose,” said Helen. She wore a crimson gown that flowed around her ankles like a river. It was a nightgown that Bobby always loved, because of the way the hem floated there. “That would be Roget and Nance. They’re the only two people who have been across.”

“I thought you said we don’t know?”

“We don’t,” Helen assured him, shaking her head. “You’ll see why.”

Bobby thought about Roget and Nance. He knew that Roget lived closest, at the water’s edge, and thought that might be his best shot for an answer. And so, he set out that day in the shimmery sunlight to walk through the forest toward the water’s edge, where Roget’s house was.

When he broke through the clearing at the edge of the water, Bobby saw a little shack. It was half torn down, and around it were posts with painted rocks atop them, each decorated stone with an eyeball peering away from the house. At first, Bobby thought he might need to leave. He didn’t really know Roget. The man was rumored to shout at night random musings into the air, almost stream-of-consciousness stuff. Bobby knew this, but he had to find out what lay beyond the river, so he swallowed and pushed past the creepy structures toward an opening he hoped was the front entrance.

“Who’s there?” came a voice, quivering and full of bitterness.

“It’s me. Bobby,” Bobby said.

“Why are you here, Bobby?” asked Roget.

“To seek knowledge,” Bobby said. “I want to understand what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“Death,” said Roget. “Chaos. It’s a world that won’t be understood.”

Bobby sucked in his breath. “You’ve seen it?”

“The far shore? Indeed I have. I set foot upon it.”

“What happened?”

“I got back into my boat, and I returned.”

“And you saw—”

“Some say that there’s a jabber that lives in the woods there. Some say that it will sneak into homes at night and steal babies.”

“And you saw one when you were over there?”

“I saw trees that stretched into the sky, behind which jabbers could easily hide. I saw caves where jabbers like to roost.”

“What does a jabber look like? I mean, you know, when you saw one?”

“I saw a shadow move.”

“Shadow of a jabber?”

“Shadow of a bear. But it could have just as easily been a jabber. What if the bear ate the jabber?”

Bobby blinked. He mulled the conversation over in his mind, pulling at the strings of it and trying to weave something meaningful from the dribble. The truth, the best he could make it out, was that Roget had seen nothing. Maybe he’d stepped foot on the other side, maybe he hadn’t. But either way, he hadn’t seen anything at all, and yet, oozed this fear, the same fear that Bobby had heard repeated constantly in his village. But if it was only Roget, then what?

“Coffee?”

“I’m twelve.”

“Still. Would you like some? I could tell you about the time a jabber almost got me.”

His eyes popped open wide. “Really?”

“Yes. I heard it outside of my tent when I was sleeping.”

“How do you know it was a jabber?”

“Well, people say there are jabbers out there. I believe them. And I was in my tent and heard something, so it had to be a jabber.”

Bobby’s heart fell. Another non-jabber sighting.

“I’m going to talk to Nance.”

The old man wrinkled his nose at this. “What would you want to talk to her for? She doesn’t know anything. Like she’s ever been over the river.”

“Mom says—”

“Your mother doesn’t know anything. I never liked Nance. You can’t trust her. She doesn’t speak the truth.”

It was half a day between Roget’s shack and Nances little hut, farther down the river, and with a front porch covered in flowers. Bobby felt happy approaching the hut, just by virtue of the plethora of different colors that presented themselves there. He felt uplifted, as though there were something peaceful there that he might discover. He had no apprehension approaching, and even found a knocker on the door so he didn’t have to just wander in.

“Come in,” came the woman’s voice from inside. Bobby entered the hut, which sat against the river in very much the same way as Roget’s shack. As he passed through the little hut, he saw paintings adorning the walls, some of towers and high city walls that didn’t exist in Evoation. When he came out the other side, he saw a bridge extending a few feet into the water. An older woman leaned over it, hammering down a plank into place. When Bobby raised his eyes, he couldn’t see the opposite side of the river from where he stood.

“Nance?”

“Yes, child. I’m Nance. What can I do for you?” the woman said, brushing sweat from her eyes and her gray hair out of her face.

“I want to learn about what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“An entire world,” Nance said. “A world of trees and wonder and fruits we don’t know. It’s a world of splendor and potential trading partners. There are cities with streets laced with gold and paved with marble stones.”

“What about jabbers?”

“Those childhood stories? No, they don’t exist, Bobby. You’re old enough to know better than that, aren’t you?”

“Roget says—”

“Ah,” Nance commented. “Roget hasn’t been to the other side.”

“Helen said he has.”

“Roget’s told everyone that he has. Some people believe him. A lot of people believe him, in fact. So many, that I haven’t managed to convince anyone to help build a bridge and connect us to the world.”

“I’ll help,” Bobby said.

“Before you do,” Nance said, eyeing him up and down. “Before you do you should ask yourself if you trust me either. What if I’m lying to you and there’s nothing but death and destruction beyond the Cryms?”

“It seems to me that if that was the case, you wouldn’t be building a bridge.”

“Smart boy,” she said. “No, while Roget keeps his lies up, I can’t get anyone to help. So it’s just me, just working on this bridge.”

“Why?”

“To show them. Once I get it built, people will be able to see for themselves.”

“No, I mean why do people believe him?”

She shrugged.

“I’ve wondered that. Hand me that plank.”

Bobby dutifully grabbed a nearby plank. It was much heavier than he’d expected, but he managed to tug it over to Nance’s side. She wedged it into place, reached into an apron, and produced a handful of nails. She talked as she hammered.

“I think that maybe it’s too much for people. They can’t see it for themselves, so they have to believe someone. Roget’s convinced a lot of folks that I can’t be trusted, so they won’t even listen to me. Those are the people who keep coming by to try to sabatoge my bridge.” She pointed to an out of place plank that looked a little uneaven. “Had to replace that one yesterday. If anyone does discover what’s on the other side, then nobody would listen to Roget. He’d have no power, and we could be part of the world. Imagine the things we could discover.” Her eyes sparkled when she talked.

“My mother doesn’t believe Roget.”

“Helen doesn’t, you’re right. If she had, she wouldn’t have mentioned me,” Nance said, smiling, though Bobby could see a pain in her eyes.

“Why are you sad?”

“Because she won’t support me either. Do you see her here, helping? Hand me another plank, will you?”

Bobby ran to grab another plank.

“I’m helping,” Bobby said. “And she sent me.”

“Fair,” Nance said, chuckling as she nailed the plank into place. “As long as you remember to come back, you’ll be a great help.”

“But don’t some people believe you?”

“Some do,” she said, nodding. “But most have decided that Roget’s story and my story are too different. They can’t believe that the world could be as beautiful as I’ve described it, and their fear keeps them from wanting to find out. They build walls around their own hearts and minds. Whether they believe me, or believe Roget, their inaction supports Roget. After all, if you want to find out what’s beyond the river, you really have to look, don’t you?”

“I will,” said Bobby, laying a plank down for himself. Nance handed him the hammer and a few nails.

“The hard part will be setting the next post,” she said. “The one after that is even harder.”

“When will the bridge be finished?” Bobby asked, staring out over the water.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But as long as we keep laying planks, it’ll get to the other side.”

So Bobby helped. Every day, for the rest of his life, he helped work on the bridge, one plank at a time, until it stretched nearly halfway across. Nance died before the bridge was completed, and Bobby inherited the hut. His mother, eventually, began to use the bridge building as an excuse for them to stay close, and Bobby liked that. But eventually, his mother died too. Bobby kept working. It was when Bobby was as old as Roget that he finally reached the other side, and laid the final plank. As he stepped foot over, he felt a warm gust of air caress his leathery skin, which he likened to the gentleness of Nance, thanking him for the work he’d done.

The bridge was the first of twelve to be built over the next few decades. Trade flourished for Evoation, and visitors from all over came to the little village, turning it from a village, into a town, and then from a town into a city. All of the growth was possible because of the little bridge that Nance had started, a tool that allowed the people of Evoation to see the truth, despite being inundated with lies. And once it was finished, and the people could see for themselves what lay beyond the water, then all the talk of jabbers became resigned truly to the storybooks and children’s tales from which they’d come.