The Goblins Fan Forum

The Watermill

Doctor Gramps lived on the countryside, alone. He wasn't a doctor, actually, it's just everyone was calling him one, and it stuck. What he really was, a dreamer. And also, a vigorous tinkerer, although nothing practically useful came out of his experiments, but that never stopped him. If anyone ever wandered up the river to his tower, they could always hear some clinging, clinking, sawing, buzzing, or any kind of noise generally related to someone being busy. And Doctor Gramps was, indeed. His mind was full of ideas, machines and tools buzzed in his head - and after a while as sketches on sheets of paper, and even some time later manifesting in physical form, moreless.

When it came to mechanics, Docs had some trouble. As a gnome, he had a natural affinity towards engineering, it's just the fine details or leverage, cogs or power transformation always eluded him. He got the basics right. He even got the shapes right. Whatever he created looked exactly like he imagined: impressive, modern, full of creativity and potential. And for some obscure reason, they never worked. They just looked like they worked. If one asked Gramps about this, he replied likely along these lines:

- Oh I must have overlooked something. I will fix it later.

Of course, he never fixed anything. He didn't have the time for that. He never bothered about it, either. Always absorbed in the current work, one could see that sweet, wide smile on his face while hammering, stitching, building or deconstructing something. And so it was right, everyone liked him, if not for his craftsman prowess, but for his good and happy nature. He often got visitors. Some of them just went there to laugh at the impossible things he created, others came for a bit of chit-chat, and of course brought useful presents - like food -, as the Doc could be quite forgetful sometimes. Gramps was a local celebrity, so to say, and his newest inventions always went around in the nearby villages quite fast.

It was a lazy summer morning when I heard about his next big thing: the watermill. He didn't live far away, so I decided to visit him. It has been a while since I saw the gnome, and I had nothing better to do for the day anyway. I packed some fine tobacco as I knew Gramps liked to smoke, and set on the way.

And there it stood, the watermill. Doc lived in a tall, quirky tower, which had a small workshop built next to it, just along the river. The tower itself was a sight alone: The carefully painted walls rocketed towards the sky, ending in roof that resembled vaguely a wizard's hat. It has been fitted with a door on the top, which could be reached by a ramp, spiralling down to the base of the tower where it connected to the workshop. It also had some lively green and red: a lonely wild orchid was creeping up the walls, wedging itself firmly between the rocky structure. The tower didn't have windows, which made the whole thing look like a giant mushroom, and one never actually realized the lack of apertures at first glance. After that, it was just funny. Whatever Doc did in this building remained unknown, as he was quite keen not letting anyone inside, although we could walk up the ramp and enjoy the view at the doorstep.

The workshop had been now fitted with a giant wooden wheel. It supposed to be rotating, but - just like in all cases of Gramps' inventions - it didn't. It never could, due to the fact that it had been reaching into the water from a completely improbable angle: orthogonally. The water flew beneath it undisturbed, the construct creaked gently under the power of the rushing water.

Doc was sitting on the river bank, enjoying the summer heat, and paddled with his feet idly in the fresh water.

- Good day, Doctor, I see you have a fancy watermill now. - I said, handing over the small bag, full of fine tobacco.
- Ah, good day, Troublemaker, what a fine present! - he replied, carefully opening the packet, and immediately stuffing his pipe with the newfound filling. One couldn't smoke like Gramps did. He took deep sips, and formed rings of white smoke like a true master of the art. For seconds, his face was a complete white cloud: the smoke gently rising on the top, while his white beard occupying the lower half.
- Oh yes, a watermill. I looked at my house for a while, and told myself: this is definitely lacking something. Now it feels complete. - he replied after a while, with a great satisfaction in his voice. It always cheered me up, the delight radiating from this little person was remarkable.
- Should not it, you know, turn? And facing in a complete different direction? - asked, as I never ceased to wonder about the strange ingenuity Doc posessed.
- I don't know, should it? It looks right to me. - he replied, gazing calmly at the big wooden wheel. A frog was sitting on a lower step, which croaked and then splashed into the water. Fish were playing around the spokes, enjoying the foaming white water where the structure resisted the stream.

I smiled. Perhaps he was right. Of course, in his own mind he was always right, but sometimes one got the feeling this inherent "rightness" permeated into the world around him. Maybe we were all wrong. Maybe we were the ones who overthought everything, and confused utility with the proper way of doing things. I leaned onto my underarms, so my head got into the shadow of the tower, and let the small breeze caress my face, while watching the clouds slowly drifting away from Gramps' pipe into the blue nothingness above my head.

- You know, Doc, I always wanted to be an engineer. But then I found this sword, and I become something like an adventurer, life took another turn...
- Well, Troublemaker, I always wanted to be a great violinist... - he said, puffing comfortably next to me, barely visible in the tall grass.
- But...? - I asked.
- There is no "but". I will be one. - he winked.