Mr Barabaninian waved a silver chunk shaped to a “B”, a letter twice the size of his thumb. A thumb which curled tightly around the lower B-hole. “This won’t end in nothing. I will find the culprit.”

“Of course”, neighbour Maradinion said across the fence, still recovering from the initial shock of Barabaninian’s charge across the garden, “I never saw it.”

"The judge will see to the punishment! Where is this drunken driver?” Foaming at his mouth, Barabaninian’s eyes darted everywhere as if they’d return to the scene of the crime. “Or perhaps it was their bestial buffalo. I could smell their droppings from my front door. Either way, this buffalo wagon must be found before it escapes the town!"

“It is horrible what happened to your sign.”

“That’s bloody obvious! Don’t rub it in”, Barabaninian said, stifling several curses before they leaped out of his mouth.

Maradinion had no help to offer, and Barabaninian stormed away from the fence between their houses, trying not to hear his neighbour’s parting words: “That house was always the proudest bastion of bricks this side of the river…”

Was. WAS?!

The house would be restored to its former glory. Barabaninian had spent a half an hour searching for the dots of the two “i” in his name. Those silver balls had to be somewhere, perhaps caught up in the claws of the rampaging buffalo, or in the pockets of this vandal who drove them past. At least the “B” had been close enough.

Did buffalo have claws? Whatever.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully placed the “B” in his pocket as his other hairy hand grabbed the sign leaning on his front door. Every other letter was still there, including the bodies of the two “i”. The beautiful letters, the clear mastery of an old silversmith in almost full display. No one could ever replicate that work, and nothing perfected his home like this sign did. He set out on the street.

 

 

As great as his home was, he had to admit, he didn’t have the greatest garden. When old Ori lifted her dirt-covered glove to wave at a fast-approaching Barabaninian, he responded by waving the sign alongside his hand.

“Look at this!” he said as he stopped by the edge of her garden. “I had to take this down from my door.”

Ori shook her head and the bushes around her shook alongside in the wind. “Oh, that is tragic.”

“Exactly!”

“Although…”

“Have you seen buf-”

“You should put it back. The missing parts add a bit of charm”, Ori said, nodding this time.

“What? No, not a chance”, Barabaninian held the sign to his chest as if shielding it from the idea, “I do not want to be mixed with the Varabanlians. They get a lot of mail from their customers and some it would end up to me for sure!”

“Their clockwork gear review service has been pretty popular lately”, Ori mumbled in agreement. “But still, give it some thought.”

He did have the “B”. If he could figure out how to attach it back, maybe…

No. NO!

The sign had to be just like it was before. That’s how he remembered his front door, and that’s what it would be. It had to be complete.

Old Ori was of no help. Barabaninian continued further down the street, not even remembering to say goodbye.

 

 

People were about their business in and around the market square. Barabaninian kept an eye out for a buffalo wagon but saw only regular zebras. And the occasional donkey knight, offering protection services to the weak, or, if the knight on a donkey was desperate, taxi services for the slow.

No buffalo. Taking a last look at an empty alley... Nothing but barrels. He was about to turn toward the river when Barrel Bill rolled out of his overturned barrel: “Where the hurry, Mr Barbinin?”

“Barabaninian”, Barabaninian corrected while clenching his fists and doing his best to ignore the questionable smell from the barrel’s bottom, “I have important business to attend to. Have you seen any buffalo? Or a crooked buffalo driver?”

“Maybe, maybe not”, Barrel Bill said while scratching his chin, “What’s this about?”

Barabaninian sighed before showing his sign. “I need to find out who did this. The buffalo are my only clue. I did not get a good look at the driver.”

“Ah, a buffalo carriage is a rare thing…” Barrel Bill chuckled and gave a sly look. “They are an impressive beast.”

“Have. You. Seen. Buffalo.” Barabaninian wasn’t sure if speaking slower would make this go any faster, but he was getting tired.

“Why do you even want a sign on your home? Most people haven’t heard of your family name anyway.” Barrel Bill raised his hands defensively. “I don’t mean no offense, but I do know the talk around town. All you really need is to tell your friends where you live and that’s good enough for them to find you. Don’t bother with this whole sign thing. Go anonymous.”

Anonymous. ANONYMOUS?!

The sign had to be at the door. That’s how signs are supposed to be, and that’s how it had been done in all the families for all the generations.

Barabaninian gritted his teeth. “I will not be going… anonymous. No matter what you claim!”

Barrel Bill lifted his thoroughly scratched chin. “I had signs on my barrels before. Knew a good woodcarver who accepted all my commissions, no matter what I wanted written on them.” He looked down for a moment, remembering something he didn’t want to share. When he raised his head, there was a fire in his eyes. “I’m done having people question my barrels. These days, I go minimalistic. As if the barrels had to present me as some kind of person. I’m done putting signs on my barrels, and so should you!”

Silence descended on the alley. Both men stared at each other, then turned away simultaneously as if nothing happened.

After a minute, Bill cleared his throat and said: “But yeah, whatever. You do you.”

Barabaninian felt his jaw relax a bit. “I… I don’t know.” He looked at the passing zebras going toward the market as he ran down his options in his head. “I have to go now, but just tell me… Have you seen the buffalo?”

“Maybe, maybe not”, Bill said while scratching his chin, “I actually don’t remember.”

 

 

And so, the search continued. Just a little while longer, and maybe Barabaninian would know what to do.

Just a little… while… longer.

After checking the fifth zebra stable and finding nothing but zebras, he turned back. There wasn’t a sixth. Not close by, anyway.

Back through the market. Back through the…

Buffalo!

Barabaninian’s mouth gaped open as he stared at the animal chewing. The fields of green grass were framed by rolling hills in the distance, outside the town. This is where the buffalo had stopped. Alongside their wagon, parked in the shade of two birch trees.

That villain was brushing the back of another buffalo. Old hair fell down the buffalo’s side, and occasionally the beast trundled forward a few steps. The man brushing it kept moving alongside the buffalo, never pausing the strokes.

“YOU!” Barabaninian shouted, circling around the buffalo to get a clear view.

The villain still didn’t stop brushing but looked up at him with clear blue eyes.

“You broke my sign!” With trembling hands, Barabaninian shook it, and tapped the missing dots with the “B” while he was at it. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

As that villain just stared blankly at him, Barabaninian could hear just his own breath mixing with the buffalos’. Their stares were as blank as their driver’s. Cursed beasts with those horns and…

“Okay”, the villain said suddenly and quickly. He placed the brush on the wagon and started rummaging through a bag off to the side.

“Excuse me? That’s all you have to say? I came all the way here looking for the culprit, looking to get the missing dots back, and all you have to say…”

The villain came back with a rag as blue as his eyes and a vial of some sort. “May I?” he asked, holding out his hand for the sign.

Without thinking, Barabaninian handed over the sign and watched him clean the beginning of it before pouring transparent, sticky liquid on where the “B” used to be. He asked for the “B” as well, which he also cleaned with the rag before gluing it and placing it back.

“Don’t shake it around for a few hours while it dries”, the villain said, “I don’t know where those dots are, but I can replace them with nails if you want.”

One of the buffalo tilted its head and stepped toward them. Barabaninian backed away, holding the sign as gently as he could. “I… I guess we could try that.”

The two of them and three buffalo examined the end result as the sign was leaning against the wagon. They’d had to glue the “B” back again because it had shaken too much when hammering the nails in. “Should’ve done it the other way around”, the villain muttered. His name was Trebian.

“It looks off”, Barabaninian said slowly, “the nails are a different colour from the rest of the letters.”

“Well, I can try looking for the originals, but they could be anywhere”, Trebian said, “and I have to leave town tomorrow.”

“I could paint them”, Barabaninian said partly to himself, realizing the idea as he was saying it, “The store might not have paint that matches that exactly, but…” He took a deep deep breath. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Trebian nodded. “Tomorrow at the shop, I’ll pay for the paint before I go?”

Barabaninian stared at one the buffalo, distantly wondering which one had broken the sign. “Sure.”

 

 

As years rolled on by, the town’s stables grew to accommodate the occasional buffalo. Old Ori’s garden blossomed under her grandchildren’s care. On the third decade, a new festival swept the land. Some called it the Festival of Life, others the Festival of the Cow. But all celebrated it by eating fresh vegetables together with their animals. Except those who didn’t have animals. Or those who were fasting. Or those who simply didn’t care.

 

At the end of one of those days, Barabaninian waved goodbye to a few friends who were walking into the evening to rest after a big meal. Before closing the door behind him, Barabaninian took a step back outside and looked at the sign. It was a bit weathered and the paint on the nails had faded to look even more off than before.

 

"It's... Exactly like it should be."