Published August 13, 2017 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Pena, Portugal.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post. Note that there is both streetview and photospheres at this location.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Thanks to J Hardy Carroll and K Rawson for hosting this unique challenge and for giving me an extra 50 words to play with each week. 

This week I brought back one that I posted three years ago in Friday Fictioneers and added 50 words to it. I enjoyed the rewrite, I hope you enjoy the reread. 😉 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


            “Better to harvest the sugarcane fields in Hawaii than starve in Madeira,” João Fernandes told his reluctant wife. “You’ll see, we will have a better life there.”

            “Portugal is home. Português is the only language we speak.”

            “We’ll build a new home and learn a new language.”           

            During the monotonous, sometimes perilous, four months at sea she spent most of her time retching over the side of the ship.  He, on the other hand, entertained his fellow immigrants on the braguinha.


            Enamored with the new music form and João’s lively style, the Hawaiians treated him and his little guitar like royalty. Even Queen Lili’uokalani requested private evening concerts.

            One lonely night, homesick for her mountains, Senhora Fernandes waited up for him.

            At long last, he burst through the door. “Behold the queen’s favorite musician!”

            She seized his ukulele and smashed it to pieces over his head. “Behold your instrument!”


For your listening pleasure. It’s kind of long but, if you have an extra 6 minutes to spare. This is no tiptoe through the tulips.

24 comments on “THE JUMPING FLEA

  • Ah, musicians. The Portuguese are a hot-blooded type. When I see Joao I think of Joao Gilberto and the fantastic Brazilian flamenco he played. Baden Powell is another of those Portuguese-speaking guitarists I really dig. Nice story this week! Glad to see you back.

    Liked by 1 person

  • And she’d finally had enough! Very good story, Rochelle.
    So it often goes: the man gets out, learns the language, makes friends; the wife sits home, few people she can talk to, often lacks transportation, the culture remains unfamiliar — and to top it off, once the children learn the new language they laugh at all her mistakes. 😦

    Liked by 2 people

    • That is so bang on, it is scary. I look at my sister’s Greek in-laws and that is exactly what happened… but she did end up in the Montreal, “Greek Ghetto” with her kind. She then refused to learn either English or French so all pity for her was lost…


  • After a move to a new city, the wife has a harder time adjusting to the new locale than the husband. He has friends at work – she has the children who learn a new language easily (their minds are like a sponge). He didn’t need the ukulele – now he can entertain his wife! Cute story! Nan

    Liked by 1 person

  • I echo Christine. This happens so very often, sadly.
    I’m glad she put an end to his private sessions….
    Well done, as per usual!
    (Sorry for my tardiness in reading this lovely piece. Haven’t turned on my computer in three – yes THREE days!)


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