The Village Merchant, pt. 2

     The Old Man hears voices beyond the trees. They chatter and burst, a laugh and a shout. There is the call of the greeting and the push of the farewell.  Though he can't make out the words, they are comforting like the shade of a tree.

At the edge of town, women sit on low wooden benches, their backs to the concrete wall of the community center. Laid in front are bright tomatoes, pyramids of potatoes, a bunch of greens, and a scatterling of onions.  Close at hand, but not close enough to touch, children play amongst themselves. There is a stick, and two marbles, wire tied in a hoop, a shred of cloth, imagination. A cluster of men stand at the back, a roar of laughter again.

The Old Man stops at the place of the Vegetable Woman. Today, there are green, small apples. Shiny, so he unconsciously reaches. They make the eye contact of long-familiar friends. She smiles slightly and he lifts the apple from its pile. 

"If you tell your son to stop chasing my daughter, that one's free."

He laughs. "If I tell him a hundred times, do you think he'll stop?"

Her smile widens. "You don't know how to bargain."

The Old Man reaches into the pack strapped to his waist and pulls out a coin.  "Why bargain when I know the price?"  He lays the coin into the Vegetable Woman's hand. 

Her laugh is richer than his. "Like I say, you don't know how to bargain. You're lucky to have a friend like me though, 'cause you've given me enough money for two."  She puts another shiny apple into his hand. Grinning, he continues through the market. 

A young man, with outlandish sunglasses, reclines next to a portable clothing rack. Bright nylon shirts flap in the wind, advertising foreign teams, luxury brands, and a month of usefulness. The young man doesn't even bother to make a pitch, a battery-powered speaker blares for him. The Old Man passes his hand through his hair and moves on. Youth.

A few meters before his home, a merchant dressed in a long brown robe has set up shop.  Boxes of cookies, dried dates, jars of candy, ribbons of individually wrapped lollipops. The Old Man's pocket is full to the brim with apples, but his eyes betray his sweet tooth. 

"A chocolate, perhaps?"

The Sweets Merchant rustles slightly as he moves, and a little bar is suddenly in his hand. The Old Man pauses in front of the stranger, and says, "I wouldn't want to spoil my appetite for dinner." 

"Of course, you're right." He pauses and smiles expectantly.

With a trace of discomfort, the Old Man doesn't know what to say next.  The apples press heavily in his pocket. "My wife is cooking, she'll know if I've spoilt my appetite."

"Right you are, right you are".

The Old Man smiles back in departure and begins to turn into his home, steps from the candy stand. 

"This is your place?"

Almost made it.

"Indeed, indeed."

"No wonder you didn't want to spoil your appetite, I've had to smell your wife's cooking all afternoon!" The expectant grin has been replaced by something more genuine. 

The Old Man tilts his nose into the air. "Stewed chicken with chilis."

"Oh my." says the Sweets Merchant.

Now that he is home, the Old Man suddenly remembers himself.

"Do you have plans for dinner?"

There is just the slightest hesitation, followed by a giggle. "Not anymore."

There is always enough food for the family. The Old Man's field and his wife's wisdom have contributed to their good fortune. The exercise of eating is performed with gusto, and few words. The Sweets Merchant is not thin, nor fat, but he eats with the combined passion of six kittens around a bowl of milk. 

"It's been a long time, since I've eaten so."

Wise Wife says, "Sweets can't fill you up like a good dinner will."

The Sweets Merchant nods sagely. "But nothing compliments a good dinner better than a fine sweet."

Four chocolate bars appear and are distributed to those at the table. The Old Man's apples will have to wait after all. 

They recline against their chairs, the aroma of chilis, tomatoes, garlic, vanilla, and sugar in their breath. Outside, the stars shine through a faint haze of smoke.  The old tree in the yard rubs its leaves together in the wind. Two birds call to each other, e-oh-eee,
e-oh-eh.

Wise Wife says, "Old Man works in the field all day, and chocolate will keep him going."

The Sweets Merchant laughs like a child.  "Those were the last of their kind. The chocolates that remain pale in comparison. But..." This time his quick hands produce a bag of bright blue bars. "... these will keep you going for hours."

"What are they?"

"A gift!"

A kettle of tea is produced and stories steam from the lips of their cups. At the polite hour, the Sweets Merchant gathers himself and stands up. With fond words, he promises to return. 

The Old Man and Wise Wife are sated and head to bed. The Daughter cleans up.