I turn the key counter-clockwise, once, twice, three times, each turn accompanied by a satisfying click. I walk down the stone steps, avoiding the uneven bits that have eroded over time, my hand gliding across the wooden railing.
I step out into the sun, and my heart swells at its warmth and at the clear blue sky. I spring down the steps, turn left on the footpath, and turn left again onto the main road. In a few minutes, I will reach my destination. My tongue whispers various supplications. My steps are brisk and determined, but I am calm. I pass men, women, and children on my way, each carrying stories unknown to me.
I soon spot the cart. I give the greeting of peace as I approach, and the man standing there responds. I tear a plastic bag away and start placing potatoes inside. I choose the big ones after turning them over to examine them.
I walk over to the scales, placing the bag on one side and the two-kilogram weight on the other. The bag is heavier. I remove the smallest potato, and the scale inches upwards; equilibrium.
I select some cucumbers next -- the thinnest are the best -- and then some green peppers and then tomatoes. There aren’t many left; I gently comb through them, looking for any that are both red and firm.
People come and go around me, haggling and harping while they collect vegetables of their own. A lone man stops to ask for directions. (Someone always does.)
I suddenly remember that I wanted parsley. And bananas. The parsley is tied into a bunch with a stalk looped into a knot. The man cuts off the bananas with a curved knife.
When I pay, he doesn’t have change, so I take a few lemons instead of two pounds.
The man helps me pack the vegetables into the two cloth bags I’ve brought with me. I give the greeting of peace and walk away. He doesn’t hear me this time; he’s surrounded by customers making demands.
I go back the way I came. I thank Him for the provisions I’m carrying, for the money in my wallet, for the sunshine on a winter’s day.
(February 2020)
I step out into the sun, and my heart swells at its warmth and at the clear blue sky. I spring down the steps, turn left on the footpath, and turn left again onto the main road. In a few minutes, I will reach my destination. My tongue whispers various supplications. My steps are brisk and determined, but I am calm. I pass men, women, and children on my way, each carrying stories unknown to me.
I soon spot the cart. I give the greeting of peace as I approach, and the man standing there responds. I tear a plastic bag away and start placing potatoes inside. I choose the big ones after turning them over to examine them.
I walk over to the scales, placing the bag on one side and the two-kilogram weight on the other. The bag is heavier. I remove the smallest potato, and the scale inches upwards; equilibrium.
I select some cucumbers next -- the thinnest are the best -- and then some green peppers and then tomatoes. There aren’t many left; I gently comb through them, looking for any that are both red and firm.
People come and go around me, haggling and harping while they collect vegetables of their own. A lone man stops to ask for directions. (Someone always does.)
I suddenly remember that I wanted parsley. And bananas. The parsley is tied into a bunch with a stalk looped into a knot. The man cuts off the bananas with a curved knife.
When I pay, he doesn’t have change, so I take a few lemons instead of two pounds.
The man helps me pack the vegetables into the two cloth bags I’ve brought with me. I give the greeting of peace and walk away. He doesn’t hear me this time; he’s surrounded by customers making demands.
I go back the way I came. I thank Him for the provisions I’m carrying, for the money in my wallet, for the sunshine on a winter’s day.
(February 2020)
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