I leave the house once a week. I make sure to eat breakfast, put out food for the pets, change their waterbowls, etc. Then base layer, overalls, balaclava, jacket. Shoes, the hard kind. Gloves, a mask with a new filter. The night before, I empty my pack and when I put it on now, it is light and easy. I put my EZ card in my front top pocket, where it will be tougher to get to for any pick pockets. And then, I grab my keys, closing and locking the door behind me.
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I keep the hood of my jacket drawn low. Avoiding eye contact, I manoeuvre through streets until I get to the steps down to the market. First stop is the depot at the back, dented cans of that good preserved beans and corns and whatnot. Then by the fish (for the cat), and then the dry store: crickets (for me), and eggs and flies and vermin (for the snakes and the frogs). A final stop for seeds and lentils, and that’s that.
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There isn’t a lot of spare change, so I keep to the list as best I can. A year or two ago, I would stop by the trinkets or look into the radio shop and run my hands along the little sections of resistors and leds. None of that today, I reason with myself.
On the way back to the exit, I notice a creature with a white mask, with a pattern in red. Big red circles for cheeks, two colorful braids with yellow tassels for hair. A costume. Very well done, for the market at least. I wonder how long the crisp white paint will last.
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As I get closer, I notice the sign beside them, a reading for 5 taps, or trade. 5 taps is not for me, but a trade, maybe. I could exchange a dried stick of vermin or an egg, maybe a few crickets.
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I stop short of the table, and do a quick mental calculation. 5 crickets, best I can do. I miss the fun of coming to the market, and 5 crickets is a loss I can manage. The table itself is sparse, but funny. A little emptiness near the audience side, but then several unknown objects, covered in cloths of various patterns.
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I look at the creature, who moves their head slightly to look up at me. Slowly, I take my bag off and set it on the bench, and take out the pouch of ground insect and set it on the table. I keep an eye on my pouch and notice in my bag, that yes, I do have enough still.
Will this do? I gesture.
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The creature nods slowly, and a human hand darts out of the costume to take its payment. I notice brown skin, hairy, little red strings tied for bracelets. I sit, pack between my feet for security.
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They light a small bundle of herbs, and smudges me. I’m grateful I am wearing a mask, because god knows what particles it is releasing. I remind myself to scrub my face when I get home.
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At first, they uncover one of the objects on the table, a stone with palm shaped indent, and gestures for my hands. I’m reluctant to give it, but then, they uncover another two piles. A pile of cards, and a pile of rocks.
Putting the cards on the palm stone, they reach over making the universal sign for give. I’ve already given up crickets, so I give my hand up too. They put it over the cards and then a rock on top, smudging the unlikely tower.
Cards on the palm stone, they reach over making the universal sign for give. I’ve already given up crickets, so I give my hand up too. They put it over the cards and then a rock on top, smudging the unlikely tower.
They take the rock off, and I get my hand back. Shuffling them, they spread the deck, and then uncover another object. A little quilt, with places for 5 cards. Waving my hands over the pile, I pick mine and put them over on the places on the quilt. I look up at the mask, while they reach over for the smudge stick again.
Little dots and swirls of red, like they’ve been made with the tip of a soldering iron. I notice the mesh lining too, where the person inside must see me as I am. It is too gauzy to make them out, but that’s ok. I like the creature, I like not knowing who they are.
They uncover another pile, this time of shells. They arrange these shells in a row and then turn over my cards. I haven’t seen this kind before, the color is like dirt, with odd little shapes where there is less pigment.
The creature nods and uncovers yet another piece of cloth. A bell, the kind you hit with a stick. They tap it 5 times, and then pick out a shell. I notice it is a similar color to the cards I picked. Reaching into their clothes, they bring out a pale yellow, raggedy ribbon. It must have been beautiful once, gold maybe? The shell goes on the string, and then they tie it up and place it in front of me.
What do I do with this? I frown.
The creature shrugs and gestures for me to leave. I wonder if I should argue, but frankly, I am feeling tired. This has already taken too long. I grab the little bundle of shells and swing my bag over my shoulders, slowly getting of the bench. I look at the creature for a bit , and then let out a low growl in their direction. It feels like the least I can do to communicate my annoyance. The creature leans back, like it is scared, and it feels satisfying enough.
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I walk back up the market steps and hurry along home. unlock, take of my mask, jacket, boots. I sit for a minute in the entry way, and breathe. then, unpack the bag and hang it up. The contents go in a vintage wire cart, the kind they used in the big markets two decade ago. I stick the cart in the UV closet, for germs. And then I nip into the shower, scrubbing with a mixture of used coffee grinds, baking soda and fermented limes.
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Putting the contents away, I look at the seashell and feel its texture in my hands. Smooth and bumpy, smooth and bumpy. I notice then, that there’s a smooth line diving it near the top. I gently pry it open and a small silver thing glistens in the purple grow lights of the kitchen. A USB. Universal Serial Bus.
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Hours later, after the chores, the feeding, the watering, the dishes, the seeding, the pickling and sweeping - I sit down at the terminal and open up a virtual window. In case the USB is infected. But it opens easily, the files easily accessible. The folders are numbered in binary code, which I can’t be bothered with today.
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I open one of them and double click what looks like a video. A rectangle pops up and a black woman in glasses starts talking about how to make yogurt at home. The second one I click, is a recipe for chocolate cake, with apples and chocolate chips (whoo, expensive). The third is longer, saturated costumes, a movie starting with songs in a nasal dialect. Even more vintage than the rest of these.
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I pause the film to prepare dinner. Then come back to watch it with my little bowl of microgreens and fish sauce.
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