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Ritual, 1969 [two stories]
85
on their own in a small
cone-shaped
container
near the window.
‘Monsieur?’ said Amanda,
‘how much are those,
please?’
‘Which? Ah, the tea roses,
let me see, how much
money do you have to
spend?’
Amanda stepped up to the
sales desk and emptied
her purse on its surface.
The coins scattered and
spilled, most of them a
dirty dark brown colour,
not bright and coppery
like new ones.
Monsieur Arbot slid them
one by one rapidly across
the surface of the desk and
into his palm, counting
under his breath as he did
so.
He smiled at last.
‘Well, my child, you have
only enough for three and
a half of those flowers,
but as today I am in a good
mood I will let you have
four.’
He dropped the coppers
into the concealed drawer.
Amanda heard the sound
of its mechanism open,
then the tinkle and patter
of coins as they fell inside
the wooden drawer and
the smart click as it was
closed again.
She knew him so well.
Knew
how
he
half
crouched
behind
the
counter in order to eat his
bread and sausage, then
quickly wiped his hands
and mouth with a big
white handkerchief when
customers came in. She
knew how he scratched
his behind and sometimes
dozed off with his head
resting on his arm until