THE VASE STALL – MARK HUMPHRIES

Sally couldn’t take her eyes off the old man’s fingers. They were long and hung from his hands like bats.

She coughed and refocused. “So, when can I start, Mr Havers?”

The market trader scratched his ear with a gangling forefinger and sniffed the cold air. “Call me Rufus.” He paused and touched the grubby van beside him. Someone had drawn a crude penis in the grime. “You can begin today if you like.” Sally nodded and beamed.

Rufus Havers shuffled around to the rear. There was a flurry of fingers and the tailgate creaked upwards revealing rows of cardboard boxes. He snapped down a rusty bar and pointed. “Hop on that.”

Sally hesitated. The market was already coming to life. Everywhere she heard poles clanging, radios chattering, laughing, joking and swearing as sellers erected their stalls. People were everywhere and it was getting light. Still. She didn’t know this man.

Rufus smiled and the schoolgirl noticed a false tooth wiggle in his top gum. He said, “Those boxes won’t unpack themselves.” Sally felt her cheeks flush and shoved her misgivings aside. She grabbed the side of the van and clambered inside.

She sensed Rufus Havers close behind but, when she turned around, he was in the same place watching her from ground level. He said, “Careful how you pick up the vases, Sally. A lot of soul went into making those.”

She braced before lifting the first box. It was light. For an instant, she wondered if it was empty. She handed it down to the elderly man and reached for another. It was the same. Like carrying air. Sally frowned and shrugged as she began unloading.

The teenager gaped at what lay before her.

Vases gleamed in the morning sunlight like oiled skin. They each held odd postures. One looked like a young boy bending over to touch his toes with an opening in the spine for flowers. Another had two handles curving upwards and crossing each other in a defensive brace. A third had crooked, spread arms and legs. Like someone running. Red spots dotted some of the pots.

“Something wrong, Sally?” Rufus Havers materialised beside her. His droopy fingers brushed her elbow and she shivered. The schoolgirl tore her stare away and looked at the wrinkled market trader beside her.

Scrambling for a response, she replied, “They’re…lovely.” Her eyes flicked back to the containers. They demanded her attention like seeping abscesses.

Havers gestured towards the merchandise. “Would you like to touch one, Sally?” With her mind screaming, No! she nodded.

Rufus shambled to the ‘running’ pot and his thin shadow swayed over it. Sally heard the old man whispering as his hunched shoulders rippled. She glanced around and swallowed.

The seller’s murmuring and gentle tremors continued. Sally wondered, Is he praying? She peeked at her phone. She would have to leave for her morning lessons soon. She coughed. “Erm, Mr Havers? I mean, Rufus. Are you alright?”

Havers’s back straightened and he turned to face her. His eyes were swollen and there was a wet streak on one sunken cheek. He placed the vase in Sally’s hands and wrapped his spindly fingers around hers. She flinched at the contact. He sniffed and said, “Each one tells its own story.” He withdrew his touch and disappeared behind the van.

Sally peered at the object. Its rubbery texture warmed her palms and she could feel the red spots indenting her skin. Its lightness baffled her. She shuddered and put the vase back on the stall. Grabbing her bag off a stool, she called, “I’ve got school now, Rufus. I’ll see you later to pack up.” She didn’t wait for a reply.

As she hurried away, she wondered if she’d be back.

Sally drifted through the day in a faltering daze. Rufus paid much better money than the other stall holders and the work was easy. Although the vases repulsed her, she could lift the boxes without breaking a sweat. Havers seemed harmless enough too. Just a bit eccentric. A mature gent with freakishly long fingers, and a false tooth, who loved the things he sold. Nothing wrong there. Sally smiled. Think of those boots you saw the other day. You’ll be able to buy them in a few weeks. Her eyes wandered through the window. And then you can quit.

The school bell chimed, and Sally turned left at the main gate.

Away from home and towards the market.

Only a few lonely pots lingered. Everything else had gone. Sally scanned the other stands but couldn’t see Rufus. She peeked inside the driver’s cabin. A battered copy of Needful Things lay on the passenger seat and a stained coffee mug leaned against it, but there was no sign of the old trader. Puzzled, she glanced at her phone. She’d been waiting 10 minutes.

Sighing, the schoolgirl lifted the nearest vase. Her palms became wet as she turned the ghastly object in her hands. It had the same rubbery texture as the others. She wrinkled her nose and muttered, “Who buys these horrible things?”

Then Havers was beside her.

Sally flinched and dropped the pot. It landed with a jarring thud and she heard a sudden, “...Umpf…!” She screamed and jumped back.

Rufus cocked his head and a wry smile formed on his lips. “A little jumpy are we, Sally?” He winced as he bent to retrieve his merchandise. “No need to worry, Sally. Nothing broken.” His gangling fingers stroked the vase.

The schoolgirl’s frantic brain fizzed and pinged. She stammered. “It made a noise. When I dropped it, it made a noise!”

Havers frowned and tutted. He was still cradling the pot. “Deary me, Sally. What’s come over you? If you carry on like this, we might have to rethink our arrangement.” He returned the vase to its place on the stall. When he turned back to face her, a twenty-pound note flapped between his thumb and middle finger. It swayed in the breeze like a bedraggled flag. He said, “If you prefer, you can finish up today, take the money and I’ll find somebody else with less…” His creaky voice trailed off as the payment sagged on its flagpole.

Sally stared at the offering. She really wanted those boots. There weren’t many vases to pack up either. Her face grew hot as embarrassment swept through her body and blazed through her doubts.

Forcing a feeble smile, she shook her head. “Sorry Mr Havers. I’m a bit jittery. A test coming up at school.”

The trader grinned and his artificial tooth jiggled. He replied, “No problem at all, Sally. You get in the van and I’ll pass you the boxes.”

She scanned the market. Pupils laden with goods were scrambling in and out of small trucks. With a sigh, she stepped onto the rusty bar and launched herself into the back.

Sally yanked the final bungee cord across the boxes and wrapped it around a hook. She gave it a quick tug and mumbled, “Done.”

Sensing a presence, she jerked around. Havers was leaning into the van from ground level, his chin propped on his palms. His wistful stare was settling on a distant memory somewhere far beyond the teenager. A solitary tear pooled in one eye.

Sally peeked over her shoulder and then back to Rufus. Unsure how to break the spell, she said, “I think that’s it.”

He sniffed. “Thank you, Sally. I must say, I was hoping I’d have the honour of your company - as it is - for a bit longer.”

The schoolgirl frowned. She’d still been undecided about whether to continue in the job or not. She wondered, What does he mean - as it is? Her back was clammy.

A soiled handkerchief appeared in Rufus’s hand as he dabbed at his moist eye. He lowered his head and mumbled. Sally edged forward. She figured she could jump out if he tried anything. Then she checked herself as he blew his nose. His whole frame quivered like a brittle twig.

Havers resumed muttering into his rag. Sally tensed and asked, “What did you say, Mr Havers?” She inched closer to the vehicle lip.

The stall holder sneezed and raised his rheumy eyes. “I said it never gets any easier, Sally.” His voice wavered and his bristled grey chin trembled. A fresh tear formed a rivulet down his yellowed face.

Every instinct was shrieking at the teenager to get out and run, but a firm, rational voice was telling her not to be ridiculous.

Time became syrup.

A question detached itself from Sally’s mouth and hung in the space between youth and veteran. “What do you mean?”

The handkerchief vanished and Rufus Havers was suddenly inside the van, his stale coffee breath pouring over the paralysed minor. Rooted, Sally’s thoughts crawled to a dead end.

Another tear slipped down the market trader’s sallow cheek. He peered at the helpless teenager and sighed. “I must make a living, Sally. As you saw, they sold like hotcakes today.” He hesitated. “Relax and let it happen, my dear, dear Sally.” She felt endless fingers fuse around her wrists.

As the tailgate slid down, nobody heard the schoolgirl scream, or saw the blinding flash.

A filthy van chugged out of the market square and passed two boys. They both pointed and snickered at the penis on its side panel.

But neither pupil noticed the weeping driver at its wheel.

Or the new vase lying beside him on the passenger seat.

This one was much warmer than the others.