the beauties in my stable

 

rushing down the stairs, i am met by a little salesman in company of a littler salesman, with a shared load of balloons, plastic toys and whistles.

both of them had abandoned their wares and were busy trying not to fall off from all the tip-toeing needed to ring the bell of the downstairs flat.

ever a sucker for wind-up toys and plastic vehicles, i spot these minuscule beauties among their stuff. it took a little persuasion to get the little salesmen to abandon the bell-ringing for some cut-throat commerce.


whatever they were expecting, it cannot have been a customer. after regarding me silently for a while, the elder businessman decided to clarify matters.
"you want this bike?"
"yes."
"you want to buy this?"
"yes, please. may i?"
"you want to give us money for this?"
"yes."
"and then you want to take the bike?"
"yes."

this was greeted in some silence. then, to the littler partner. "what should we take from her, fifteen rupees or ten rupees?"
"ten" came the decisive solution to the problem.


the exchange of the note was done in solemnity. both of them immediately lost all interest in me, and turned back to their previous occupation of trying to ring the doorbell stubbornly out of reach, and i was left to pick any one that i liked.

on my way back, there they were still.
i offered to buy one more bike.


"you want another one?"
"yes."

glances were exchanged.

the littler one this time;


"you want to give back the red one and take a green one?"
"no. i want to buy one more. a green one this time."

"you want to give us ten more rupees and take another one?"
"yes."

after the mandatory silent examination, they took the money and then ran up and down the stairs whooping, only stopping for a while to grab the apples that i offered.


and that is how the Red Bike and the Green Bike came to dwell on my bookshelf.


i wonder what the parents might have said to the enterprising salesmen on their return home. i keep thinking how kids as little as these two got sent out. i spend time exercising my considerable imagination on dire possibilities - a mother ill at home? i am wracked by guilt. i ought to have paid more.