Serendipity Market (2 page)

Mama Inez follows Toby into the group. “I need,” she begins—and the voices quiet immediately—“to thank you all. Tonight, with your help, we'll set the world in balance.”

Rosey is wrapped in a shawl as red as Mama Inez's scarf. When Mama Inez first came back from the Indwelling, she pulled Rosey aside and hugged her, hard. Rosey hugged her grandmother back, her grandmother who lived at the end of the world and sometimes in Powton, near Rosey.

“When I sent your bird, I was worried that you might think that what happened wasn't important enough for a gathering,” Mama Inez said then.

“I did,” Rosey admitted. “But Samson said I was wrong.”

“Excellent bird.” Mama Inez held out her hand, and Samson snuggled in as if he belonged there.

Now Rosey stands next to a young woman who holds a smooth stone that periodically flashes in the moonlight. They look at each other. “I didn't think, even with all Gram's taught me about magic, that telling a story would be so intense,” Rosey says. “I've been to gatherings before, but I've never been a teller.”

“Hmm and well,” says the other, “you've got me beat. I've never even been to one.” Behind her, at the same time, Nodia's voice says, “B.J., I told you this was serious.”

“Quiet, Nodia,” says Wink, the second young man in their group of three. “Listen.”

“If you could each give your talismans to Roberto, then he, Toby, and I will sequence them and give you the order of the tellings,” says
Mama Inez. She looks at her crowd of calm, nervous, and uncertain people, and she adds, “Any questions?”

Wink raises his hand. “I've heard of this, you know. This market. This balancing.” He pauses, then asks, “The need to do this—does it happen a lot?”

Mama Inez laughs her rich laugh. “Not a lot. But enough. And sometimes more than enough.”

The woman with the flashing stone says, in a tight little voice, “But we're just…people. What if we're not strong enough to fix things?” The shifting of feet and the low murmurs around her show that this is what many are thinking.

Toby barks. Mama Inez says, “I agree with Toby. A group like this? I believe that you can conquer anything. And you must believe it, too, or you wouldn't be here.”

“There's got to be some kind of truth right there. Something that hasn't happened to me, but something that I can learn from,” Zola says to the woman with the shells, and he points to her basket.

The man with the greenish hair says, to Lightning and to Sue, “I do not know about me, but the two of you—you must have a story,” and Sue looks at Lightning, thinks of Bill, and says, “You just might be right about that.”

Mama Inez watches. She sees the man with the cigarette pat Toby, sees Earl steady Maddie, sees her group begin to grow in strength. She smiles and says, “Has everyone given their talisman to Roberto?”

Roberto, Toby, and Mama Inez huddle in the north corner of the tellers' waiting area, shifting the talismans on a table covered with a cloth the color of spring grass. The purple jar from the
Indwelling sits at the top left corner, anchoring the cloth, an iris of color. On the far left: a green brocade ribbon from the man with the greenish hair. Next to it is a whorled shell from the woman with the basket, and a thick gold coin from the man who won't litter. Then a tiny leather slipper, from the twins. The river stone that flashes in the moonlight. A small glass star from the group of three, and a golden pea from the man with the midnight-blue cloth. A piece of white lace comes from Sue and Lightning. And finally, red wool from Rosey.

Mama Inez runs her fingers along the bottom of the talismans. She looks at Toby and Roberto. “Agreed?” Toby puts his head on the table, then barks. Roberto thinks of the rings he and Franz have made, then nods. Mama Inez turns back to the waiting crowd and makes her announcements.

The Lizard Man, hearing that he's to be first, bows his head. His greenish hair drapes around his face, and his breathing is shallow. Sue notices. She and Lightning smile at him, and Sue gives him a small push toward Mama Inez and the entrance to the part of the tent that holds the teller's cushion. “Ya'll be fine,” she says. “Done before you know it.” He smiles a bleak smile and moves with slow, measured steps through the tent opening.

Mama Inez watches him, remembering her time in the Lizard's story. And the Lizard Man? He feels a remembering, too, one of color. Mama Inez's hair is the same color as a mouse he once knew.

“I
NEVER WANTED TO
be anything but a lizard. That rat, that stupid rat Malvolio who became the coach driver—he'd always had dreams of being something bigger, something better than he was. But me, I was content living in the garden between the cistern and the downspout, soaking up sun and wind, water and air.”

 

Mama Inez sees him stumble and nods encouragement; watches him take a breath, shift his gaze to the rear of the tent, and begin again.

 

“I never wanted to be anything but a lizard.

“Then that fairy godmother comes along with her magic wand, her high-flying notions. And as fast as
a snap from two fingers I am six feet tall, dressed in green brocade, strands of greenish blond hair dipping into my eye and clubbed into a knot at the base of my neck. My brain feels huge, stuffed into my head. And it is filled with thoughts that I have no names for.

“That rat Malvolio is prancing around the courtyard like a rearing stallion. He has new long legs, like me. He shakes his head, and his silver rat whiskers, which are now short and covering the lower half of his face, sparkle in the moonlight.

“‘Look at me,' he is chittering. ‘Watch me! See this wonderful thing I've become.'

“He spins on his feet and immediately falls to the ground in a clatter of buttons and boots. He skids on the courtyard cobbles and ends up lying half under a pumpkin stripped of its innards and forced into the shape of a carriage. The pumpkin is harnessed to three timid-looking white horses and one bold black one. All are covered with hair that looks soft as mouse fur.

“‘Stop that,' says that godmother. She is the one who turned the pumpkin into a coach with a second wave of her wand. She pulls Malvolio upright. ‘You must listen to me. The cinder girl will be here any moment. You must be presentable, in control, or she'll be afraid to ride with you. She's a nervous little thing. Always has been.'

“That godmother is brushing at the back of Malvolio's pants now, trying to slap away the dust. I watch them, leaning heavily against the wall of the barn. I feel shaky and suddenly sick. If Cindergirl, whoever she is, will not like a dancing rat, what will she think of a vomiting lizard?

“Then a soft voice says, ‘Godmother?' and I turn in the direction of the sound. Standing before me is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. My first thought is that this must be Cindergirl. My other thoughts jumble and mix. There is a swelling in my chest, a rapid beating in my heart, a buzzing in my head. I
feel woozy. I feel air on my tongue and know that my mouth must be open.

“‘Godmother? Is this…right? Do I look like someone who could go the ball? Or will they all laugh at me?' She fidgets. Her fingers brush her dress, hesitating between strokes. She catches her lower lip between small, white, perfect teeth.

“I know the Queen of the Lizards is the most striking, most peerless of us all, though I have never seen her. But Cindergirl must be more beautiful than the queen herself. Her gown shimmers as if the stars have fallen and been captured in its folds. Her hair, a shining gold, hangs in long curls, captured on one side in a ribbon of green. Her feet, those feet that would have been near my nose minutes before, are covered with clear, shining glass slippers.

“I choke back a tiny noise, and in spite of the uncomfortable feelings in my gut, in my head, I push myself off the wall and stand as tall as I am able. I will
look proper for Cindergirl. I will look like a man.

“‘Godmother?' She shivers slightly in the autumn air, hunches her shoulders.

“‘You look exactly like someone who should go to the ball,' that godmother promises. ‘The prince will be enchanted.'

“This makes Cindergirl smile, and that smile makes me catch and hold my breath.

“‘Just remember,' that godmother says, ‘to be home by midnight. Otherwise you'll be helping a rat and some lizards drag home a pumpkin.'

“She smiles again. ‘I'll remember.' They embrace, and I hear Cindergirl whisper, ‘Oh, Godmother, thank you,' and that fairy saying, ‘Don't forget. Twelve o'clock.'

“Then, with a rustle of fabric and beads that delights my ears, She begins to climb into the pumpkin coach. I hurry to assist her, almost falling over my own foreign feet. I manage to catch Cindergirl's elbow, and
the feel of that skin against mine is like the touch of the silkiest flower that ever bloomed.

“That rat Malvolio has already made his way to the coachman's box and is wiggling the reins of the mouse horses. I, having no confidence in him, think he is trying to figure out how to drive. If he makes a mistake, if Cindergirl is hurt, I will kill him. I hiss this at him as I pass, and he looks down at me, surprised.

“I clamber on the back of the coach, as close to her as I can get.”

 

He pauses.

 

“I have no pictures in my mind of what happens inside during the ball. I wait outside with Malvolio and the mice. There are other lizards with us, lizards who are footmen, like me. They taste the air by flicking their tongues. They push their fine sleeves up to their elbows to feel the cool breezes on their skin. I do none
of these things. Instead, I watch for Cindergirl, standing tall and still. Not like a lizard, like a man.

“We can hear music, and again Malvolio tries to dance. Even I can see that he is terrible at this, but he insists. His dream of being something new and different has come true, and now he must try everything he has ever wanted, everything he has ever hoped for.

“I listen closely whenever the bells in the tower above my head bong. I now know the little tune that comes halfway between each series of bongs, and I know that this means it is halfway between the longer bongs of the hours. I understand how to count, something I never understood before. I think this must be another gift from that godmother, given to me to help Cindergirl get home by the right time. I count carefully, as if my life depends upon it. Last time there were eleven bongs. Eleven hours. That godmother said twelve o'clock. She must be home before twelve. By progression, twelve is the next number. I watch
the wide stone palace steps, watch for Cindergirl to appear.

“Then Cindergirl is there, half running toward us. Toward me. She is laughing, looking over her shoulder. I run to meet her, afraid that she might trip, stumble in her shiny glass slippers. I touch her elbow, guiding her to the coach. A man in fancy, soft clothing follows us closely, begging her to stay. The prince that godmother spoke of?

“‘No, no. I must leave, Your Highness. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow. There's still a night of dancing tomorrow, is there not?' She flicks her golden curls over her shoulder and smiles. She does not seem nervous now.

“‘Yes,' he calls as I tuck Cindergirl into the coach. ‘Yes. Tomorrow.' His voice is desperate.

“She settles in the coach with a happy sigh, almost closing my fingers in the door.

“We make it back to our courtyard just as the
distant palace clock begins to count twelve in the moist night air. I hurry to open her door, to remove Cindergirl from the coach before it once again becomes a pumpkin. Before I once again become a lizard. But she ignores my hand, stepping out on her own, and as she does, a barely audible pop sounds in the air. The coach shrinks back to a largish pumpkin, the footmen are once again lizards, the horses turn back to mice. Cindergirl's clothes are no longer fine things one would wear to a palace, but are instead plain, homespun wool. She is even more beautiful this way. The only thing left is the green hair ribbon, twisted in the dirt. The black mouse watches as I pick it up and put it in my vest pocket.

“But that is not a lizard thing to do, and as I realize this, I see that my eyes are still very far from the ground. I am still dressed in green brocade. Malvolio is still in his coachman's suit. That godmother, I think helplessly as the other lizards scuttle away, has got it
all wrong. Or—and this thought makes me feel as ill as when I was transformed—maybe it is Malvolio and I who are wrong.

“I watch dumbly as Cindergirl goes into the house, singing. She does not seem to notice us. The black mouse sits by my boot, her eyes moving between the door and me.”

 

“We do it all again the next night.

“When that fairy godmother shows up, I try to talk to her. She looks at me in surprise, because I am changed even though she has not yet cast her spell. Then she takes two steps back, and her eyes show fear.

“But now Cindergirl is here, ready for another night with the prince. My heart beats as rapidly as before when I see her. For her, I will do anything. I will even remain a man. I think that perhaps it is something like this, something like love or desire, that has made
Malvolio and me retain our man shapes. I am no longer a lizard. He is no longer a rat. We both have exactly what we want. Perhaps life is all in the wishing.

“That godmother turns away from me, looking relieved to see Cindergirl, and waves her wand. Tonight, that wand shakes.”

 

“At half past eleven I wait quietly, halfway up the wide palace steps, but Cindergirl does not come out. I climb higher, beginning to worry. The tower clock plays off the next tune, the one that comes closer to the hour bongs. She is not here.

“I climb higher still. I am almost at the palace door. The guard there is staring at me.

“The tower clock begins to strike again, and suddenly there she is. She sees me, recognizes me, runs straight toward me. I feel a flutter of pure happiness deep in my chest.

“Now we are running hard down those stone steps.
The bonging of the tower clock, the clicking of her slippers, the thudding of my boots—all echo through the night. On the last step Cindergirl slips, almost tumbles, but my strong arm is there to help her. We make it to the carriage, which is already beginning to stink of old pumpkin, and Malvolio lashes the mouse horses into a frenzy. As we roll away, I see the prince at the top of the stairs, the glitter of a glass slipper at the bottom.

“We are barely past the palace gates when I hear the pop again and that godmother's transformation undoes itself. Coach returns to pumpkin, horses to mice, footmen to lizards. Everything is what is meant to be. Everything except for me and Malvolio. The black mouse follows me, running hard. I pick her up and put her in my pocket, and she wiggles her whiskers against my palm. We leave the other mice to take care of themselves. We kick the pumpkin into the weeds to rot on the side of the road. We escort Cindergirl home, but she does not seem to notice that we are behind her.

 

“The next day, everywhere there are criers. ‘Whoever has the foot to fit this slipper shall marry the prince.'

“Cindergirl's foot is dainty and perfect, just like she herself. No one else can wear that shoe. Still, there are lines of fine ladies pushing and shoving. Not acting fine at all. Curling their toes, trying to force their feet into the shoe. One of Cindergirl's stepsisters shows up in the back garden with a butcher knife. I wonder if the sister will cut off her own toes if need be.

“Cindergirl stays inside. Her stepsisters have forced her to clean the cellar. She cleans, and cries. She has been crying since early this morning. I saw her then, and I see her now when I peer through the window on the garden side of the house, the side near my cistern. I think Cindergirl did not want to leave her prince. I think she may not have heard the crier. I think she does not know the prince is looking for her.

“Should I tell? I wonder. If I do not, I will keep
Cindergirl for my own. We will move to a good place, a better place than this, and I will make her happy. No more cleaning cellars. No more crying.

“The stepsisters rush down the stairs to the cellar, one limping, her foot wrapped in a reddened towel. She leaves bloody blotches behind her. ‘It didn't work,' she is screaming. ‘It was supposed to work!'

“‘Fix her,' the other sister yells, shoving the girl toward Cindergirl. ‘Fix her foot before she bleeds to death.'

“She looks at them, eyes huge and shiny with tears. I can hear the prince and the crier getting ready to leave. Then the black mouse is next to me. She stands on her hind legs, and her tiny paws tug at my pants. My stomach feels full of rocks, my heart emptied of blood, but I know the mouse is right. I must get Cindergirl to the prince. I pound on the window. I will do anything for her.

“‘Hurry,' I cry. ‘Hurry, before the prince leaves.'

“They all turn, all stare at me, but on Cindergirl's face I see a flash of recognition.

“‘Hurry,' I cry again, and I see Cindergirl turn from her stepsisters. They do not move as quickly as they might otherwise have done. One, after all, now has only blood where her toes should be. The other seems torn between stopping Cindergirl and helping her sister. I see Cindergirl's foot touch the bottom cellar stair.

“I run to stop the prince from leaving. Cindergirl is close behind me, having come straight up those stairs and out the back door.

“‘Wait, Highness,' I cry. ‘There is one more lady who has not yet tried the shoe.'

“The prince stops and sees Cindergirl, who runs to meet him. Happiness lights his face.

“The slipper, of course, fits perfectly.

“Now my crying is in my eyes, not in my voice. I watch Cindergirl ride away with her prince. Malvolio follows, his questions of how he may serve the court lingering
in the air. I do not see Cindergirl look back, although I watch, through wet eyes, for a very long time.

 

“Cindergirl has been gone for many days. I count each day as carefully as I counted the sounds of the hours from the palace clock on those nights when I was dressed in brocade. Now I wear rough homespun that I have stolen from a neighbor's stableboy. I try to do jobs I am not suited for. Kitchen work, fetching and carrying. Jobs that make me feel clumsy. And stupid. The only goodness I feel is in the black mouse, who has been my constant companion.