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It was a river of
humanity. From the maelstrom of movement a small piece of
flotsam drifted to one side, eddied a moment, then exited
the stream. The torrent flowed on unnoticing.
As the shopper stepped
through the door, she suddenly got the feeling that she was
in the wrong store. The small brass plate at the door had
surely said “toy”, but the walls of the room she was
standing in contained no shelves.
No furry animals filled
baskets or displays. No brightly colored balls or games
reached in juggernaut piles for the ceiling.
There was glitter and
color, but it was subdued in the dim light. A semi-orderly
chiaroscuro, whose patterns he did not quite understand.
Not the usual riot of children’s fancies, but a repeated,
jumbled echo, large and small, of gears. A wall of gears.
The glitter came not
from metal. The warm honey tones that came from the
surfaces of the cogs and cams could only be wood; no matter
what the color. No. The glitter and perhaps the light of
the room itself came from small stones set in the arms and
teeth and axles of this patterned wall. The cabochons and
facets held the man’s complete attention until the other
occupant of the room coughed gently.
Behind a small desk the
young man (a study in browns and tan) smiled apologetically
for breaking her fascination.
“May I help you?” a
warm tone.
“Is that a toy? But
it’s so large! What is it made of? Does it move?” She
pressed a hand to her lips to help stop the flow of the
words. The young man smiled again and gave a small gear by
his elbow a gentle spin. Slowly, like a ripple spreading
through a still pond, the wall began to move.
“There are rubies
there...and garnets. Some are diamonds, more are glass.
The woods are ebony and white pine, balsa and teak, exotics
from the tropics and driftwood found on a northern shore.
Heavy and light, dark and bright, one can not balance
without the other.”
The gears kept
spinning. Some in a blur hardly to be seen, others at a
more stately pace, a measured beat. Some seemed not to move
at all. In some places frantic motion surrounded islands of
calm. Only if one glanced back after a time would you
notice that the yin of red cedar now surmounted the yang of
dark mahogany.
By this time most of one
corner was in motion. It was a subtle yet potent
distraction, making it difficult to concentrate on the small
dark figure behind the desk.
“I was looking for the
perfect stuffed lion for the child of a friend.” she felt a
need to explain.
“And the door did say
“toy’. “, he nodded away his apology.
“Not plural. TOY. I did
wonder about that.”
“Well, there is only
one.” his turn to explain. “You’re looking for the proper
toy,” he went on. “Something that hits all the feelings
right.” He gave a short shrug. “The color, shape, size,
even the smell should be just what the child has dreamed
of. I think THAT,” a nod to the wall, “ …is looking for
the proper child.” The spinning colors and lights had
reached a point of hypnosis and it was some time before the
words in the woman’s ears reached a translator who told her
brain what was said.
“Someone who’s parents
have enough money, you mean.” the gears had begun to slow.
“No.” A simple, solid
statement. “It would be the child who could cause ALL the
gears to spin, not only the ones connected to the one or two
it touches.”
A wrinkling of his
forehead. A quiet declaration of something not understood,
“But can’t YOU make it work?”
“I only tend the store,”
a total, with all explanations lacking, Answer.
As the last gear spun to
a slow stop she edged to the door.
“I hope you find your
lion.” he offered.
“I...I hope you find
your child.” A last exchange of smiles before the
punctuating, SNICK, of a closing door.
Another drop of water
rejoined the river.
Another keeper settled
back to await the next seeker. |
