The Man at the Market

He looked both ways. Cars slowly crept along from the left, so he waited on the curb.

The square teemed with tourists and locals hoping to discover a bargain at one of the stalls. Tagua nut jewelry, indigenous clothing and art, and even a shrunken head whose lips held a smoldering cigarette could be found amid the chaos. The overpowering aroma of spices and coffee beans blended with rotting fish and a roasted pig left far too long in the noon day sun.

The man patiently waited for his turn.

Children clustered around a stray dog, scratching his ears and feeding him snacks from their pockets. Oddly, the dog bore none of the usual signs of neglect. His shiny coat and healthy weight indicated that he was well fed. His wagging tail and slobbery kisses reflected the children’s lavish attention.

The man continued to wait on the curb.

Nearby, Kichwa merchants summoned shoppers to their stalls; each boldly claiming the best prices at the Saturday market. Colorful alpaca blankets, panflutes, dolls, and dreamcatchers—all on display.

The man wiped the dust from his brown pants and waited.

A family gathered out of the unforgiving sun to share a meal of guinea pig and corn, both cooked onsite. Ice cold bottles of water for the children and chicha for the adults quenched their thirst. Laughter floated in every direction across the square.

The man sighed and waited.

An elderly couple, he barely five feet tall and she not that, elbowed their way through the crowd to a table filled with shoes. She casually picked up a pair of traditional black shoes, and then she quietly whispered to the vendor. He motioned for her to come around the table, all the way to the back of the stall. Her husband shrugged and turned his attention to the monkey masks. Soon she emerged--wearing orange Crocs. He shrugged again and took her arm to walk beside her.

The man on the curb noticed the traffic had slowed. Now was the time. He lowered his head and placed his bare hands on the street. The cobblestones were hot, but he was as used to the hot as he was the cold. He dragged his torso and his useless legs off the curb and slowly across the street.

No one looked his way.