Regarding the vegetables, Lucy fared moderately but not particularly well. The grocer, a grimly lipless woman in her later middle years, sold only potatoes, squash, carrots, and onions, and those available were not all that fresh. Upon inspecting the goods, Lucy requested superior merchandise, and was confident superior merchandise existed on the premises, but the grocer was disinclined to do a stranger favors, and made no attempt to mask this. Thinking in the long term, Lucy accepted the partial defeat with a brave face, wishing the woman a happy day as he stepped away from her stall. But he knew he must not falter in respect to the meat, for if this came to pass, then his maiden outing would surely be considered a failure.
As he entered the neighboring stall he took on the posture of a man who could not conceivably be taken advantage of. He was confronted by a blood-streaked brute of a fundamentally dissatisfied man: the wily butcher, who might have said a hundred things in response to Lucy’s greeting, but who chose to say nothing, he merely stared, with a look in his eye that somehow imparted both malice and indifference. When Lucy pointed out the fact of his being newly installed at the castle, the wily butcher said, “No more credit.”
“Oh, I’ve got money, sir,” said Lucy, passing over the coin he’d received as change from the grocer. The wily butcher held the coin in his palm, studying it for a time. “What do you want,” he asked, and Lucy began to read aloud the list Mr. Olderglough had made out for him. Halfway through this, the wily butcher said, “Stop.”
“But I’m not done with the list yet, sir.”
“That’s all you’re going to get for the coin.”
“Mightn’t you extend our credit just the once more?”
“I might not.”
“May I ask how much is owed you?”
The wily butcher named a figure which was much higher than Lucy would have thought. It was so much more than he’d have guessed that he could think of no words to say in reply, and he wished he’d never requested the information in the first place. The very naming of this numeral set the wily butcher off; his breathing quickened, and his face became increasingly red. “I’d be within my rights to take this coin and give you nothing, what with the amount due me. Is that what you want?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you’ll get what the coin allows, and go away happy.” Now he took out his long knife and began sharpening it, his back to Lucy, who stood considering what he might have done differently to have won the unpleasant man’s approval. But he could think of nothing, for he had done nothing wrong; the animus belonged to someone else. And yet, it occurred to him, if he came away with faulty goods, who would receive the blame? He alone. His reputation thus imperiled, he called out, “No gristle, now.” When he said it, the wily butcher became statue-still.
“What did you say to me?” he asked.
There was in his voice a just-contained fury, and on hearing this, then did Lucy become aware of the magnitude of his error. When the wily butcher turned to face him, the man’s expression was so grotesque that Lucy became fearful of physical violence.
“I meant no offense, sir,” Lucy told him.
“But what did you say,” asked the wily butcher, long knife gripped in his fist.
Lucy was considering retreat when a voice sounded behind him: “You heard perfectly well what he said.” He turned to find Klara standing there, a look of mischief on her face. “Now give him what he asked for already, you mean old bull.”
“Oh, hello, Klara,” said the wily butcher, his eyes dropping shyly to the ground. With her arrival, all the nastiness had left the man, and now he resumed the sharpening of his knife. Klara stepped closer to Lucy. “Hello,” she said.
“Oh, hello.”
“Father says you won’t visit us again. Is it true?”
“I suppose it is,” he said.
She peered searchingly into Lucy’s left, then right eye, as one trying to locate something in a dark room. “But why won’t you?”
“Well, I’m very busy, is all.”
“What is it you’re so busy with, can I ask?”
“There are many tasks befallen me.”
“And will you name some of these tasks?”
“I suffer through any number of time-consuming endeavors.”
She said, “I noticed you watching us from your window.” Lucy hadn’t thought anyone could see him spying, and he blushed terribly to learn that it was so. Surely Klara noticed his embarrassment, but she had no reaction to it, which exhibited a kindness, he thought. Was there anything crueler than a body commenting on another body’s shame?
“What do you see, when you look at us?” she asked.
Bowing his head, he said, “Just, people.”
“No one special?”
“I didn’t say that.”
In a tight voice, she said, “But Father claims that you don’t like us.”
“No,” he told her. “That’s not what it is.”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“Just that I don’t enjoy being made to feel foolish.”
“And who is it that makes you feel foolish?”
“You do, for one. And Mewe, and your father.”
“But we were only teasing you.” She was picking at her sleeve, and Lucy noticed again how mangy the coat was, how worn and homely and unbefitting such a person as Klara. She’d got hold of a thread, and as she pulled on it the sleeve became ever more sorry-looking, and Lucy grew rankled by her intentional worsening of the garment. “Stop it,” he said, and she did. The thread had come loose and was sticking to her fingers; she snapped her wrist and the thread slipped away on the air, and they both watched this.
She turned back to face him. “Don’t you know why we tease you? Why I do?”
“It’s likely you find me funny in some way,” Lucy ventured.
Her face softened. “No, Lucy. That’s not what it is at all.”
“What is it, then?”
She thought a moment, then shifted her weight. She was opening her mouth to speak when the wily butcher laid Lucy’s goods on the counter with a thud. “Here,” he said. “And tell that Baron he might settle his debts one of these days.” Lucy took up his bundles, nodded to Klara, and exited without another word. As he cleared the village, his mind was teeming with notions and possibilities. It occurred to him that, much in the way one experiences a brightening when walking beneath a cherry tree in bloom, so too did Klara generate and throw light.