Shopper's Paradise

"Peace, happiness," yelled a pitchman, his head ranging from left to right in an effort to spread his voice to as many potential buyers as possible."Satisfaction guaranteed," piped up another, catching Lisa's eye as she made her way down the street crowded with eager consumers and even more eager shop owners. Lisa tried not to let the screaming and the shoving rattle her. But inside of 20 minutes along this bustling avenue that glowed with harsh neon light, she was ready to find a quieter place, away from the clamor. She made her way through the hagglers, searching for some place that offered a fewer decibels.

Lisa had often looked for bargains here. After years of crisscrossing the globe and shopping in the most exotic locales, she still had a place in her heart for her hometown's Market Row. It was loud and often nerve-wracking, but she was always drawn back to this place. Shopping was her passion, and though she had tasted the thrill of using foreign currency and purchasing alien treasures, it was this frenzied strip that she loved.Tonight, though, the atmosphere was a bit much for her. She needed a place to rest. She was almost to the end of Market Row when, across the street, she saw a shop she had never seen before.

The store was attractive, but had no elaborate colors or eye-catching signs with which to draw customers. The shopkeeper was neat and tidy, but not aggressive. He smiled slightly and greeted passers-by, but did not raise his voice beyond the level of normal conversation. A rare bird indeed, thought Lisa, in this zoo of racketeers. The sign in front of his store, while well placed and legible, did not glow or spin or flash. It said simply "Life."From across the street, Lisa looked intently at the salesman who seemed, along with his modest shop, so out of place here. The shopkeeper responded to Lisa's curious look with a warm smile, and waved, beckoning with his hand for her to cross the street. Though first embarrassed to be caught staring, she soon crossed and made her way to the little shop."You look tired, " said the shopkeeper as Lisa approached, "would you like to sit down in a quieter place?"

"I would," said Lisa, "but I really don't have any cash to spare. I'm just window shopping."

"That's fine. Please, step inside and have a seat. I'll get you something to drink."

Lisa smiled cautiously and stepped into the little shop, the interior of which she found to be just as humbly apportioned as the outside would suggest. It was clean, though, and the furniture was in good repair, which is more than she could say for a number of the other places along the street. As the shopkeeper disappeared behind a partition, she chose an armchair, of an older style but sturdy and soft, and lowered herself onto it. Almost as soon as she did, the man reappeared with a tall glass of water, which he placed on a coaster on the table lamp beside her. She thanked him, and took a sip.

"I've never seen your store before," said Lisa. "How long have you been here?"

"Actually, mine was the first shop along this street. I've been here longer than all the others."

"Really?" she replied, "I guess maybe I overlooked you before. How's business?"

"Everything's going as planned," he said, with the slight smile Lisa had seen from across the street.

Lisa thought that was an odd response, but she was comfortable, and though a response like that would've lessened her comfort in other shops along this thoroughfare, in this one it only made her curious.

Lisa took another sip of water and glanced out of the storefront window. As she did, she almost dropped the glass as she noticed the shop directly across the road.The pitchman she had been standing directly in front of before crossing the avenue was dead. His flesh was a pale green and his cheeks and eye sockets were sunken. He still stood and called to the crowd, though, and amazingly, his skeletal appearance did not seem to frighten them. The crowd, some of whom now resembled the rotting salesman, passed by or stopped to hear his presentation. The elaborate signs surrounding his shop had now become granite slabs, each one reading "Death."

Lisa was almost afraid to turn around, but something settled her and she turned to face her host, half expecting a similar transformation to have come over him. He, however, had not changed, at least not for the worse. He looked even healthier and more vibrant than he had before. His calm face settled her further, and she set her glass back on the coaster.

At first, she was afraid to say anything about what she had seen across the street. But, in the eyes of the shopkeeper, she sensed understanding and a willingness to hear her. She leaned back in the chair and asked, with a faint tremor in her voice, "Did you see that?"

"Oh, I see that everyday," he replied. "It's a tragic scene, isn't it?"

The crowds, they're why I'm still here after all this time. They get blinded by all the theatrics and noise of the salesmen, and they can't see them for what they really are. Every day, I watch them come by. They all have appointments with me, you know, all of them. But it seems they rarely remember that I'm here. But, you, Lisa, you made your appointment. You're here where you're supposed to be, so you could see what I want you to see, and hear what I want you to hear and make your choice."

It didn't really shock Lisa that he had used her name, even though she was fully aware that she had not given it to him. She was beginning to understand now why she had come.

"They're packaging it in beautiful boxes and giving it so many different names. Names like "spirituality," and "self-esteem" and "freedom" and "prosperity." But, no matter how much perfume they spray on it, no matter how pretty they dress it up, the merchants along this row are all selling the same putrid, reeking commodity that they've been selling for thousands of years: death."

For a moment, the thought passed Lisa's mind that she should leave the shop as soon as possible. The situation had become a little more than she was prepared to handle tonight. She sensed, though, as if someone was whispering into her ear, that this night, and all that had happened in it, was no coincidence. In fact, she felt that all previous nights and days and weeks and months and years were somehow leading to this night, in fact, this very moment. She wanted to leave, but she wanted even more to stay.

(To be continued next week)

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Contributed byStephen F. Pizzini
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