Her name was Mary. She had been many things in her time. She had been young and fetching. Once, her skin had been firm, her eyes had been bright. Nobody in the marketplace remembered that now. She had been a wife. She had stood, veiled in black, and seen three husbands into the ground. Two of them she had actually liked. She had been a mother. Her children were gone now.
Now she was this, the fruit woman. This is what those looking at her would see. What she saw looking at them – well. Most people deserved to be forgotten instantly. It was a game she played with herself. She had played it all her long life. Nobody knew. That was part of the fun.
Each day started clean. Will I find anyone today? Most days she didn't. Mary was picky as a cat. She could not say, even to herself, why there were some beings she held, heart-close forever. She did not flatter herself that she knew the deserving. She was just a fruit woman, after all. Certainly not a Goddess, who could detect the fate of the living.
This is what she did. Every morning she set up her stand. She protected the fruit under a white canvas awning. She waved a large feather fan. It caught the eye, and it also kept the flies away. She did not shout to bring custom to her stand. She was too old for that now. She let the scent carry on the warm air, helped by her fan. The hungry would come. She would sell, and talk a little. Some, very few, she would remember.
No one alive now knew how her hands ached, of mornings, how it hurt to buckle her shoes. Her waist had thickened, her teeth had gone. Time does that, Mary knew, of course it does.
On this afternoon, she was tired. Her hands ached. Her feet ached. And the sun was in her eyes. Sales had been so slow. Another hour, Mary bargained. Another hour by the bell in the square, and she would pack up.
She allowed her eyes to range to the distance. There, beyond the quay, she could see the masts of ships. It appeared as if the edge of the world was there, denuded by a terrible forest fire. She did good trade with the ships. Men came in, hungry for fruit, and for green things. They wanted the fresh and the sweet, as they did clean water and women.
Her thoughts were far away. She was returned to the now, by a soft voice clearing sound. Startled, looked down. She met the gaze, earnest and level, of a young Naval lieutenant
"I'd like to buy some fruit ma'am."
She looked at him carefully. There was a springy quality to his stance He seemed about to leap goatlike away if startled. His face was pale, his hair was dark. His eyes were older than the rest of his face, but all was young, so young.
"Well," she replied, "You have brought a basket I see. Let us fill it.'
Together, they filled the basket almost to the top. He settled the fruits carefully. His hands were pleasant to watch. He counted out his coins and paid her. He had very little to return to his pocket after that.
"Thank you ma'am." He said. She smiled. Oh I like this one.
"See that you don't eat it all at once." She said. "You may become ill.."
He returned her smile. His was shy. It lit his dark eyes, and it quite transformed his angular face.
"No ma'am. This fruit is not for me. One of my fellow ship-mates lies injured. I thought --" He faltered. "I hope these may cheer him. He is my friend."
"I think there is yet room in your basket." Mary said. "How about a pineapple? As my gift, to your friend."
This one I will remember.
