c h a r a c t e r.The Cabbage Man
Time Spent While Waiting
The cabbage merchant had a name. But after years of selling vegetables, he was just known as the cabbage man (merchant only on polite terms). And eventually, even his own deceased wife saw him as so. At least she was affectionate when she said it.
He spent the time in between harvest and spring in a shop. He cooked and cleaned and the like. He had lived once, with vigor and energy and knew love too. But that was a long time ago and now, he simply reconciled himself with his trade.
"How about a game of Pai Cho?" the stranger asked.
And the storekeeper grinned (and revealed all the gaps in his mouth, where teeth once gleamed back). "Maybe just one."
It was quiet that winter, the time lulling and lingering between two dreads. Illusions trembled and danced, but they didn't bother or challenge him—not now, not in his old age. Not when he couldn't care less.
"How about one more?" the stranger asked again, collected the tiles together in the tabletop's middle. The stones shuffled, muted and dull, like soft feet treading on fallen leaves.
"Maybe just one more."