The Porcelain Perambulator

  Alex held a small porcelain perambulator between his forefinger and thumb. He twisted it slowly, examining the intricacies. His eyes slowly rose and looked around the shop of porcelain figurines of all varieties. The shop had not changed in thirty years. It was full of memories. Only one figurine was of interest to him. 

  The hardwood floor creaked as before and in the identical places. The smell was as he remembered - the faint odor of lilac and cinnamon from a potpourri on a small table next to the door. His attention returned to the perambulator. For a moment, he returned to a forgotten time - an innocent and carefree time, a time long ago. A tear of longing formed in his eye. A deep sadness hovered over him like a cloak.

The shopkeeper asked politely, "Can I help you with something today, sir?"

"Yes," Alex said, quickly shaking his melancholy and replying adroitly. "I wish to purchase this. No need to wrap it."

The shopkeeper chuckled and leaned forward, propping himself with his hands against the counter. Looking over the tops of his spectacles, he said, "Oh, I'm afraid, sir, that one is not for sale. It is special, but if you're determined to purchase something, we have many others, and I think you will find something to your liking."

Alex smiled politely as he instantly took an estimate of the middle-aged shopkeeper with a broom mustache and a worn brown button sweater. "I was quite surprised that I would find this one still here. It has been thirty years, and I will pay ten times its value."

"Others have inquired of that one over the years, but it is not for sale at a thousand times its value, sir."

Alex pulled on his French cuffs from beneath the sleeves of his custom-tailored Italian suit. "Is this not a shop, and do you not earn a livelihood from selling porcelain?"

"Yes, but everything else you may purchase, except that one," the shopkeeper said, reaching over and tapping the perambulator with his finger. He picked it up. He smiled and looked at it fondly.

Alex pulled it from the shopkeeper. "If you knew how special it is to me, you would fix a price and sell it to me. You see, thirty years ago, my young wife and I bicycled to this town every Saturday. We were poor then. We came to this shop, and each time she picked up this very perambulator and admired it. We had no money for it at the time. It would mean so much to me if you would fix a price and send me on my way."

"Oh yes, I remember you two well. She was pretty, lovely, and kind. One does not easily forget beauty, loveliness, and kindness. Yes, I remember. Every Saturday at nearly two, you strolled into and out of the shop, and down the street you continued. You had tea down the way. She was very much in love with you. I could tell. I was a young lad then dusting the shop for my father, who dusted for his father, who dusted for his father."

"I remember your father, a kind man who wore a monocle. I believe the right eye." "Yes, that was him."

"Is he still with us?"

"He tends the shop on Mondays only."

"If he were here, what price would he fix upon it?"

"You should have inquired from him thirty years ago."

"Are you being flippant, sir?"

"Why should I do that, sir? I stated my case, and that is the much of it."

"Confound it, man! Sell me the perambulator."

"Sir, it is not for sale."

"It is important to me," Alex pleaded.

"When it was important to her, you would not even consider buying it. You did not even inquire about its price then. My father told me he would have given it to the young lady if only you had asked, but you had no intention or interest in it, but she did."

"Do you know who I am? I am Alexander Crowley. I have crushed corporations and banks. I've met half the Prime Ministers and heads of state in the civilized world. I could buy this shop. I could buy this town. I could buy you."

"But you can't buy that perambulator. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. I read the papers and watch TV. Your wife is dead now, isn't she, Mr. Crowley? I truly mourn your loss."

"Thank you, sir. Then you know how important this is to me."

"You see, sir, I won't sell it to you because it is important to you. Thirty years ago, you had no intentions of buying it, and she knew it. Did the years continue to be selfish ones, Mr. Crowley? You are buying this for yourself, Mr. Crowley, not for her. It will now only bring you pleasure. It will only make you feel good. Your opportunity to please her has long passed."

"I gave her everything she wanted," Alex exclaimed angrily.

The shopkeeper retorted, "Except the perambulator, sir. If you had asked, Mr. Crowley, what do you think Mrs. Crowley would have held most dear?"

Alex held the perambulator tightly in his grip. "Sell it to me, you stubborn fool." He slammed his fist to the counter, and the perambulator snapped into several pieces. Alex frightfully looked at it as it fell and crumbled from his hand. He was horrified to see blood pool like beads of sweat in his palm. He murmured slowly, "What have I done?"

The shopkeeper looked at him pathetically and handed him a tissue. "I was about to say again, Mr. Crowley, it is not for sale, but it is yours for the taking."