Chapter Sixteen

When they got back to their tables, fifteen minutes later than they had promised, Diana and Donovan had checked the going rates for wool, dried apples, chiles, eggs, seeds, socks and used clothing. Donovan had also managed to lift a wallet, although he had done it so cleverly that Diana hadn't noticed. It was nice to have a little money in his pocket again.

"You've done some good work," Peterson told them, after Diana finished rattling off her mental tally of the day's prices. "So did you get a feel for how things operate around here?" he asked, turning to Donovan.

"Yes, sir. It looks like there's a bit of a black market going on, in addition to the regular trade, but most of these folks seem to be honest."

"I've learned not to question where some of these people get their stuff. Best just to be glad there's still a place where a person can buy a working flashlight battery, fertilizer, or a bit of kerosene without needing fifty different types of credentials saying you're allowed to do it."

"It's a clean and well-organized place. I've seen markets in other towns that were dirty and not very safe."

The old man smiled. "Yes, everyone has to pay a fee to sell here, but it's worth it. They use the money to pay people to keep it orderly. They have men go through and make sure nothing is happening that shouldn’t. Maybe you saw one of them-- the guys in the red and blue vests? No? Well, you'll see one soon enough. They don't check into the origins of what anyone is selling. That would be bad for business. But they do make sure there's no stealing going on. Just honest trade. Steal or cheat a customer and you'll be kicked out."

"Good idea." Donovan would have to be careful if he picked any more pockets.

"It's what our government used to do," Peterson continued. "In fact, that used to be the whole reason we had a government, but now. . ."

"Dad," Melinda broke in. "Are you going to finish helping set up or are you just going stand there talking about the old times?"

Peterson turned around in mock indignation. "Young lady, you need to indulge me. I'm in my dotage."

"I have a feeling that excuse won't work for me," Donovan said. He walked the few steps to Amalia's table and found her struggling with an overhead rack weighted with strings of dried chiles, apples, squashes and a few items of fancy clothing. "Do you want me to hold that?" he asked, seeing her struggling to hold a pole and simultaneously wrap a length of twine around it.

"No," she said. "You take the twine and the knife. I've got the pole. Tie it to the ring on the tabletop, then twice on the table leg— low and high."

Donovan did as she directed, then did the same on the other side. The support still seemed flabby, so they stacked a couple sacks of animal feed and ears of dried corn against the poles. When they were done, he stepped out in front of the stand to take in the effect. Amalia had spread a colorful Indian blanket over the table and arranged jars of pumpkin seeds and various types of pickles and preserves along with some goat cheese, small tools and utensils and a few pairs of hand-knitted socks.

Underneath the table were baskets and boxes of extra items. "I only set out one or two of each of the things we brought. There's not enough room to display it all and one jar of pickled nopales looks just like any other. It keeps our display uncluttered. You want to make it easy for people to see what you have to offer."

"Sounds like you're pretty good at this."

"It's not my calling, but I've learned to do it well enough."

She went on to explain her pricing strategy and Donovan gave her a few tips based on the prices he and Diana had collected. As they were talking, customers started wandering up, checking out what they had to sell and asking questions.

Before he knew it he found himself negotiating the sale of strings of chiles, sacks of dried corn and jars of Carina's applesauce. Some of the customers had cash to spend and Donovan, with his years on the street, fell into an easy negotiating style, but many customers wanted to make trades and this was trickier.

"Do we need aspirin and cough drops?"

"Only if they're in sealed boxes and at least a year from the expiration date."

"Are we interested in strawberry seeds?"

"Who's the seller? No, I don't know him. We've never tried strawberries, so if they don't come up, I'll have no way of knowing if they didn't sprout because of us or because the seeds were no good."

"How about soap?"

"Oh, yes. As long as it's not lavender. I love it, but Carina hates it and says she can't stand the stench."

"What about piñones?"

"No, we've got plenty at home. But ask her if she's got some salt, spices or jerky to trade."

It took the better part of the day, but by sunset Donovan felt he was beginning to get a sense of how the local barter economy worked, and what kinds of things Amalia and Carina needed for the farm. Some things surprised him, like the way Amalia turned down a perfectly good opportunity to trade some chiles for a battery, but then bartered a pair of socks for canned pears and a CD of an old rock band.

"I don't know that I'm ever going to learn to do this on my own," he told her as they were shutting things down for the evening. "Sometimes you make trades that seem a little strange."

"You mean like the Rolling Stones CD?" Amalia asked with a slightly guilty smile. "That was just a sentimental impulse-- my grandmother used to listen to their songs, and they were a favorite of her mother. Don't let it confuse you. Our main goal is to get things that we can't make for ourselves or barter from our neighbors. If you stick to that principle, you won't go wrong."

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