Negotiating
Nancy Scott
Hamid and I are sitting on a stack of rugs
in one of those going out of business Oriental rug
stores along Route 1, negotiating over two small
prayer rugs that I sort of like, but could live without,
except that I’m in the mood to buy something,
and usually when I’m feeling that way, I gravitate
toward tribal rugs, rolling them back, one by one,
stroking their pile, tracing stylized flowers and animals,
heat rising from deep reds and blues, then Hamid
gets up and heads to his office, returns with a pitcher
of cold tea, some dates, and an orange, which he deftly
peels, while he tells me he’s planning to close the store
soon, he has heart trouble, and no customers, even with
the huge banner flapping out front, and if this is true,
I figure it’s a good time to bargain if you can call it
a bargain when women spend lifetimes bent over looms,
fingers cracked and discolored from tedious dyeing,
combing, spinning, weaving, and clipping, only income
besides raising a few chickens and goats, while
their men bundle rugs and cart them to markets, sell
them for a fraction of what I’m willing to pay,
and I ask Hamid what he will do with his inventory,
and he says his cousin in Camden will take the rugs,
it’s for the best, each day is precious, and in a few
weeks I’ll drop in to see Hamid again, we’ll have
the same conversation, but those rugs will be cheaper.
First published in the author’s book, One Stands Guard, One Sleeps