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The square was bustling, and the light was growing dim. It was early evening. The nighttime market was just beginning to build itself, with vendors setting out boxes, and merchants practicing their lines. Wagons and trailers made their way down the cobblestone street, parking in the south walkway, as they could this time of year.
There was already an assortment of tents from earlier in the day: booths made of sheets and crates, seating those posing as common men, who would bait their customers with the promise of fellowship; carts made of fine wood, boasting silks, jewels, and prestige; kitchens, horses, and stages set for the night's entertainment; all sponsored by the three day fair.
People flooded the square, holding treats and the hands of their children. Coin purses were drawn, and groups were gathered along the walkway, chatting and haggling over prices. However tempting the shows were, the market was, without fail, the center of the celebration. It was known for its uncommon wares.
Customers came away with bags of live oysters, which they would later pry open for pearls. Strange pendants with supposed magical properties, shaved ice flavored with pine bark and icicles, button collections, charms, and odd paintings. One booth sold carnivorous plants, while the following told its customers that bugs were better dipped in chocolate than pesticides. It was an unspoken competition to see who could find or run the strangest booth.
Everyone insisted that the wig tent deserved that title. It was run by a little man who carried himself with such pride that you might think he once had a more noble job than selling little nets of hair and teeth. He made quite the show out of selling his products, gesturing and rambling on about the advantages of fake hair. Whether or not this was meant to be comical didn't seem to matter. People gawked and pointed openly, but the vendor didn't seem to mind.
The one older gentleman who came to purchase snuck around from the back to the entrance of the tent. "Look, who is this?" the vendor boomed. The surrounding people looked and chuckled. "Well don't go laughing at him. What kind of people are you?" They quieted. "Is it really such an embarrassment to have no hair?" The man continued, "Why, it's only natural. Don't you know how common it is for older men to lose their locks? Take myself, for example." He yanked the mop of hair off of his head, the little metal clips bouncing around on the floor.
Half of the crowd stood there with their mouth agape, horrified, while the other roared with laughter. Mothers hushed their giggling children, shooing them behind their skirts. "I would bet any sum you couldn't tell, could you?" He smiled, while his customer tried to back away, ever so slowly, if only he wouldn't be the next person the vendor decided to humiliate. The vendor didn't even look at him, but said "Going so soon?" More laughter ensued. The man sputtered. "Don't, good sir. Come inside for a moment." It was obvious that he didn't want to, but with a guiding hand on his back, he didn't have much of a choice. They both disappeared inside of the booth.
More people were gathering outside, but the vendor took his time selecting a suitable wig. The booth's main candles had flickered out inside the tent, but even though the people couldn't see their silhouettes, they still heard the two men talking. "This one," he said, tossing it to the customer. "Blonde?" he replied, incredulous. "Blonde. That's forty bits." The man spat, but, willing to try it, dug out some coins and tossed them at the vendor. "At least you're cheap," he mumbled, then exited through the back of the tent. The people outside were doubled over laughing.
The vendor smiled, relit the candles, and threw back the flap, addressing the crowd again. "You have people in your life who suffer from baldness. If you want to make their lives a little better, come on in. Don't you know someone who has lost their teeth? Every one of you, right here. I see you. Come in!" A few managed to slip away, but reluctantly the rest of the people he was addressing filed in after him, only to be polite. There were ten or so. The man left them alone, shutting the flap behind them. "None of them will leave until they're satisfied. I have room. Who else knows someone?" he asked.
The group began to disperse, not wanting to seem rude. The vendor pointed to a man in blue. "You?" He shook his head, only being there for entertainment. Now that the bargaining had begun, no one was interested.
The vendor smiled and nodded. He slipped into the tent, where his obligated customers were waiting. "I'll be just a moment," he said, and left again. The impatient people began to chatter. From outside they heard several clicks, then saw the outline of a man approaching from the back entrance. Growing uncomfortable, one woman reached for a tent flap. It was clipped shut. They all gave each other a look of alarm.
The vendor, who was wearing his wig again, came in from the front, locking the flap behind him. He reached for the candles and snuffed out two. The customers could no longer see silhouettes from the outside. The cloth was solid. The vendor left again. A sweet smell filled the tent. In seconds, a man fell, unconscious. They could hear the vendor talking outside. "Is it really such an embarrassment to have no hair?" Two more slumped over. "Why, it's only natural." The remaining tottered and tripped over each other, and didn't rise again. They heard the back flap being unlocked. Soon, the bald man and the vendor entered from the other side. One by one the men clipped their hair. One held a head, while the other pulled the teeth. They rinsed the blood off with water and dropped them into bags. When the last body was in its bin, the bald man looked at the vendor. "Blonde?" "Blonde. That's forty bits" There was laughter outside.
