One Hundred Short Stories

5. The Conservatist

Tania Gilgorson smiled proudly to the uncertain family lingering at her doorstep. Tania prided herself in making at least one sale from each customer who appeared at her door, however uncertain they were at first. Of course, these sales were occasionally not just because of her superior advertising skills, thought Tania wryly. But she ensured that no person left her home with something they had wasted their money on, even though in some cases the customer would have to wait a long time before the object they had acquired became useful.

  Usually her customers were perturbed by the heavy tarnished sign that hung on her front door. The words Tania Gilgorson, Conservatist had confused many a customer. One rather embarrassed man had once asked her, “Do you mean you’ve never … done it?” Tania had laughed and batted her eyelashes to the now crimson-faced man.

  “Oh no, I’m not conservative,” she had said, “I’m just a conservatist.” Tania was surprised the bemused man had not understood the delicate difference.

  Families usually thought along the same lines, Tania had noted over the years. Which was probably why this family was watching her with such uncertainty. Uncertain about how to act around such a person, Tania was sure of it.

  “G-good morning,” stuttered the man who was clutching the woman’s hand. The husband, Tania thought. The father.

  “Good morning to you too,” replied breezily, “What brings you here?”

  The woman, the wife, the mother, looked at Tania with a confused expression. “What do you mean?” she said, worry in her eyes.

  “Everyone comes here with a purpose,’ Tania stated plainly, “If you had no purpose, you would never have been able to find this place.”

  One of the children, the little girl, looked up at her mother uncertainly. The woman responded by putting her other hand on her daughter’s shoulder protectively.

  “So,” said Tania, diverting the woman’s attention back to her, “What are you searching for?” When neither the man nor the woman answered, she continued; “Love? A second chance? Revenge?” Tania stepped forward to the little girl and placed a hand lightly upon her head. She bent down and whispered in the girl’s ear, “Friends?” The little girl stiffened in surprise and shrank away from Tania. Next Tania placed her hand upon the golden head of the little boy, who looked to be a few years younger than the girl. “A new toy?” The boy hadn’t understood much of Tania’s riddles up until that point, but when she whispered the magic words, his eyes lit up and he said shyly, “Yes, please.”

  “Now, excuse me –” began the father, who had started to get a little intimidated.

  Tania stood and looked at him strangely. “You are excused,” she said, “Now leave.”

  “I didn’t mean that –”

  Tania stood aside to reveal the doorway behind her. “Then by all means, come in,” she said in a hushed voice.

  There was a great deal of strange clutter inside the conservatist’s house. Broken mirrors lined the walls and there was a whole manner of things piled up on top of each other in the small room, forming three narrow aisles in between, and several small spaces to get through to the next. Furniture, carriage clocks, old books, wooden chests and what looked unnervingly like a child’s coffin formed these aisles. Tania took the middle one and breezed down it as the young family followed uncomfortably in her wake, the parents peering at strange objects nervously.

  Half-way down the middle aisle was a tiny gap between a grandfather clock and an upright piano piled with boxes and books. Tania slipped through with ease, but the children hung back, requiring great persuasion from their mother to follow. “Listen to me, we need this woman’s help, okay?” The father barely managed to squeeze through.