Worth a Thousand Words

I saunter up to the trader’s booth, hands in my pockets, aiming for a cool nonchalance that I don’t exactly feel. The edge of the paper shoved deep in my pocket tickles my fingers as I wait for the dark-skinned trader to finish his business with his current customer, a shabby-looking figure dressed in rags. Finally, the ragger leaves, and it’s my turn. I step up to the tent, trying to look imposing in my black jacket and shades, but Qasim, the trader, just smirks at me.

“So, Tanner, back again, are you? What’ll it be today? A fine trinket for your love? A sharp knife to gut your enemies?” He leans his elbows on the table and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. I stare back, my expression blank. He knows exactly what I’m here for, and how desperately I need it. All the chatter is just to annoy me, because he knows I won’t waste any of my precious words to reply. He is a word-monger, though, and doesn’t have to worry about such word-waste. So I stand there, impassive, as I wait for him to tire of his chatter. It’s not long before he gives up his pretense; He knows I always bring good merchandise.

“Alright, my young tongue-tied friend,” he says, sighing and standing up, “what have you got for me this time?” His eyes shine greedily as I reach into my pocket and slowly pull out the paper I’d been fingering earlier. Qasim sticks his hand out for it eagerly, but I ignore him and carefully smooth out the old photograph, wanting to look at it one last time before I hand it over.

Two people stand laughing in front of an old-fashioned house, a young man and a woman of about the same age, their arms around each other as they pose for the picture. I don’t know who they are, but the woman has my mother’s face, and my sister has the same golden curls, so I believe that they might be my grandparents. There used to be many other pictures of them at home, but most of them are gone now, traded to Qasim and never to be seen again. So many stories, lost to his greedy hands.

Qasim clears his throat loudly and gives an impatient gesture. And so, with great reluctance, I hold out the picture. He immediately snatches it up and holds it near his face, his beaky nose almost touching its glossy surface.

“Ah, yes, a good one, a good one…” I hear him mutter. “Very good condition, excellent color and composition….” He turns the photograph this way and that under the light, examining it from all angles. Finally, he turns back to me.

“I’ll give you 300 for it,” he announces. I’m so shocked that it must show on my face, because he explodes into laughter. “A joke,” he manages, “just a joke between friends…!” I scowl, not amused by his ‘joke,’ but that just makes him cackle even more. Eventually though, the old man manages to compose himself and takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says, smoothing the front of his shirt, “the usual then. One thousand words in exchange for the picture.” I nod, and we shake on it, sealing the deal.

Qasim turns and vanishes with the photograph into the recesses of his tent. A few minutes later he comes back, picture-less, but bearing a small ball of gold smoke: the spoken word made visible. When he places it in my palm, I feel a soft tingle rush up my arm. I could stand like this all day, just admiring it, but the longer I wait, the more power it loses, so I lift it to my mouth, and swallow.

It’s like my lungs have been filled with a million bubbles, a swarm of butterflies, or a universe’s worth of stars, all glowing and tingling as they burn. It’s a glorious feeling, swallowing one thousand words. My lungs feel full for the first time in ages, full of words just waiting to be spoken, to be turned into stories for my little sister, to describe the world that she cannot see.

I give Qasim a small wave, but he has already turned to the next customer, so I turn and start the walk home. I immediately begin planning how to best ration my words so that I can get the most out of them, for one thousand words, as many as that seems, will be used up quickly. Soon enough, I will be back at the word-monger’s, trading my family’s history for more words. But until then, I will tell my stories…