It was six in the morning when we set off for the market. The Central London streets already wet with December rain and freezing cold. There was even a fine mist in the air. Taking money today wouldn’t be easy but then who could say. On a market anything can happen. Even so the tourists had every excuse for staying away and going to Museums. Louise looked glum as we arrived. To park you needed muscle. None of the traders did anyone any favours so you had to fight for a place.
Van doors open and crates shifted fast under the metal table we were renting. Me doing the shifting while Louise kept an eye out for any early morning nicking. Gear offloaded by seven. Time to stall up and quick before the wardens got busy. Bungee cord tied between the upright struts already hung with quartz crystal pendants on leather cords along with others of amethyst, tiger eye and rose quartz.
“Someone tell the management to turn on the lights,” a voice yelled like a trader had trodden on dog shit. It wasn’t unknown! No need. Brightness cut the gloom 7.15 sharp. We laid our black cloth on the table and put out groups of quartz crystal, baskets of healing stones and big pieces of amethyst and rose quartz, everyone’s favourites, then a wide variety of other minerals including the magical and highly prized crystals of green apophylite. Enough to heal a hospital full of nervous diseases let alone people craving for love!
Now for the gem trees. Made of twisted brass wire and mounted on little rose quartz bases, they hung with polished tumble-stone chip leaves made of jade (that’s green quartz to you and me) carnelian, madeira amber, amethyst, crystal and many other stones, all sparkling under the lights. Trees for every birthstone, then the tall green palms with tiger eye chip coconuts, bonzais and gorgeous willows dripping with crushed green hanging moss made of peridot and glued on with Bostik.
Stalled up and ready to take money by 7.30, Louise brought me a tea and drove off in the van to her college. She was a scientist. A geologist at that. She knew about rocks and I knew about minerals and how to talk shit. Outside of trading I wrote novels. Sci-fi, action-adventure and romance. Good stuff, though getting anything published was close to impossible for ordinary people. The so called English Literary Profession was a closed doors racket mainly confined to politicians, media celebrities or journalists and controlled by a few big publishing houses owned by people like Rupert Murdoch so people like me could kiss it. That was the real truth. Didn’t matter how good a writer you might be!
After Louise left I listened to the traders around me talking the usual rubbish. ‘Made a real killing last week selling the art deco teapots’... ‘Christ, that Slovakian girl who asked me for a job yesterday. She’d have blown me in the toilets for a week’s trial’ In your dreams I thought… ‘Got myself into Leather Lane last week as a casual. Money didn’t stop rolling in.’ Yeah, I’d heard it all before, over and over. Ninety-nine percent of it lies. From the boys who sold hash pipes, and dope on the side, to the crotchety old Scots bastard who flogged china dogs in bowls. Called two in a bowl ‘married’ and one on its own ‘single’. We’d made up a saucy rhyme about them and sang it in a drunken Scots accent that drove him wild!
Everything there hand made. And all of it craft, joke, joke. Believe that and you’d believe bankers were all father Christmas. No, most of it came out of China Except our stuff that is. All the crystals bought cheap from a wholesaler and the trees made for us in South Africa. The stuff looked pretty and sparkled. More to the point, our stall was bright and the things on it made people feel happy. Made them feel better. Our crystals healed troubled souls. That’s what really mattered.
By three I’d taken a few quid. Not much but enough to pay the stall rent and the cost of the stock, buy some food and pay a few bills when along came a lady in need. I saw her looking at our display from ten yards off. Blonde, early forties, high cheekbones and not unattractive. My intuition said Scandinavian and I knew I was right. She stopped in front of the table and hesitated.
“Feel free to pick anything up,” I said sincerely, like I really meant it. “You don’t have to buy.” And most of me did. Most but not all!
She was eyeing up a large piece of Rose Quartz. “It’s a peaceful, soothing thing,” I said. “Makes you feel calm and brings a sense of gentleness.”
She smiled. “It’s a special stone,” I added warmly.” “It brings peace but above all a feeling of love. Pick it up. Hold it in the palm of your hand and close your fingers round it. Go on, it’s quite alright. You don’t have to believe.”
She picked it up and did as I suggested. Closing her eyes at the same time.
“Can you feel it?” I asked.
She didn’t move. Still kept her eyes closed. Communing with her senses or was it the spheres? Three or four minutes went by until I brought her out of her reverie. A little science would help now, to prove at least one of my credentials. “It’s a silica dioxide,” I said knowingly. “One atom of silica, two of oxygen, just like amethyst and quartz. Rose Quartz is pink because it contains atoms of titanium, just like Amethyst is purple because it’s got atoms of iron. They both give the quartzes their colour.”
She nodded admiringly at my wisdom!
“Of course, there’s a very different, a very special Rose Quartz. It has a wonderful feel. Only comes from the mountains of Madagascar. Nowhere else in the world.”
I could see she was intrigued. “It feels very special to the touch and has a real rosé colour,” I purred stressing the ‘e’ like it was wine! “Translucent. You can almost see through it, and soft, almost glassy on the fingers. That’s because it contains a trace element of bismuth. That’s what gives it its power.”
She was definitely intrigued. A question formed on her lips.
“I don’t sell it to most people,” I murmured regretfully. “There’s none out on the table.”
The curiosity I’d excited was growing. I could positively feel it.
“We keep it under the table,” I volunteered. Only for people I know would appreciate its wonderful energy.”
Her eyes followed mine down. Yes, I really did have some I nodded. Moments later I lifted out a neat little wicker basket containing two or three pieces of my Madagascan Specials all carefully wrapped in expensive looking tissue. Her eyes stared intently. “Would you like to see one?” I asked.
“Oh yes…if I may,” she almost pleaded.
Gently, with the greatest of care, I unwrapped a small piece. It looked good. Glassy rather than the usual opaque and heavy Brazilian crap I had out and beautifully coloured. I could see she badly wanted to touch.
I let her see that I was gazing at her curiously. Weighing up in my mind whether she deserved to. Was worthy of such a favour.
Showing real care I gently picked it out of its wrapping and motioned her forward. “Come behind the stall,” I said softly, “and let me put it on your hand so you can stroke it.”
My last words were more like a suggestion but she was soon next to me, holding out her hand into which I placed the precious piece. “Now hold it firmly,” I said. “Can’t you feel its peaceful energy… Its calm loving power?”
Her eyes were closed. Something akin to radiance came over her face. “Now touch it just there,” I suggested, moving the tips of her fingers onto the smooth glassy surface. “Can you feel a tingling sensation?”
A real element of surprise came over her face. “I can feel it,” she gasped. “I can really feel it…”
“That’s the bismuth,” I purred. “Mildly radio-active. Only mildly. It won’t hurt you,” I assured her.
She just stood there, the piece in the palm of her hand. I said nothing. Nothing that would interrupt her experience. Just letting nature take its course! Such a loving healing rapture. Yes, she knew I was right. Wanted to feel this calming, loving sensation that would give her such joyous peace.
Any talk of me selling it, any crude nastiness about price was far, far away in another reality. In a Galaxy called Barclays.
Moments later she came to, still clutching the Rose Quartz, her eyes taking me in with a question. “I really shouldn’t be selling it,” I said gently. “There’s so little of it…”
I wanted to let her feel that my senses were wavering. I really shouldn’t be selling it, but then she wasn’t just anybody. She really deserved it. Her need was special. All the same I didn’t want above all to make her feel it was a definite NO. Feelings came higher than thoughts. It was me who was open to her desire… her suggestion. Above all to her need!
“I’d like to buy it if you are willing to sell,” she said, looking me over. “I don’t want to see the others. Just this one.”
I put on a look of genuine regret. “They’re not cheap,” I grimaced. “I’ve got so little. They’re here with me specially. I use them myself.”
Back at the front of the stall she said nothing. I felt a sudden lump in my throat. What if she accepted my plea and just walked away? I couldn’t have overcooked it, could I? My anxiety was instantly eased. She’d taken out her wallet!
“Will this do?” she asked, holding aloft a twenty pound note. “You can buy another one with this but this is the one that I want.”
I came over nervously upset. Letting her see my reluctance. I was a man of straw. I’d allowed myself to be bought for a piece of paper! However there was something higher at issue here. Something I was forced to acknowledge. My acceptance that she was genuinely worthy. That above all. This was no crude exchange for something so precious. It was feelings that counted. Were paramount above all other things.
I let my hand tremble as I took the money. Did she want the tissue to wrap it in. Maybe a little box that I had? No, she just wanted to hold it.
Taking my hand she gave it a squeeze. A token of our understanding. Our mutuality. A sense of the love that we shared from the power of the crystal. The power of its peaceful loving energy. She might see me again before she went back to Sweden. If not she’d always think of me, and I of her and her husband. Joined together in harmony and love by the Rose Quartz.
After she’d left my neighbour on the next stall asked if I wanted some tea. I never heard him at first. Twenty quid would buy me ten good pieces or more just like it from the sacks down at the wholesalers. As ever I couldn’t help wondering about the healing powers of crystals. Their magic such a balm to my soul. If she was happy then I was happy, and so was the manager at Barclays. The man with the power of the dark side.
Me doing five Rose Quartz specials a week and his favourite young apprentice!
