The Vocal Vendor
One autumn the family breadwinner was on sabbatical and instructing at a Gallic gymnasium. So we tremulous and inquisitive offspring also took up residence in modern Gaul for a twelvemonth. Through those aureate spectacles of Mnemosyne, I recollect in particular the antemeridian excursions for comestibles, and I can still envision my kinfolk circumambulating an alfresco emporium in the harborage of Nantes.
Our quotidian routine was to peregrinate in this uncommon setting, beneficently allocating blandishments among the jovial laborers. All their displays of edibles intermixed as one pullulating organism of commerce: we gazed upon heifers’ glossal processes recently transported out of an abattoir, tureens of animated elvers, and myriads of mangel-wurzels, rutabagas, worts, et cetera. On our circumforaneous route we became inured to occasion eruptions of billingsgate among the rival vendors. Their argot did not disturb our equanimity, but one eccentric entrepreneur addled us indeed.
“Les jolis champignons, madame!” this matron vociferated as we traversed the site. And so we halted to purchase some of her succulent mycological specimens. Not a single one on display! As inveterate mycophagists, we experienced a surge of vexation.
“Quoi? They’re all vended!” Mother cried. “But your announcement—can you explicate?”
“Oh, it’s just an acquired mannerism,” rejoined the vendeuse, “from incessantly market morels. I vocalize even if all are exhausted—but when in stock, they’re la crème de la crème!”
We concurred, on quitting the scene, that she was indubitably the “belle of the yell!”
One fall Dad took a leave from his college work and taught at a French high school. So we timid and curious kids also got to live in France for a year. Through those golden-tinted glasses of memory, I recollect especially the morning shopping trips for food, and I can still see my family walking around an open-air marketplace in the commercial seaport of Nantes.
Our daily practice was to wander in this new place, generously giving out kind words to the merry workers. All their food stands blended into one teeming body of trade: we saw cows’ tongues newly shipped out of a slaughterhouse, large bowls of live young eels, and a great number of beets, turnips, herbs, etc. As we went from one booth to another we became used to the curses hurled at one another now and then by the people competing to have their wares bought. Their vulgar language didn’t bother us, but one strange seller certainly confused us.
“Pretty mushrooms, my lady!” this elderly woman cried as we passed her. And so we stopped to buy some of her delicious varieties of mushrooms. Not a single one to be seen! As confirmed mushroom eaters, we were keenly annoyed.
“What? They’re all sold!” Mother cried. “But your call—can you explain?”
“Oh, it’s just a habit I got into,” replied the tradeswoman, “from selling mushrooms all the time. I call even when they’re sold out—but if I have some, they’re the cream of the crop!”
We agreed, as we left, that she was definitely the “scream” of the crop!
sabbatical tremulous inquisitive
aureate Mnemosyne antemeridian
comestibles alfresco emporium
quotidian peregrinate beneficently
blandishments jovial abattoir
myriad inured billingsgate
argot equanimity addle
vociferated inveterate mycophagists
vexation