Until the date of carrying out the mandate, one picked out a pleasing fish or string of fish, all nicely wrapped in leaves, and one asked, “A hia? How much?”
When Lovaina inquired the price, she smiled her sweetest, rubbed the saleslady’s back, and uttered some joke that made her sway with laughter, so that price became of no importance. But a sour-faced white or a pompous bureaucrat paid her saving, and Chinese, who kept the restaurants, invoked the curse of barrenness upon the venders.
The day came for the new scheme of fish-selling to go into effect. The mayor, a long-bearded and shrewd druggist, had bought up all the half-way accurate scales in the city, for there had not been a balance in the market. Everything was by strings, bunches, feels, and hefts. The fish counters, polished by the guardian of the marché, were now brilliant with the shiny apparatus.
The long-awaited morning found a crowd peeping through the railing half an hour earlier than usual. All would have a fill of delicacies. Lovaina with the Dummy drove down to the Annexe for me. Vava was making queer signs to her which either were unintelligible or which she thought absurd. She waved her long forefinger before him, which meant: “Don’t talk foolishness. I am not a fool.”
We reached the market-place when only a score or two had gathered.
A thousand devils! there was not a fish on the slabs. The merry wives were absent. The condition was plain.
The Dummy uttered a demoniacal grunt, and shook his head and hands before Lovaina in accusation. She answered him with a movement of her head up and down, which signified acquiescence.
“Dummy know,” she said mysteriously. “That Vava he find everything. He like old-time tahutahu, sorcerer. He tell me Annexe no fish. He say now no fish till finish those masheen.”
She laughed and rubbed my shoulders.
“The fish slip away,” she said, “and leave only their scales! Aue!”