Quistel eyed her prize. It teased her from the midst of the glass container that had only been sitting at the back, near one of the edges of the wooden tabletop. Inside that glass bottle, enclosed in near-invisible plastic, three red and yellow lollipops gleamed before the little girl’s eyes. She thought, if I could just have one—especially since the school tots used to refer to them as A Stick of Paradise. They were sweet, yummy, cola-flavored, but sadly expensive. Even so, on that day Quistel was lucky; she was the first, as well as the only one in line. There weren’t any uneasy girls behind to hurry her to make up her mind. She calmly stood before the shopkeeper and inspected about fourteen bottles of candies. Each bottle contained sweets of different shapes, colors, sizes, tastes, and price-tags, though none nearly as empty as the one securing the trio of heavenly lollipops.
Quistel eventually made her decision. Slowly, she pointed to a jar containing a healthy nest of lemon drops. “Miss Marlene, may I have six of those?”
With a green hairnet wrapped around her head, the shopkeeper’s dark face beamed at Quistel’s. “Sure, dear. That’ll be six cents total.”
Quistel, looking all formal and everything, in her regular green skirt, white shoes, and black knickers, threw a hand into her skirt pocket and withdrew a shiny ten cent piece. She offered it to the merchant.
The woman emptied the six lemon drops onto a piece of paper and handed it to Quistel; no bag; no receipt; no worries. Quistel merely allowed the woman to take her coin, then stood gracefully as she awaited her four cents change. Meanwhile, once again the girl found herself gazing at the three Sticks of Paradise. Oh how badly she wanted one of them. If only her daily school allowance was double what it had been at the time. She’d have her lollipop in twenty-five days square, not counting weekends and providing all the days she’d starve of course.
Miss Marlene grinned at Quistel toothily. “I dunno why you young ones always seem to like that one. It so expensive. Thy’s why I only ordered three. Boy! A whole dollar for one—even I can’t afford it. One dollar is what I spend on my groceries for de entire week.”
Quistel found some sort of odd fascination in hearing the woman talk. “Miss Marlene”, she said slowly, “do you mind if I ask why’s this lollipop so much more expensive than everything else in your shop?”
“Good question,” the woman responded. “To tell you de truth, I does import dem from one of dem big-shot countries like England or America, and sometimes even Sweden or Germany. That’s why I have to charge so much for dem, for all de tax and everything, and to make a profit. I don’t eat sweets but I hear these fancy lollipops have a real original flavour. They supposed to be the juiciest and sweetest of all lollipops. Some of the girls say it melts in your mouth faster than butter.
Quistel’s eyes flared up. “Really? Then I must have one.”
The shopkeeper eyed her queerly. “You sure are a strange little girl. I know children really like their sweets, but I never seen anyone go all crazy over one lollipop; let alone, such a pricey one. It’s gonna take you ages to save up for it, unless your daddy happens to be the Prime Minister or something.”
Quistel wasn’t listening to a word Miss Marlene spoke. The girl had been standing before the woman, using her eyes to silently examine every one of the candy bottles atop the tabletop. She encountered dozens of other sweets and lollipops—some in chocolate and strawberry flavor, others even larger than A Stick of Paradise and costing less than half as much.
“Here,” Marlene said all of a sudden, awakening Quistel from her trance.
“Huh?”
The woman handed Quistel the money she had been waiting to receive.
“Oh, thank you,” Quistel said. She took it from the shopkeeper but didn’t seem very pleased. She counted her money one at a time. “Ummm, there’s five cents here,” she said. “You were supposed to give me back four.”
“I know, but you seem to want that lollipop so much I figured you would need a head start.”
Quistel smiled. “Gee, thanks Miss Marlene.”
“Say, what’s your name, child?” the woman said to Quistel. “I see you almost everyday and never bothered to ask.”
“It’s Quistel.”
The woman grinned. “Strange name. Sounds classy. If you weren’t such a coloured girl I’d be thinking your parents were white.”
Immediately, Quistel became glum. Without a word, the girl rudely walked away.
The shopkeeper’s wonderment heightened. “Hey there!” she cried. “What happen’ to you?”
Quistel halted in her tracks, then turned to face the woman. She didn’t seem that upset.
“Something I said?” the shopkeeper asked, half-concerned.
“My parents are dead,” Quistel said, “…they died last week.”
The shopkeeper starkly eyed the girl. “Sorry to hear that—and you’re so young too. How old?”
“Eight.”
Marlene shook her head. “A real shame.”
“…But I’m not sad though.” Quistel said.
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “How come?”
In a daze, Quistel stood from the distance and, through the glass bottle, eyed her precious lollipop. Without looking at Miss Marlene, she answered, “I’m not sad because I still have my uncle.” Then she walked off without saying another word.
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