ANTIQUARIAN TALES













The Mandarin's Daughter





STORIES FROM THE CHAIT GALLERY








































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For a fellow traveler, a merchant spins a tale to make their journey seem a trip into long ago.

THE MILK TRAIN FROM TOLEDO






BY YVONNE IGNACIO








































It is better that you sit here, miss. There's no more room further back in the train. Come. I'll let you sit by the window.
It's nice, but I've seen it before.
There. Now aren't you glad, you didn't have to walk through that gauntlet of soldiers?
But they can still look at you. No harm in that. We'll all settle down soon.
May I ask you your name?
Casey. That's a nice name. Very American. Where are you from, Casey?
Chicagoland. I've been there. Traveled through on trains like this one. But this is a milk train. Can you see how slow we are going? The way we are rocking, I can see your earrings move to and fro. We'll be going through every village and hamlet; seeing everyone: housewives with their shopping; lovers between tryst; Spanish soldiers like those. Life is open on these slow moving trains. Look at that soldier mending his coat with needle and thread.
What do I do? I'm a businessman.
No, nothing fancy like that. I am only really a peddler. The men in my family have always been peddlers. Back in Toledo I saw a sign in front of a business, proclaiming:"Moises." (And I thought the Jews had been exterminated here since the time of Isabel and Ferdinand.)
No, I did not look inside his shop. Though, I was curious about this survivor of the Inquisition. I am interested in living history.
I deal in antiques. Very old and lovely things. I like things that have traveled through time. I like remembering the past.
Most of them I sell, some I keep. And I always share. Would you like one?
I mean, one of the stories behind my precious objects.
Good. Before we start, would you like some of these almond marzipans? I bought them in Toledo at confectionery, near the site of the slaughter during the Spanish Civil War. Little blond English schoolboys were lisping their orders in Castilian Spanish.
See, it's good. There is nothing like combing two pleasures. A good story and a good sweetie.
Yes, a "sweetie," that's what the British call candy. As for my stories, you see, these are all my own embroideries. To find and hunt down these antiques, is a work of exploration and creation. I give my treasures new lives. And with my stories I re-fabricate their past.
You'll hear the truth some time, but you won't know it. Some times I won't know it. Their past will begin here. Maybe these high plateaus will inspire me or maybe the loma cerda I had last night.
That's right, it was pork. Air dried and tissue thin. Marvelous. Who knows how those things will affect my story. Who knows how looking at you will determine the events I will tell? I like your wide freckles, and your eyes, like the color of the hard steel of the Toledo sword. No, don't look away. I have a wife and a son who is nearly your age. Here, let me shuffle through my pages of pictures, my beauties.
Yes, they are. You are right; they are mostly from Asia and the Near East. Some are from the Americas. But that's another story. Shall I begin?
Look at this. Go ahead. I'll pass you the pictures one by one.
No, no. It's better if you just listen. Take a good look Casey. And just listen.

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yvonne.jpg

Continue here for the tale he tells.

The Mandarin's Daughter

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