The Merchant of Quiet Things

The merchant did not keep a shopfront. He kept a ledger and a bag of small glass vials, each corked with wax the color of unsent letters. Customers found him by wanting him, which he said was more reliable than advertising.

A hush for a kitchen cost less than a hush for a marriage. A hush for a conscience cost more than either, and he would not sell it to anyone who asked too quickly. 'If you already know you should not be quiet,' he said, 'you are shopping in the wrong market.'

A young man bought three hours for a house in which a truth was waiting at the table. He used two. He tried to return the third. The merchant shook his head. Unused quiet, he explained, does not go back into the vial. It goes into the buyer.

The young man went home talking too much, which was a kinder symptom than the other kind. The merchant marked the ledger paid. In the margin he wrote, as he always did, 'Sold. Not forgiven.'