The Passion of Estelle Jordan by Ernest Hebert

Author:Ernest Hebert [Hebert, Ernest]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University Press of New England
Published: 1993-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

9 THE WIG

The flea-market vendors were setting up their tables when Critter arrived with Selectman Crabb. The Witch didn’t even have to look at Critter’s agitated face to know something was wrong; the clipboard in the selectman’s hand told her that. Paperwork was a weapon, sure as a gun.

They cruised the aisles in silence, Crabb stopping every now and then to write something down. After about fifteen minutes, they sat off in a comer at one of the tables. The Witch drifted over to eavesdrop. She knew men on men’s business took no account of a woman.

“It’s got the required number of fire extinguishers,” Critter said.

“But it doesn’t have a sprinkler system,” Crabb said.

Arthur Crabb, like Avalon Hillary, was an aging valley farmer. In fact, he was Avalon’s kin. The selectman’s job was a hobby with him. He was known by townspeople to be pretty much on the up and up, as town officials went, and that made him easy or hard to deal with, depending.

“The bookstore has a sprinkler system, just like the ordinance says,” Critter said. He was pleading with the old man, as a son will who knows he has no chance with his father.

“The ordinance states the system is required to cover the entire square footage open to public access.”

“But the flea market’s only open on Saturdays and Sundays,” Critter said.

In the face of this irrelevant information, Crabb said nothing.

The silence seemed to incite Critter, alter the pitch of his anger from whining boy to injured man. “You people never enforced the ordinance before,” he said.

“We had some complaints,” Crabb said.

“I know the complainers—bunch of Upper Darby snobs.” Critter stood, yanked by some invisible puppeteer. “My business is my business, and you can’t shut me down as long as I meet the requirements of the ordinance.”

“It’s not the individual business but the parts of the building open to the public that have to meet the codes. Protect the public—that’s the name of the game.”

“You’re telling me you can close my store just because these flea-market people don’t have a sprinkler system?” Critter said.

Crabb rose slowly to his feet. He was fatigued but not intimidated by Critter’s sort. “If there’s a fire, it will burn the barn, not just the business that’s offending the code,” he said, paused, and added: “See the reasoning, do you?”

Critter moaned as if spat upon by a loved one. His mouth hardened up, his eyes widened, the worms inside them brightened. The Witch had seen that look before on a Jordan man; Critter was going to do something crazy.

He jumped on one of the tables and shouted, “Your attention please, your attention please.” The urgency in his voice quieted the eighteen or twenty people in the barn. “Due to circumstances beyond our control, the flea market is hereby closed until further notice. Pack up your things and go home.”

“But I paid for this space,” Piper shouted.

“Yes, sir, you did,” Critter shouted back, “and I’m going to give you a refund, not only for the week, but for the entire month.

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