Curious Fingers

Well I hadn't bought it; that was for certain. I'd never have spent
money on anything so ugly. Besides, I hadn't been doing the buying
recently. That was down to Martin and Mr Sutherland, the shop owner.
I'd been on funeral leave for the last 3 days (some auntie) and when I
came back, there it was, sitting in the window like it had every right
to be there.

It was very old, the figurine. I could see that in the damage, though
my untrained eye wouldn't tell me how old it was. I asked Mr Sutherland
about it. He just whistled and said, "good buy, that. Whoever bought
that gets a bonus when it sells. Top stuff." I gave up asking him and
went back to the item itself. Picking it up, I examined it. A small
Chinese guy in a straw hat riding an old grey donkey. Some kind of
ceramic. Maybe mass-produced, but then I'd not seen any others quite
like this one, so maybe not. You never knew with these things; could be
worth a bit. I could always pretend I'd bought it. Martin would never
know. I could do with a nice Brucey-Bonus, firstly to supplement the
crap wage Sutherland paid us and secondly to add to my dirt bike fund.
I had my eye on a nice little number at the dealer's in town and it
wasn't going to come cheap.

That was if it did sell. It was still well ugly. I turned the model
over. No maker's mark&;#8230;hang about. Yeah, there was something.
Well, at least it had been made in China and not Stoke-on-Trent. There
was Mandarin writing on a tiny white label in the corner of the base. I
only knew it was Mandarin because this Chinese kid at school taught me
a bit. Not that it really stuck, you understand, but a couple of
phrases stayed in my head. Useful ones, like "fuck off" and "where is
the chemists? I have crabs." I couldn't decipher what the label said,
but I did work out the word "not", so I put the figurine back down and
went for my lunch break, feeling very smug.

We had quite a good morning. Martin finally turned up around 12 and me
and Sutherland sold 2 Victorian tumblers, a glass chandelier that had
been pissing me off with its jingling and a Russian doll. Martin sold a
wicker chair that had been sitting about and getting in the way and a
set of 4 Lowry prints. Not massive sales, I grant you, but our customer
turnover is usually about 1 an hour. Lord only knows why Sutherland
keeps the two of us on. Maybe he was going a bit soft.

There was a fair bit of interest in the statuette. A fair few people
came in and commented on it, trying their best to identify it by period
like contestants on Bargain Hunt. Sutherland just yawned. He was no
bloody help. Still, it was sort of funny listening to the wide range of
eras suggested. One woman brought in her snotty little son, who
immediately leapt on the piece and bawled "Mummy, I'm having this! I
want it!" The woman looked at it. Sutherland had put a price tag of
?200 on it. She went pale. "Darling, are you sure there's nothing else
you want? Look, bagatelle!" She pulled out a battered board for ?2.50.
The kid sniffed. "Why do I want that when I've got 'Napalm-Pinball' on
Playstation 2?" He emphasised the number 2 to be sure we'd all heard
him. After a great deal of emotional wrestling, the woman persuaded her
son to leave the shop, albeit with a ?5 "Eagle" annual to pacify him.

When I packed up for the night, Sutherland and Martin had already
gone. The last light went off and as I turned the key in the lock, I
saw a small flash from the corner of the shop, and was relieved to see
it was just a stray shaft of light bouncing off the old Chinese
figurine. Still, it spooked me for a second. The light had briefly
caught the dull black of the old man's eyes.

I got into work early the next morning and went straight to it. What
did the inscription mean? I tried looking it up in a few of
Sutherland's antiques books but nowhere could I find the reference. In
confusion, I picked up the figurine, hoping it would tell me the
answer. Then I put it back down. I had stuff to do. Why was I obsessed
with this thing? It was cheap tat with an inflated price tag. Putting
it down, I walked into the storeroom and began filling out the stock
level charts. Suddenly I heard something in the shop. Thinking it might
be Martin or someone trying to get in, I took my key and walked back
into the main body of the shop. There was nobody there at the door.
Then I heard it again. It was like a mandolin or something. An unsteady
rhythm played by what sounded like arthritic hands. It began to get
louder. I followed the sound, baffled. What was happening?

Rounding a corner, past some Laurel and Hardy money boxes and a
walking stick, I saw him. On the windowsill, the old Chinese guy sat,
astride his donkey, playing a small mandolin. His mount shook its head
but its shiny ceramic mane did not swish like that of a normal donkey.
Astounded, I crept closer. Oh my God. What was this? Was I
hallucinating? The old man played with a sad look in his dull eyes, as
if he knew he could no longer play well, but could not stop. Suddenly,
my foot caught an old rug and with a loud crash, I went flying. The
mandolin stopped. As I began to pull myself back up, I heard a voice.
He spoke in Mandarin, but amazingly, I understood his every word.

"You show great interest in me."

Stunned, I replied, "Yes. I want to know you."

"Why?" came the calm reply.

"I want&;#8230;.to help you," I found myself saying. "You seem
sad."

"Ah," the old man nodded his glazed head. "That is because I am
lonely."

He turned to look straight at me, his eyes, lumps of ancient coal.

"You wish to know about the markings beneath my feet."

"Yes," I confessed. "They fascinate me."

"First," he said. "Examine them closer."

I obeyed, picked up the figurine tentatively and turning it over. The
markings seemed to dance and leap, before settling into a new shape;
one I could understand.

"It's a warning," I said, dazed. "It tells me not to remove the
label."

"Ah," he nodded. "I once forgot to heed such a warning."

"Tell me," I pleaded.

"Many years ago, I came across a statue. It was so beautiful, so
charming, that I bought it as a present for the Emperor. I had been
invited to the palace and wished to impress such a powerful man, in the
hope of improving my status. I knew that if I could rise up through
society I might even end up marrying one of my 4 daughters to him. I
saw this beautiful ornament and thought to myself 'nobody will have as
good a gift as I have for the Emperor. I am sure to be his favourite.'
When I looked at the base, though, I saw the mark and I was ashamed. It
said "Do not remove me" It was like a hideous birthmark on the base of
my splendid gift. The more I looked at the mark the cheaper and uglier
the ornament became to me. I could no longer bear to look at it and,
ignoring its caution, I set about removing it."

The old man sighed. "I never got to the palace."

I nodded, the words skating past my ear. It really was an ugly mark
now I looked at it closely. It was repulsive. I could have that taken
off in seconds. What a difference it would make! It would be flawless
and so beautiful a thing. This mark, this desecration, was disgusting
to me. Nausea wrapped me up until I could hardly breathe and I reached
for the label, ripping it off in time to hear the old man's screams
fill the room.

As the winds began to swirl around me like invisible snakes, I croaked
"what was the statuette of? The one you found?"

The old man's sobbing voice found my ears. "A donkey, it was just a
grey donkey."

* * *

"?200? Thank you Madam. Pleasure doing business with you," Sutherland
waved the woman and her bratty little son out of the shop, the latter
clutching a paper bag.

"You seen your friend today Martin?" he called. Martin clambered out of
the storeroom.

"Nah, sorry. Pulling a sicky, probably."

Outside, the child's face lit up as he pulled the figurine out of the
bag. "Hey Mummy! It's not the same one!"

"What?" groaned his mother, exhausted. "Do you want us to take it
back?"

"No!" said the child. "It's way better! Look! There's an extra figure
in it! There's a boy leading the donkey! And look! The old man's
smiling!"