Heartless

Thoman pushed his way into the marketplace. Some of the market was covered with corroded roofs that only managed to let rusty water leak in while crumbling cement walls turned what should have been a fairly straightforward collection of vendors into a tangle of dead ends and labyrinthine corridors. There were stands covered in soiled but brightly colored cloths in every possible space. Well used plastic bins were arranged on every flat surface and filled with shiny and fairly valuable wares. Thoman chose this market because the guards were almost nonexistent and nearly anything could be had. Thiesel followed behind, pleading with Thoman to slow down; she was exhausted with his obsession to hunt every last one of this week’s “must resell” items.

The vendors knew Thoman, and while he had been good business, they had had grown weary of his persistence. And his insistence to barter in items and services they had little use. Some refused to meet his intent gaze, already knowing his question before he asked it.

“I don’t have any, Thoman,” said a vendor, face hidden. The vendor’s grey robes concealed much.

“How do you know what I am looking for?” Thoman said. He even managed a smile.

The vendor’s shape seemed to stand up a little taller, the voice had brightened, “Oh? What can I help you find?’

“Heart-shaped lockets. Precious metal. With old fashioned photographs inside,” Thoman said, his smile flickered.

The vendor stood motionless for a long instant then sagged. Speaking in a low deliberate tone, “That’s exactly what I don’t have. Still.” Then was a pause and a sigh. “You’ll have to go to Friend’s Estate. Again. He’s the only one that peddles those trinkets. If you think his price is fair.” There was a certain malice in the word “fair”.

Thiesel grabbed Thoman’s tattered jacket and said “No, no, don’t go back there. Please!”

Thoman pulled his sleeve forward, “It’s not a big deal,” he said.

Thiesel grabbed Thoman again, her small fingers buried into his jacket. “You said last time was the last time!”

Thoman shook his arm arm then stopped. “You’re going to rip it! Let go!” And then quieter, “This time will be the last time.” Thiesel had no option but to believe this lie. She let go.

“I’m sorry,” Thoman said. “I know I get focused on my business. I forget what’s important sometimes. But right now this is important.”

“When you have nothing,” Thiesel said, “remember I tried to stop you.” Thoman pushed his way through the sparse crowds, squeezing between cases of third place trophies and commemorative coins of less popular events.

Friend’s Estate was the only two story building in the market and had several signs in front beckoning to enter at one’s own risk. A casual observer would have assumed the Estate must have been some sort of mini prison or perhaps a secured warehouse for something terrible and valuable in its prior incarnation. Thoman climbed the staircase, his hand careful not to touch the railing, which was blackened from decades of hands sliding up them. Thiesel sat at the bottom of the stairs and against her best attempts to do otherwise, sobbed quietly.

Thoman had changed his mind when he reached the top step and the metal door of Friend’s Estate. He was about to turn around when the metal door opened a couple inches then swung open on its foreboding hinges.

“Thoman! Back so soon,” said Friend. The wall of stench from the Estate, forcibly escaped through the door. It wasn’t an exactly unpleasant smell, but it was alarming, in the way the slightest whiff of smoke can be a menu of a fiery meal to come. Friend inhaled the somewhat sweeter outside air and beckoned Thoman inside; Thoman’s intent to leave having whittled away.

Thoman took in the room, his eyes missed this terrible place,wondering how many times had this? The floor was tiled, not like a palace, but very utilitarian; things happened here, things were fixed or broken or sometimes both. There were glass cases, but the glass was wire glass, with a layer of a diamond pattern mesh embedded in the glass. It was like a display of contraband in a prison museum; a collection of items desired but unattainable. Thoman was not interested in what was in the cases; he was focused on his current one thing. There were no windows but the room was lit, a rarity these days. There were some metal safes, a counter, a stack of record books in disarray, machinery hanging from the ceiling and some old furniture that had been obviously slept on.

Thoman’s eyes lingered over everything else but finally and hesitantly, faced Friend.

Friend was a large man with a head that would be too big on anyone else’s body but seemed proportionally too small on his. He wore an old suit, obviously from before the war, which gave him a air of sophistication in this remote nowhere.

“I’ve decided I want to buy the rest of them,” Thoman said, feigning confidence.

“The books of love poems?” Friend said.

“Not that smut,” Thoman said. “Heart-shaped lockets. They are paying top credit for them in Kilotown.”

“Last week it was belt buckles. I didn’t understand that fad. But lockets, those represent the weakness and the sentiment that nearly ended our proud civilization. They will be impossibly rare very soon. All melted down for something with purpose or hoarded: seeds for the next soft decadent age.”

“I only know I can turn a small investment into a large one. Right now. Today,” Thoman said.

“A wise choice. These will be the last of the ones I possess,” Friend said. “So, you have credits?”

“Not enough,” Thoman said. “Perhaps I could work for them?”

Friend cocked his head in mock confusion. “You are a funny one, Thoman. There’s really only one thing you have that is any use for me. Does that ‘work’ for you?” Friend said.

“One more time,” Thoman heard himself say.

“That is good since I don’t think you anything left in you to pay after this,” Friend said with empty concern.

With a fluid grace combined with a deliberate, nearly robotic motion, Friend caused a black box to appear on the counter. Friend tapped the box and metal plates extended like a iron blossom. It was reminiscent of a predator suddenly raising from an extensive lazy nap into a rewarding and brief chase.

“How much do you need this time for payment,” Thoman said, his skin already going cold.

Friend squeezed a tube of a blue gel and spread it onto the plates. He wiped his hands on a filthy cloth.

“ I will need usual, only a lot better. I need three of your best memories. For three of my last lockets. The last locket is gold. Gold filled, really. Junk in better times, but a billionaires’s ransom now. Hands on the plates.”

“They used to say youth was wasted on the young,“ Friend said, “but no longer. Now the decrepit can enjoy fresh memories with such detail. So much better than real.”

Thoman put his hands on the metal plates that were connected to the black box, also blackened from many contacts with flesh. “How does it work? How does it know?” Thoman said, his voice sounding distant as his heart pounded in his throat.

“Don’t worry about that. But know that this apparatus does exactly what it is supposed to do,” Friend said. “You would be surprised how much a good memory is worth,” Friend continued. “It’s the same reason the trappings of old love is so valuable and basically illegal. Science has proved that love isn’t real but we are all romantics secretly. Aren’t we?” He asked with a smile.

“What?” Thoman said. His memory of two Summers ago simply no longer was part of his mind. Copying memories was against the law. But transferring memories, that had been deemed basically legal. And highly profitable.

The black box searched for happy moments. Indeed, it was getting scarce in Thoman’s mind. But there was a vein of gold bliss. Going. Going. Gone.

The black box whirled. Friend showed the slightest moment of concern; he tapped the box gently. The box groaned disturbingly. “Come on, Thoman, the box is hungry,” Friend said, his voice raising excitedly.

Thoman looked pained. Then emotionless. He had the vapid expression that everyone appeared to have these days. Perhaps this event right now was the reason.

The box went silent. For a moment Friend believed he was shortchanged, but when he lifted the box, his smile formed. When you’ve been doing this as long as Friend had, you can feel the imperceptible weight of three good memories.

Friend removed Thoman’s limp hands from the plates and reasonably gently put him down on a green vinyl couch that seemed completely out of place until now. Thoman rolled into a fetal position and twitched every so often.

“You’ll be ok, kid,” Friend said, “probably.”

Friend put on some white gloves and jewelry lope glasses. Friend opened an old safe, ancient even from the time right before the war. There were many lockets inside. He pulled out three. He opened one. Empty, He put it on top of the safe. He opened another. There was a picture of the Queen Mother and her Consort inside. Friend stared at it for a moment, shrugged and put the heart shaped locket on the counter. He opened the third one. Inside were recent looking photos of Thoman and Thiesel. They looked happy. Defiant. Hope fro the future. “Well that’s kind of awkward,” Friend said to Thoman’s unconscious body. Friend removed the photographs with a tweezer and put them into a velvet lined box. He replaced them with other photographs of roughly the same size and added photos of a Brazilian couple into the locket that was empty.

Friend paused to look at Thoman’s twisted body. “You know, Thoman, this is a bit much, even for me. Are you going to be back here tomorrow begging for me to return your last vestiges of your soul? How many times have you demanded that I take what should be sacred and secret for you for the merest trifle? Will you give me your blood for a tattered old Valentine’s Day card? A limb for the cheapest Vegas engagement ring? You should living this, not trading it.” Thoman barely breathed, no words could have been heard. Friend shrugged. “The customer’s always right.”

He placed the lockets into small plastic bags, then walked over a few steps and kicked Thoman’s shoes. Thoman didn’t respond. He kicked him again in the soles.

Thoman sat straight up.

Thoman looked puzzled, more puzzled than usual.

“You fell asleep, sorry to bore you,” Friend said. “I have your merchandise here, Thoman, and I appreciate your business.” Thoman stood up a tad wobbly and Friend slipped the bags into Thoman’s sweaty discolored fingers.

Friend aimed Thoman for the door. “Thank you.” Friend grabbed Thoman on the chin and faced him to his own gaze. “Don’t come back, Thoman. This is the last time. Try to remember this time.”

Thoman gave Friend a half nod and shoved the bags into his pockets.

Thoman opened the door. He climbed down the stairs, pausing in front pretty girl who looked vaguely familiar and tear streaked. He looked at her. She lifted her head.

“Do you have anything left?” Thiesel said.

“I don’t think so,” Thoman said. “Are you alright…miss?”

“I’ll be fine, Thoman. Thoman? Thoman!!” Thiesel said.

Thoman was already thinking about how much he could get for these lockets and wasn’t overly concerned that this woman knew his name. People these days craved the love that others used to have in those better times long ago.

It was a shame he could never know what that was like.

Again.