I once happened to watch a conversation between the owner of our little corner shop and a lanky teenager. The boy was dressed in threadbare but tidy clothes. He stood at the jam aisle, eyeing a jar of raspberry preserve, when the shopkeeper approached.
Morning, Steve, howre you doing? the owner asked.
Thanks, sir, not too bad Steve replied.
Hows your mum? Is she back at work? the owner continued.
No, shes still at home feeling ill Steve said.
Looking to buy some jam? the man prompted.
Just admiring it. Mum loves raspberry preserve, but we dont have the money to buy any right now, Steve answered.
Then sell me that bracelet you made yourself, the owner suggested.
On Steves wrist was a homemade braid of multicoloured telephone wire.
Alright, sir, but it might be a bit small for you, Steve said.
Ill buy it for my nephew. What do you think? the shopkeeper replied.
Im not sure Ill get enough for the bracelet to cover what I need Steve mused.
Exactly the amount that jar costs. You spent ages crafting those intricate patterns, didnt you? the owner quipped.
Yes, I worked on it for three nights, Steve admitted.
So its settled then! The bracelet is mine, the jam is yours or rather yours and my mothers! the shopkeeper chuckled.
Thank you, youre very kind, Steve said gratefully.
The happy teenager grinned, grabbed the jam jar, slipped the bracelet off his wrist and handed it over.
Have a good day, sir! he called.
Well see each other later, Steve! the owner replied.
Behind the counter, the shopkeepers wife listened to the exchange and smiled. Noticing my surprised look, she explained:
A few more teens will pop in later; their families cant always afford proper food, but Joe tries to help by buying what he can from the boys. Once he even asked me to sell him a slingshot, and he paid with a stick of good quality sausage
Leaving the shop, I was struck by Joes generosity. I never would have guessed that the man who always weighed everything to the gram and would whisk the scale back when the needle drifted a little too high could be so charitable to struggling families.
Joe was a wellknown figure in our neighbourhood. His shop was popular, and whenever he and his wife stocked the shelves, theyd always ask regulars how they were getting on, keep a cheery demeanour, and aim to serve customers as quickly as possible.
Before long, twelve years had slipped by like water. Joe grew old and eventually slipped away At his funeral, a crowd gathered. Three sergeants stood apart, then approached the widow, each kissing her hand and offering words of condolence.
Those were the very lads Joe had supported over the years. When I said my farewells, I spotted a few childrens trinkets in the coffin, among them the braided bracelet that had taught me the true subtlety of a shopkeepers kindness. He understood that the boys would grow into men, and he gave them more than just food he crafted a little illusion of fair trade that would stay with them forever.
