How The Old Woman Tried To Buy Ink

At 17 Crooked Street there lived an old woman. She had once lived there with her husband and son, but the son grew up and left home, and the husband died, leaving the old woman all alone.

She led a quiet, peaceful life, drinking tea and writing letters to her son, and nothing more.

People said of the old woman that she had fallen down from the moon.

In summer, the old woman would go outside, look around and say: ‘Goodness me, where’s the snow gone?’

And the neighbours would begin to laugh and shout: ‘So you think there’s snow on the ground in summer? Have you fallen down from the moon or something?’

Or the old woman would go to the kerosene shop and ask: ‘How much are your French buns?’

The sales clerks would laugh. ‘What do you mean, Citizen? Where are we going to get French buns? Have you perhaps fallen down from the moon?’

That’s what the old woman was like!

One day the weather was fine and sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and on Crooked Street the dust was up. Out came the sweepers to water the street from brass-tipped hoses. They sprayed the water straight at the dust, straight through it, and the dust fell to the ground along with the water. Now the horses were trotting through puddles, and the wind was blowing free of dust.

Out the gate of number 17 came the old woman. She was holding an umbrella with a large shiny handle, and wearing a hat with black sequins and on her head.

‘Excuse me,’ she shouted to one of the street sweepers. ‘Where can I buy ink?’

‘What?’ shouted the street sweeper.

The old woman came closer.

‘Ink!’ she shouted.

‘Stand to the side!’ shouted the street sweeper, releasing a stream of water.

The old woman went to the left, and the stream of water went to the left.

The old woman hurried to the right, and the stream of water did the same.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted the street sweeper. ‘Have you fallen down from the moon? Can’t you see I’m watering the street?’

The old woman merely waved her umbrella and moved on.

The old woman came to the market where she saw a lad selling a big, juicy perch as long as an arm and as thick as a leg. He tossed the fish into the air and grabbed it by the nose with one hand. He rocked it back and forth and let it go but didn’t let it drop, adroitly catching it by the tail with the other hand. Then he held it out to the old woman.