The Market of Marvels

From the moment I stepped foot inside the Market of Marvels, I felt it was a place outside of time. A warehouse filled to the brim with rows upon rows of antique wooden mounds and stalls packed full of patinated metals, all forming the crude edges of a river which raged with patrons in all directions. To me, it was magic.

“Here we are, Artie,” Rose extended an arm, palm up. “Impressive, huh?”

The warm, musty air washed over us as we made our way towards a balcony overlooking the market. Sounds of creaking wood and haggling customers encompassed the warehouse.

“I’ve never seen anything like it!” I said.

Rose smiled and looked into the distance, “It’s the largest flea market in the state. I used to come here all the time with my dad.”

“I wish, it’s like all of history has come together, just waiting for the right person to take a piece home and continue its story.”

“Well come on, no sense in just standing around.” Rose pushed off of the railing and began to descend the staircase into the pandemonium below.

I followed her into the flow of people and past the furniture section, stacks of antique chairs and desks and stained wooden dressers towering above us. I struggled to keep up past the stalls filled with hand carved rocking horses and small metal cars. Past the muted browns and greens cascading through the maze of clothing. Finally, Rose slowed down and waited for me by the jewelry section.

I pushed my way out of the stream and leaned against a stall barrier to catch my breath. The large collection of stalls appeared to wrap around itself in an almost circle and had its own rotating ring of onlookers.

“So, what exactly are you looking for?” I asked.

“Right, today I came to see about a brooch. They will have gotten back from their latest road trip this week, so it’s the best time to look for fresh stock.”

I nodded, “Makes sense.”

“But I don’t want you to miss out on the rest. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you walk around a bit and I’ll come find you when I’m done? There should be some hats around the corner that you might like.”

“Okay, that sounds like fun. Assuming I don’t drown on the way there.” I smiled. Rose smiled back, and with a wave she disappeared into the crowd.

The market had a beating heart of its own rhythm, it was a living breathing organism that waited for no one. I took a deep breath and set off in the opposite direction than Rose, through tight aisleways and across stalls stacked with crates containing hundreds of years of history, eventually emerging surrounded by the hats Rose had mentioned – beautiful stacks of black top hats and patterned flat caps.

I couldn’t help but imagine all of their past owners. Was the top hat from English royalty? Or perhaps just a working-class man who worked for years to finally afford one. The flat cap could have been a dockworker stacking crates with all kinds of goods. Maybe it was even around to see off the Lusitania, or help the survivors of the Titanic. For the first time, I began to feel each individual moment within the humid atmosphere, rather than the overwhelming presence of the whole.

I spent a few more moments looking around the hat stalls, but didn’t find any my size and decided to wander around. I jumped back into the flow of traffic and let it carry me towards a section with three men selling watches. The first was yelling at a customer about fair market rates, which was a bit much for me so I decided to move along. The second was less aggressive, but didn’t seem to speak much English. He gave me a puzzled look when I tried to inquire about his oldest watch.

“You won’t get very far with him,” Said the third man. I glanced in his direction. “He’s from one of those Greek islands I never could pronounce.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, making my way towards the third stall. It was significantly smaller than the others, only the old man sitting in one of two chairs beside a small round table with a handful of boxes resting on top. He wore a white button up shirt with a vest and glasses that looked as if he could easily have sold them in the market as well.

“Oh, you spend enough time around here, and you pick up a thing or two.” The old man gestured towards the other chair. It creaked as I sat.

“What’s your name, son?” He asked.

“Arthur. Arthur Hines.”

“Percival Blake.” The man smirked and reached out a hand. I shook it firmly and nodded. “What brings you here today, Arthur?”

“Well, I came with a friend who is off looking for something of her own. She asked if I wanted to tag along when we got coffee this morning, and I could hardly refuse when she said it was a market of marvels.”

“And how did you happen upon my stall?” Blake leaned back in his chair, glancing around his oasis.

“Sort of by chance, I suppose. I just let the market take me where it wanted to.”

The smirk began to turn into a smile as Blake began to lift the lids on the boxes. Each box contained a shining pocket watch or wristwatch with a small brass placard.

“Any that stick out to you?” Blake asked.

I pointed towards one labeled London, 1859. “How did you come upon that one?”

“Ah, an excellent choice. This one was originally purchased from a small shop only a few blocks from the River Thames. The man who crafted it is said to have set it from Big Ben, and warned the man who purchased it that he could not guarantee it would keep any other time except for the grand new clock. To this day, it has not been set except for when it visits London.”

My brow furrowed with confusion. “You speak as if you were there.”

“Yes, well, history has a way of coming alive. The small details remembered by some may very well be lost to others, but that is where the magic lies.”

I nodded in agreement. “I often forget the details.”

“The trick is,” Blake opened a hidden drawer and took out a small leather pouch, placing it on the table between us. “You must be entirely in each moment, letting your mind take in as much as it can.”

Blake opened the pouch and gently extracted an engraved golden chronograph pocket watch, but this one had no plaque.

“Where is this one from?” I asked.

“This one is from all over. See, the others hold memories because they have passed through time and caught a few as they went.” Blake gently lifted the pocket watch and placed it in my hand. “But this one, it doesn’t hold onto the memories. It passes the time through you, such that you catch the memories for yourself.”

I held the watch in my palm, the metal case cool to the touch. I felt the possibility within, the countless lifetimes of potential wound into each spring and forged into each gear.

“Is it for sale?”

Blake only shook his head. “It’s yours.”

I glanced down at it, puzzled.

“You simply set it to when you want to be, and it will take you there.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You will, in time.”

“That’s far too generous, I could never accept something so precious.”

“I have lived more than my fair share with that watch.” Blake sank into his chair, an invisible weight lifted off of his shoulders. “And besides, as the man who gave it to me once said, it’s been waiting for the right person to take it home and continue its story.”

A flicker of recognition danced across my eyes just as I heard Rose calling my name through the crowd.

“There you are,” she said, emerging from the line of people nearby.

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that, I got a bit distracted.”

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, this gentleman was just showing me his collection.”

“What gentleman?” Rose asked, confusion twisted across her eyebrows. I turned to gesture, but Blake wasn’t there. In fact, all of his watches were gone too, as if he had never been there to begin with. I stared at the empty chair and table beside me.

“Huh,” is all I managed to say. “Never mind, did you get your brooch?”

“Sure did!” She held up a small silver piece of metal with intricately detailed carvings. “Well, I’m glad you found something too, shall we go?”

I nodded, slowly standing and pushing in the chair. I once again followed Rose through the tangled web of the market floor. As we made our way back out past the clothes, past the metal cars and rocking horses and mounds of furniture, I couldn’t shake the feeling that wasn’t the last time I would meet Percival Blake.