The Sixteenth Gem

“What are you selling here?” Clementine asked the owner of the almost empty booth. She came to the market almost every weekend and had never seen this one before.

“Oh not too much, dear,” the vendor said. “And please, do call me Faith.”

“Oh, um, alright Faith,” Clementine replied. “Well not much isn’t nothing. So what is the something?” She sized up the vendor; she was wearing a long breezy skirt and a big brightly colored scarf over a more muted sweater. Her long blonde hair went past her shoulders. On one hand she looked a bit strange, and yet, somehow, also looked like half the other vendors at the market.

“You didn’t introduce yourself,” Faith said, smiling and staring.

“Oh, I’m Clementine,” she answered. Faith looked her up and down.

“Yes, I love it! Make sure you say it early and often - names have so much power you know.”

“Uh, sure,” Clementine said.

“You know I’m not quite so sure you’re who I’m looking for - have a blessed afternoon!” Faith said, turning her back to Clementine and fiddling with something underneath her sole table at the back of the tent. Clementine just watched her and tried to sneak a peek under the table.

“Are you still there? I told you to scatter,” Faith said, still facing the other direction.

“I want to know what you are selling,” Clementine answered, standing taller now. Faith looked back at her and smiled more widely this time, her aged wrinkles curling upwards.

“Yes, yes, use your voice you magnificent specimen! Be proud that you have a voice and that you have such curiosity! You know, maybe I misjudged you young lady,” Faith said, drawing out those last two words in a breathy tone. Clementine just stared back at her. Faith reached back under the table and pulled out a case. “Ok, let’s make a deal - if you take my short, ah, personality assessment, I will determine if I can share the secrets of this case with you. What do you say?”

Clementine thought about it for a moment and examined the case - it was intricate and wooden. It looked aged but not quite rundown, the gilded edges still shining and the woodworking features still able to be made out. It piqued her interest. Clementine looked back at the hippie vendor.

“Ok, we have a deal,” Clementine said. “What are your questions?”

“Yes, yes, please have a seat,” Faith said, ushering her into the booth and onto a plastic folding chair. They sat across from each other.

“Ok my dear Clementine, tell me, do you ever feel like you aren’t heard by people close to you? Do answer honestly.” Clementine took a moment to pause.

“Yes, sometimes, if I’m answering honestly,” Clementine said. “Professionally, at least.”

“You poor thing,” Faith replied. “But thank you for being honest with me. Do you ever look at the world and reel at the injustice, at the societal sicknesses that no one seems interested in fixing?”

“For sure,” Clementine said. She thought of the man she had seen outside the cordons of the market - hungry and dirty and probably lonely. “I think about it a lot. It’s all very sad.”

“It is darling, it is,” Faith replied. “I just have one more question for you. Do you think that you have the power to fix it? Remember, answer honestly.”

Clementine took a moment and considered her answer; on one hand, if she was truly being honest, she didn’t. The world was too big, too complicated, and too much for one person to fix. On the other hand, she really wanted to see what was in that box and didn’t want to get scolded and turned away for the wrong answer. She decided to answer honestly.

“If I’m being frank, I don’t think I do, no,” Clementine said, feeling a bit ashamed of her lack of ambition. Faith put her hands on Clementine’s shoulders and Clementine let out a soft yelp of surprise..

“Oh do not fret, do not fret child, your honesty is powerful. Powerful, you hear me? No, I’ve heard enough - would you like to see what’s in the case?” Faith said with her smile wiped away.

“Yes, I would Faith,” Clementine replied. Faith’s mouth opened to her widest smile yet.

“Excellent!” she exclaimed, standing up from her chair. She drew two curtains across the front of her tent. “We have to protect this from the gaze of those unworthy. You see,” Faith picked up the case now, “this is something powerful and great. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am,” Clementine said with a quiet voice.

“Say it with confidence! Say yes, I am ready to receive this gift.”

“Yes, I am ready to receive this gift,” Clementine replied, giving a side-eye glance to no one in particular.

Faith cracked open the case. Inside was what could be described as a staff, or more precisely a scepter. It was golden, or at least gilded, and featured intricate designs, almost tattoo-like, curled around the handle. The base of the scepter featured four small ravens rising up from the sides creating a sort of hilt, and the bulbous top was encrusted with an irregular pattern of 15 gems. It was, in short, beautiful. Faith just beamed at Clementine.

“What is it? Clementine asked. She was smiling too and was glad she stayed.

“Its… an artifact. Passed down for years to those who deserve it,” Faith said. “It gives you power.”

“Ok…” Clementine replied. “What kind of power?”

“It gives your voice power, even more than it already has. With this you could command nations.”

“How so?” Clementine asked again.

“If you hold this in your hand anyone who can hear you must listen to you and follow your commands,” Faith said. “Anything your heart desires. And for the pure hearted like you, whose soul radiates brilliant, luminous energy, the world can be changed. You said you do not have the power to change the world. Well, here it is. That is what I offer - the power to change the world.”

This awed Clementine further, although had the side effect of snapping her back to reality. She remembered where she was (a market) and remembered what people do there (sell overpriced trinkets).

“How much do you want for it?” Clementine asked. She wasn’t quite sure she believed in its properties but it could nevertheless be a very pretty piece of home decor. Faith just laughed.

“Oh honey, I’m not selling it - it’s yours. Go forth, you angelic sunbeam, and change the world.” Faith grabbed the scepter and extended it toward Clementine. She gave it another once over and then gave Faith another once over, her mouth still smiling and her veiny, wrinkled hand pushing even closer. Clementine grabbed it.

“Thanks,” Clementine said suspiciously. “There’s really no catch?”

“No, no child, no catch,” Faith said. “Please, as my gift to you, go change the world and hold it proudly!” She opened the curtains to the tent.

“Thank you, Faith,” Clementine said as she exited the tent.

“Goodbye darling!” Faith said, “See you again!”

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the truly bizarre interaction she just had. It made no sense - a stranger had just given her a bejeweled, golden staff (although realistically it was most likely Temu-quality “jewels” and “gold”) and told her she could now control the fates of nations. Her words now held supposedly unlimited power. No matter how unlikely, she decided to try it out. Worst that could happen is that she would look crazy.

She thought about the homeless man she had seen earlier, disheveled and desperate. That would be the first person she would try to help. She was going to run a test - she would hide the scepter out of sight and ask for food for the homeless man first and see if they gave it to her. If not she would try again with the scepter.

And to her amazement it worked exactly like that. Her scepterless attempt yielded nothing, just a dismissive “we’re not a charity” from a busy taco truck vendor. But with the scepter? The man’s tune changed.

“You will, let’s see, give me a boxed meal for the homeless man,” Clementine said, tightly gripping the scepter and stumbling over the end of her sentence.

“Ok, yes, I will,” the man said, staring straight through Clementine. He returned a minute later with a boxed meal and handed it to her. She stood there for a moment longer.

“And, um, you will also bring me three carne asada tacos to go,” she added.

“Right away,” the man replied.

Clementine sat and ate her tacos on a curb at the edge of the market. She looked at some of the other booths and got a bright idea - before long she had a couple of bags full of fruits, soaps, fancy perfumes and knitted socks. Enough stuff that she carried them with both hands, tucking the scepter uncomfortably into the inside pocket of her puffy coat. 

She left the market and looked for the man she had seen earlier although couldn’t seem to find him. Traces of him, sure. A crumpled sleeping bag, some cardboard. A pungent smell that wafted over his spot. She pressed on looking and found him around the corner of the building, his frame standing tall near the brick wall as he pissed down it. She quickly averted her eyes and waited for him to finish.

“Long piss!” he shouted her way. “Sorry!”

Her cheeks flushed red and she vocalized a sound that was maybe an apology. She walked back to his pile. He turned the corner shortly after.

“Saw you standing there, need something?” the man said.

“Yes, um, I have these for you,” Clementine said. “I got them at the market.” The man looked at the bags and raised his lanky arms up.

“Oh no beautiful, I couldn’t,” the man protested with eyes pointed at the ground.

“Please,” Clementine said. “I got them all for you. I promise I didn’t spend much on you.” She visibly cringed at saying this, her face sucking in.

“No, no, no, I don’t want it!” the man said, although how much he truly meant it Clementine couldn’t tell. She watched the man for a moment until an idea crossed her mind.

“You probably poisoned it, or shit in it!” the man yelled. Now his eyes pierced straight through her and wouldn’t budge. Clementine set down the bags near his pile and grabbed the scepter from her coat.

“You will take these,” she said. “And, uh, you will stop staring at me like that.” The man’s expression softened and he flashed what should’ve been a toothy smile.

“Ok, I will,” the man said. “I will stop looking at you and I will take these bags.” His eyes locked onto the sidewalk as he came over and picked up the bags. Clementine took a step back, smiling. She watched him, satisfied.

“Tell me your name,” Clementine said.

“My name is Jimmy,” the man said, still staring straight down.

“Look at me Jimmy,” Clementine commanded. His eyes obeyed. “Jimmy, your name is powerful. Don’t forget it.”

“Ok, I won’t forget it,” Jimmy said, still looking directly at her.

“Good. Goodbye for now Jimmy, I’m glad that we got to meet,” Clementine said. He didn’t respond. She walked up Olive St. in the direction of her apartment; Jimmy’s eyes followed her the whole way. And so she plodded home, left hand stuffed in her coat pocket and her right hand feeding her mouth artisanal candied pecans.

Three weeks later Clementine arrived at the Coeur de Terre Theatre fashionably late for the Global Refugee Advocacy Network’s gala. The important people were inside mingling. Snow was dusting the town, and the white flakes contrasted sharply against the black Prada fur Clementine had “purchased” just for tonight. She clutched a red handbag in her left hand. She strode up the stairs to the theatre, her shiny heels striking each slushy step with a shh-clack. As she opened the ornate Art Deco doors she kicked them dry.

The first person she saw was Tim - two weeks ago Tim was her direct supervisor at the organization although now the roles were reserved. Clementine offered a handshake.

“Ah, Clementine, we were all hoping you’d grace us,” Tim said, looking her up and down. “You look even more stunning than usual tonight, of course.”

“Yes,” Clementine said, smiling. “I did a little shopping.”

The party was lavish, expensive, and extraordinary. While they normally worked out of a nondescript building in a suburban office park they really went all-out for the gala; finger foods on black tables, an open bar serving fruity drinks to the guests. Caterers shuffled here and there exchanging full trays for empty ones. Men in suits put their arms around women in dresses, acquaintances shook hands. The chandeliers in the lobby glistened and made the sequins and jewellery on the women pop. 

At the ends of a few tables were signs that talked about all the work they had done this year - how many kids had been placed in schools (that she knew half of them weren’t attending), how much aid had been sent to foreign lands (that was probably pilfered by militias and used to feed the child soldiers that massacred villages), how many grateful families had been brought to the States (and how many had been left behind). Clementine just smiled as she watched two rich good-for-nothings gush over their “achievements”. She knew it was all bullshit, that they were lying to these people. Hell, she was the one who made the signs. But she said nothing, yet.

She made her way into the Grand Hall of the theatre and found her table. She was seated with several other less important employees - “the true heart of the organization” their president Anders might say. Clementine set down her handbag and reached inside, pulling out a golden scepter.

“Wait, that’s giving… royalty,” one of the young women at the table said. Clementine ignored her and walked over to Anders.

“Anders, I would really like to sit at your table tonight, if it’s at all possible. I just think it would be nice for some of our… biggest supporters to meet me, given my new role,” Clementine said, holding her scepter.

“Oh, of course, of course!” Anders said. “Yes, pull up a chair, they would love to meet you!” Anders was in his element - like all presidents, schmoozing with the well-connected was his specialty. 

She gripped the scepter tightly and forced an even tighter smile. She shook hands with the CEOs and politicians and other hangers-on that gravitated towards Anders, always eager to make a donation but also to slip him a business card and “help” with anything the Network may need. The fancy gala invites certainly didn’t hurt either. Anders certainly did a great job at making connections with these people, and presumably that meant some poor kid in a refugee camp got access to drinking water or a textbook. But primarily it meant that some business got a lucrative contract to manufacture things or, worse, software no one needed, certainly not refugees, and it went to waste all in the name of charity. Clementine dropped her smile after the last person made their introduction.

“You know Anders,” Clementine said, “I have a really crazy idea. Feel free to say no, but do you think I could say a few words at the beginning tonight?”

“You know,” Anders said, smirking and smacking her on the shoulder, “I think we could just make it happen.”

And so it came to pass that, after a very brief introduction, Clementine was called up to the stage to say a few words. She marched to the podium, scepter in hand. She addressed the gathered crowd.

“Friends, some of you may not know me but allow me to introduce myself - my name is Clementine Kreutzman and my title as it stands right now is Senior Lead of International Logistics. But I think that is due to change tonight. Don’t you all agree?” The crowd cheered. “I can’t hear you!” Clementine said, and the cheers turned to whoops and whistles. “Anders, why don’t you come on up here?” Anders obeyed.

 “And, you know what, let’s bring up some other people here, too. Tim, why don’t you join him up here. And Angela, I know you hate my guts - come on up!” They obeyed. She called the names of a few others who had embarrassed her and they, too, obeyed. Soon the stage had 10 or so people standing all around her.

“These people all dismissed me, all held me back. Hang your heads in shame!” Clementine cried, spittle hitting the mic. Audio feedback screeched.

“They enriched themselves at the expense of the refugees that we are supposed to be serving!” She pointed at Anders. “They steal from the poor! Let them hear what the people think of that!” Clementine shouted, and soon a roar was unleashed from the high society seated below.

“They only served themselves!” Clementine screamed, her voice cracking. The crowd was frenzied and delirious.

“But tonight, I say to you, you will serve me!” she proclaimed, raising the scepter into the air. And then there was a clattering and a flurry of arms came over her. The scepter fell but the crowd remained entranced. And they still listened to her command precisely as they carried her, kicking and screaming, off to the caterers in the kitchen.

And as the crowd whooped and cheered in their seats one party guest made her way to the stage, her flowing skirt and her big hippie scarf looking very out of place. She laughed to herself as she picked up the scepter, inspecting the brand new sixteenth gemstone, a fiery garnet. She examined herself in the reflection of the stone and, despite her wide smile, didn’t see wrinkles any longer.