New fiction took a final sip of coffee, and went into the hall, whistling an atrocious tune. “Your father must be happy,” her mother said. “It’s been ages since I heard him whistle.” Mary Ellen had never heard him whistle before. She had never heard any grown-up whistle. She muttered to herself, “Volume.” Then she said to her mother, “To make lots and lots of Kaleburgers, I need lots of lots of ingredients. How can I get all that stuff?” “You have to bargain and do business. As Eric says, you have to wheel and deal.” “How?” “You have to talk to your suppliers and get them to sell you the makings on credit. Then you pay them back when the Kaleburger becomes popular.” “I don’t know if that will work.” She thought of her supplier, the soft-spoken Mr. Ponder whom some people called Jacklight. He seemed a mistrustful man who did not believe in the future. But he was the only supplier she was acquainted with, so she took up the copy of Fine Wine Cuisine from the kitchen counter and began making a list of necessities.
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he took off her pajamas and bathrobe and dressed in tan shorts and white T-shirt and slipped on her small black book bag, but she did not bear her list of comestibles across the highway to the Joyful Sunrise Grocery Emporium until eleven o’clock. Mr. Ponder would not open early; his store stocked almost nothing anyone would eat for breakfast — some eggs and milk and dust-shrouded boxes of Octagoats, an eight-sided bran
cereal flake. When she pushed confidently into the establishment, she saw that Mr. Ponder was behind the counter, standing between two policemen. They looked her over carefully as she came down the aisle. Both of them loomed large and meaningful. They wore huge pistols. Mr. Ponder nodded gravely and said, “Good morning, Mary Ellen. How fares the Kaleburger enterprise?” “I need lots of ingredients,” she said. “I came to wheel and deal.” He looked at her gloomily for quite a while. Then the policeman on his right poked him in the ribs. “Answer the lady, Joshi.” “Joshi?” said Mary Ellen. “My father was from Delhi in India,” said Mr. Ponder, “and my mother was named Adeline Joshua. She came from Alabama. Folks called her Josh. My name is not Jacklight.” “I’m glad,” said Mary Ellen. A great deal of time passed. Then the policeman nudged him again and he said, “Oh, please excuse me. This is Mr. Wilson Hannah. He plays the role of the Good Cop. Mr. Washington here is the Bad Cop.” “Don’t lay that on me,” he responded. “I am a likeable creature.” “How old are you, little girl?” the Good Cop asked. “Fourteen. I’m not a little girl.” “I was comparing you to my girlfriend,” he said. “She is built solid.” “Did you come here to buy dope?” asked the Bad Cop. “I need kale.” “That is very suspicious,” he replied. “Nobody on earth needs kale.” “Mary Ellen has developed a burger recipe,” said Mr. Josh Joshi. “It is a vegetarian delight made of kale and black-eyed peas and other wholesome delicacies. She plans to perfect her recipe and open a chain of Kaleburger palaces all across America. When she has amassed five hundred thousand dollars in personal profit, she will buy a horse called Scallion. That is the golden summit of her ambition.” “Five hundred thousand K will buy a lot of pony,” said the bad cop.
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“So, can we wheel and deal?” she asked Mr. Joshi. “Not right now,” said the policemen. “Jacklight has to come with us down to the station. He was just closing up.” “When will you be back, Mr. Joshi?” The Bad and the Good exchanged glances. “In about two hours,” said Mr. Good. “If he’s lucky,” said Bad. Mr. Joshi said, slowly, to Mary Ellen, “If you will look after my establishment while I am gone, I will pay you some money and then we’ll talk business. Is it a bargain?” “What am I supposed to do?” “Just give the folks the groceries they want and take the money they hand you and put it in the cigar box under the counter.” “That’s all?” “Yes. Try to be pleasant and helpful.” “What if somebody wants to buy dope?” “Take down the name and address and telephone number and I’ll be in touch. Now I have to go.” Mary Ellen stood aside as the trio came from behind the counter and trudged down the aisle to the front door. The policemen crowded Mr. Joshi between them as if to prevent an attempt at flight. In the parking lot Policeman Good helped the storekeeper into the back seat, then sat beside Policeman Bad in the front and the cruiser pulled away slowly and without benefit of siren. I wonder if he is busted, Mary Ellen thought. She hoped that was not the case. Mr. Ponder had promised to wheel and deal with her and if he would not, who would? he Joyful Sunrise Grocery Emporium seemed not joyful in the least now that Mary Ellen was alone. The only bright light shone from the tall freezer case against the back wall. It was empty except for four packages of broccoli and many frozen pizzas. The other illumination was from bare bulbs set in the high ceiling over the aisles; they cast more shadow than light. She wandered aimlessly for a brief spell, then opened her backpack and took out her little square, wire-bound notebook and a purple ballpoint that advertised a urology clinic. She read down her list: hamburger buns, canned spinach if there was no kale, black-eyed peas and cornmeal. To these substances she had added freshly cut and thoroughly washed lawn grass to compose the Kaleburger that had thrilled her father beyond all expectation. She located the buns and peas and spinach but not the cornmeal. There were three boxes of Masa and the cellophane windows revealed a powdery substance that looked usable. So now she could almost duplicate the makings of her first triumph. Her cookbook called for Fine Wine in all the recipes. But Mr. Ponder did not stock alcohol. She went methodically from aisle to aisle, writing down the names of products that might prove toothsome. She noted raisins, canned sauerkraut, canned sweet potatoes, baked beans and other possibilities. She rejected a small box of grainy stuff called Farro — what was that? — and picked beets — absolutely the wrong color for Kaleburgers — and a disgusting largish jar of pickled pigs’ feet. She was working through the last row of shelves in the dark aisle on the far side when the door opened and a man leaned through it. Mary Ellen had seen him when she was here before. He blinked a gold front tooth at her when he talked and there were pointy tufts of hair on his head like small upside-down ice cream cones. “Hey, little girl,” he called. “Where’s Jacklight at?” “He had to go with some policemen to a station. Did you come to buy dope?” His eyes widened and he shook his head in puzzlement. “Say what?”
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September 2013
O.Henry 61