Anxious. Gallop he pacing. Head in hair in head. Hardly laughing.

The door open and a new customer asks to see the horseshoes. 

“This one’s 7 feet long,” says the shop clerk.

The Chinese customer nods, paces, hands behind his back.

“Hmm..”

“Would you like to see more of them? We have more in the back.”

“No, don’t you worry,” he says, a hand out to reassure the clerk he’d seen all he had to see.

“Best of luck to you!” he shouted as the door closed. 

Buzzing of insects. Thick-on-skin heat.

Herbert’s going to kill me, he thought. On the opposite wall as the one splattered w/ horseshoes there were carapaces of giant crabs in different colors. Those sold less than the horseshoes. How can I make it up to him?

The shop clerk (let’s call him Jimmy) swallowed the claw of the prized purple crab on the right side of the door. He hadn’t eaten in two days and swore there would still be meat inside, but it turned out to be hollow. His esophagus hurt.

He had to buy another purple crab carapace, which was impossible without leaving his post, or else he had to make the store so much money that its owner, Herbert, would forgive him, which… there was no question, it was impossible.

I’m screwed, that’s it, no 2 ways about it.  Definitely really screwed because Jimmy had no savings and there was nothing in his fridge but light beer and ice. He was sorry, so sorry, but didn’t think that would make a difference. Herbert loved that purple crab carapace, loved it more than his wife, polished it while Jimmy counted the coins in the cash register and boasted about it to strangers who’d visit their singular store.

Diffuse.

Herbert accused Jimmy of stealing, bent him over the glass display with starfish and ninja stars, and spanked him. He then proceeded to insert an 18 inch long needle into the inside of his thigh, but did not fire him. Instead he told Jimmy that if he wanted to keep his job he needed to stay at his post another 8 days without removing the needle. If he did well enough selling the merchandise, he would be fed biscuits semi-periodically. Jimmy had no choice but to accept. He worked with a grimace like a smile and paid the price for his disobedience. 

When Jimmy was finally allowed to leave, the sunlight on the swollen skin of his thigh felt like a benediction. He sat on the dust and stared up blindly, only 26 ft. from the store. Herbert watched from the balcony, a light smile on his lips. He was glad to have provided his employee this moment of rapture.

Once his brain was reaccustomed to the outside, Jimmy got up to walk back home. His steps strayed and wandered; he walked not in a straight line. Closer to Jimmy he stepped, the clerk called Jimmy got closer to his home, wasn’t very far away at all, maybe half a mile, but the heat was pounding on his skull, thigh throbbing, head empty, couldn’t keep his feet straight.

Herbert saw Jimmy collapse. A small poof of dust a rose from the broken body. Smile broadened.

Jimmy lay there passive, received the sun on back and neck, like a rectangle of grass freshly collocated and ready to tie itself to the earth and become part of the all too human scenery of a family’s backyard. Sunstroke. Starvation.

Herbert made his way back inside once he was certain the old shop clerk was unable to move. He locked the door and wept over the purple crab carapace missing a claw. In not too long he would have to make a few phone calls to find a replacement, a more loyal employee to take care of the store / who wouldn’t mess with his property. But he allowed himself that afternoon to grieve.

---

Kevin Johnson Murillo works as a medical translator in Alajuela, Costa Rica. Stories of his have been published by samfiftyfour, Expat Press, and EgoPHobia.