Friday, October 30th, 2020

A small crowd surrounds a table in the city square. Young women stand behind it. Jars of something I can’t identify from where I stand sit in a row on top. A neatly printed sign hanging from the front has several lines of information. I can sound out the words but don’t know what it means. A man, turning away from the table, sees me standing a couple of meters back from it. “Are you OK? Can I help you?” He has a gentle voice. He looks sort of like our mayor, from what I can see behind his black mask. I try to form a question, but end up just sounding like the Third Son: What is this? He reaches into a cloth bag and hands me one of the jars. “Take this, It’s for you. Courtesy of the city.” I thank him and wander off. Even close up, I can’t tell what’s in it. But it’s a lovely jar. Further in on the square, I get a burekas to take home for lunch. The man there asks me something. I can barely hear him over the hip-hop playing in the store. I don’t answer. He sees my American t-shirt and asks “English?” Yes. He asks again, in English. I don’t need to hear as many phonemes to figure out what he’s saying. Yes, I would like him to add an egg and tomato sauce. And an espresso. He prepares it all and puts the plate with the burekas in a bag. I sit on my usual spot on the stone wall and drink the espresso. He comes by with some food that he’s taking to a table farther back. It isn’t one of the tables from his shop. I guess that counts as being to-go or delivery and is thus allowed. “There’s a chair next to you, you know. You are allowed to sit in it.” I hadn’t noticed. I’m quite comfortable on the wall. But I move to the chair, since he had offered. I pass him again when I go to throw out my espresso cup. He is bringing a beer and a tall shot glass with what might be arak to an old woman at another table near the center of the square. At home, at dinner, I open the jar and have some of what’s in it on challah for dessert. The image on the jar is of a strawberry, but this is something like an orange marmalade. It’s delicious. I try to read the label. I recognize words about the virus and donations. I should have given someone some money, had I known. If it happens again, I will. When I’m done, I go to my computer, type in a name, and look for images. I was right. That was indeed the mayor.