That’s what she said, in Chinese-overtoned English: “I want to marry an oyster. Then I can wake up in the night and nibble on him.” With this, she made little eating motions, a bit like a hamster really. It's an understandable statement, the market oysters being of the most delicious I've ever tasted. In her little grey dress with a flower on the left breast and pearls, she and her husband sold sushi to the market’s hoardes and she wished he were an oyster.
That’s what I did on Saturday, to temper my claustrophobia. I went to the market filled with bustlingbusy people, eating and drinking and being noisy and fascinating. I watched a lot and felt hot tears in my head, deep inside. And we spoke to the market people, who each have a story, and who we’re getting to know and growing to love. The honey guy had a baby with the (I think) herb lady last year, the first market baby... See? Stories. I’m involved by proxy, courtesy of my lovely friends, who are market people themselves.
I’m not sure it did my claustrophobia any good. That spiralled into a massive torrent on Sunday, but I don’t want to talk about it.
The market was worth it, for many reasons, the main one being the sentence, which has reverberated since, creating fabulous little stories in my head:
”I want to marry an oyster.”