Eggplant Napoleon

"May I get the sardines? I know where I can get four baits too.'
'I have mine left from today. I put them in salt in the box.'
'Let me get four fresh ones.'
'One,' the old man said. His hope and his confidence had never gone. But now they were freshening as when the breeze rises."
   – Hemingway, Old Man and the Sea








It was well understood now that the old man was to be fully in charge this day of getting the eggplant. By his own admission, although begrudgingly he had to admit to himself, it was from his own mistakes that the eggplant had not taken in their own back yard garden. Looking out over the horizon of neighbors' gardens, along their strip of land that topped the dusty rocky ridge, friends and relatives had their baskets filled to the brim with eggplants; so many, in fact, that they were unable to use them all themselves and had stopped by just yesterday morning to offer the old man a hand full, for "certainly it would Baba Ghanouj by tomorrow night." The old man had looked at the neighbors quizzically and claimed that of course his had already ripened and been taken to market to sell they were so plentiful. "Baba Ghanouj you say. Ah, tonight is the also Mutabal and to top it off there will be Eggplant Napolean," he said with a rising finger as if to exclaim his certainty. The wife had been listening to all of this play out from inside the house and didn't have to hear a single word to know of the deceit to come. "You have no eggplant, so where will you find it," she asked when he came in. "I have sent a friend on a quest," the old man said. The wife wondered who this could be. Men of the friends were already into cafe and on courtyard. They were not bound to be walking the markets for eggplants, not at this hour of the day. "Ah, and I wondered where Torine was this morning. That is it, isn't it?" Torine, their grandson, was quite worldly, yes, for twelve years old, but not yet capable to haggle with the marketeers. "They will take him to the bank, you know that." The old man had thought of this, of course, as his wise old face reflected – no guilt, no remorse, the feigned confidence of an old man and his years, as thought his years were the brick foundation of what was needed for

confidence and if that were the case, then he had plenty. "I left him with a note for such marketeers and only a minimal amount of change. It will work." "I would like to hear of the note," she said. "I hope it does not put the unsuspecting boy in a bad position..I should hope."  "Oh goodness no. What kind of a grandfather do see me?" "One that has sent his young agent into the streets because he himself did not seed the eggplant properly." "The note mentions, just maybe, the fatigue of his poor grandmother, who was unable to harvest the heavy load this years. The Ghanouj was already prepared and it was given to others. Please." The wife was visibly shaken, if for drama sake if nothing else. "That is as far as you have gone this season old man. You should be ashamed, implicating me?!" The old man had delicately pulled aside the lace curtains at the front of the house; the sunshine was a bright lemon yellow across the face of the street. There were the two small feet of Torine approaching, holding up a good large basket of plump and purple fruit none other than the eggplant. "There is the boy, in fine condition I might add. In very very fine condition!"