Taking
my eyes away from the seven’s speaking-to-me sister and scanning the whole
auction hall as I also shifted my listening to hear the verbiage din filling
the whole hall, I… made a modest, short and stupid sounding exit statement that
said inaudibly “The auction is” continuing onto a definitive “ABOUT TO BEGIN”
and stepped away to her left across the front of the hall WHILE peripherally
tracking the fire chief begin to move down toward me from his opposite side
perch as he saw me move. His size
became my advantage as I… slipped up the far side from him as he lumbered down
the wall to the front isle, barreled his body into the front isle and then
stalled while endeavoring to find me again through his “just WHERE did that guy
GO?” expression shown to all as he faced the whole hall. I was by this time fully up the far
side and crossing to the upper center out-to-the-lobby portal to execute the
ole “gonna take a piss” trick of …ditching someone in a crowd.
Returning
from completing that mission AND adding that I had no reason to avoid the fire
chief … I, with dexterity, proceeded to the exact spot he had abandoned when
trying to reach me. Once there, I
surveyed the far side of the hall and located his lumbering form heading up the
far wall in pursuit… like a beagle on the scent. He had not seen me yet.
He
did soon for… cresting the far side wall isle he looked back over the hall in
survey and… “sees me”. Eye meeting
eye he lightly raised his right arm and hand to me then proceeded… like a Coast
Guard ice breaker going up the frozen river before the spring thaw… to plow
across the upper end (back) of the hall and down the wall isle to …join me.
This
was actually ok with me. I mean;
not only “what do I care?” but MAYBE he’s useful. WITH his large human form… wearing his local Maine village
badge bedecked fire chief jacket AND matching ball cap. WITH his looming spread leg – arms
crossed on chest “FIRE LINE DO NOT CROSS” stance. WITH his adorably cute “I HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT ANTIQUES,
AUCTIONS OR ANTIQUES BEING AUCTIONED this is the first auction I’ve ever been
to but I’ll STAND FIRM I PROMISE facial expression taking all comers from the
whole hall… I cannot BUY help like that.
As he settled in and as the auctioneer settled in at the podium and
raised his gavel to start the sale… I glanced at the “I KNOW YOU” dealer
settling into standing against the wall NEXT TO ME and turned to the chief and
said “YOU PARKED THE TRUCK?”
“OH
YEAH. BUT: TIGHT OUT THERE.” He boomed back.
Thank
you I denoted to myself as the dealer next to me switched through the “You know
that guy? Are WITH that guy? Is your truck? You brought a truck (to haul off what
you buy)? This fat giant oaf works
for you?” and the always useful “I haven’t seen you in a while and you were a
pain in the ass back then but it looks like you might be even more of a pain in
MY ass today especially if your going to stand next to me with that guy and bid
a lot” questions. Quickly the down
isle space to my right opened as that dealer vanished. I expanded my stance downward and that
allowed the fire chief to achieve fully expanded glory in his space so that
…there was no longer ANY SPACE for ANYONE ELSE.
“WHERE
ARE THOSE PEOPLE FROM?” I said next gesturing to the seven far off down center.
“OHIO!”
the chief said clearly understanding me.
“I
WAS TALKING TO A SISTER.”
“THAT’S
AMY”
“SHE’S
NICE?”
Shrugging
the chief said “SHE’S IN CHARGE”
“IN
CHARGE?”
“OF
EVERYTHING”.
“BANG,
BANG, BANG” the auctioneer’s gavel
started the sale, the hall fell silent, the first lot was held up and VERY
RAPIDLY sold. It was the two
matching yellow ware butter crocks.
Opening “IN FRONT” at $150. the pair …shot… to $450. “sold to number
six”; the seven. That began the
sale and THAT continued the sale especially after about six of the first ten
lots being sold to “number six” that acted to alert EVERY DEALER in the hall
that …they weren’t gonna buy a “anything cheap” so… “whack ‘em good” meaning
“go ahead and bid the seven up because they won’t stop bidding anyway”. Actually and to their credit, they DID
stop fairly often and THAT DID slow the higher bids down and saved them … a lot
of money.
The
murmur in the audience enhanced as the word spread that… in shortest version…
“those are the heirs of the estate and they are buying EVERYTHING”. The fire chief stood high and firm
beside me staring at the back of the seven’s heads. I don’t think he had any idea what was going on for real but
he repeatedly uttered a “a lot of money for THAT” declaration. The lots were being sold in number
order. These were listed on two
sheets of paper that most people held in their hands. Both the fire chief and I lacked these helpmates. Numbered lot after numbered lot flew by
in minutes as the auctioneer waged battle against bidders by using
…unrelenting… “fast” selling. The
blinking of an eye cost a bidder a lot sale… pace… was fine with me but …the
fire chief stalled out right away.
Lot seventeen; the highboy, was up at minute sixteen into the sale. Pace slowed then....: Opening bid of fifteen hundred by the
seven. Then dealer bid upward next
settling back to the seven and two bidders. Then one bidder at seventy-five hundred and then… gavel bang
“SOLD” at eighty-five hundred (plus premium) to the seven (about 10K and “right
at” “the high for THAT”) inclusive of the miss-matched age tone darkened “old
surface” and dangling hardware. I
didn’t bid and just stood with my mouth open. Then I went into a lull as lot after lot sold. The desk was over one hundred lots
way. Alice’s mother’s chair (of
death) sold after awhile “for nothing”.
This rousted the fire chief.
“That
was Alice’s mother’s chair.”
“Right”.
“They
both DIED in that chair”.
“Right.”
“I
can’t believe they even sell that”.
“Right”.
“Huh. Wonder if the people who bought it
know?”
“Right”.
“Maybe
I should tell ‘em”.
“NOOOO!”
“But…”
“THEY
DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO ALICE WAS!”
“Huh. I guess… Huh.”
“Just
let it go.” I said. FAMOUS LAST
WORDS.
Now
two lots later and …having been pulled open and being held above his head by a
runner standing next to the auctioneer who took a… third bid… was an old brass
telescope. A spindly brass stick in the air above the runner my lulled brain…
painfully slowly… identified and I said “THAT’S the captain’s telescope?”
“YEAH!”
said the fire chief.
“In
the attic?”
“HE
WATCHED THE PIRATES”
Now
five bids in the gavel slammed down “BANG”. “SOLD” said the auctioneer.
“That
was the captain’s” I said while looking at the coastal Maine dealer holding up
his bidding number after BUYING the captain’s pirate hunting telescope RIGHT IN
FRONT OF ME FOR $135. (“PLUS PREMIUM”).
I STOOD THERE having about five emotional responses at once overload my
practical reasoning response self.
Those included that the seven did NOT buy it. “They didn’t know what it was.” I said out loud. “Or did they?”
“WHAT?”
“The
captain’s telescope. They just
sold it.”
“Remember
how he watched the pirates with it”.
“Yeah,
yeah, right; I know… but:”
“Weren’t
HE CUCKOO!” the fire chief said.
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