My father was a master paramour. With six men and two footmen, he sewed the many beautiful subas and tulip-printed mantillas. I could not understand with my childish mind why there were so many suba, so many mists. We can't bear to tear it up if we take a different one every day.
- "It's not for us, my son," my father informed me.
- Well, for whom?
- For everyone who needs it. There's an owner for all of them at the fair. You go to the fair to sell what you have and buy what you don't have.
The next morning, when I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I saw neither a single suba nor a fia foghorn at our house.
- "They all took it to the market at dawn," my mother said. "Your father is out there selling it. Let's come out and try our luck.
We did go out, but I did a bit of cheating at the fair.
- Nini, my mother, this fair is just like the market.
- It is, my son. But as many as there are a hundred people at the market, there are a thousand people at the fair. Everyone hopes that where there are so many people, it's easier to sell and sell.
Indeed, there were so many people there that they swarmed like a flock of crows in a field. The people of our town were out and about. And my friends were all there fattening their eyes. Some were standing in front of the animal stalls, some were looking at the beetle pits, some were gazing around the gingerbread tents. I envied my friend Jani most of all: he was riding in the revolving comedy on some strange horse that had a head for a tail. He sneered at me with great pride:
- Come on, brother, as a knight!
First I had to find my father. We could hardly find him in the crowd of craftsmen of all kinds. There was a long line of weavers, potters, soap-makers; weavers offered snow-white linen, hatters offered floppy hats, boot-makers offered crunchy boots, tailors offered many fine clothes.
My father had almost sold all the subas, and there was a shepherd with a big moustache bargaining for one. It was a beautiful suba with peacock eyes, a tulip ribbon and silk trimmings. The price was right for it: a hundred pence.
- "That's right," said the shepherd, as he read the money into my father's hand. - 'I sold twenty-five sheep for a hundred pence before, and now I've sold five sheep for a hundred pence for the skins.
- "Yes, my brother," says my father, "but I worked on those five skins for two weeks with my third son, until they became suba. Where, even my son helped me. He groaned for me when I was so tired of breaking skins.
- "Grow up, my brother," the shepherd tapped me on the shoulder, and thrust a terribly mouldy penny into my hand.
- "Nini," laughed my father, "my pennies are home. I got it this morning from the bouncer, and then I scraped the mould off it here on the rim to see if it was good money.
- "It's good, if only I had a bag of it," said the shepherd, "I've just had it from some blacksmith's apprentice. He bought cheese from me.
- "Well," my father marveled, "I gave the mouldy penny to a Bosnian this morning when I bought a stick from him.
That's how fast the money moves at the fair. I didn't have time to warm my mouldy pennies. They wouldn't give me a horse for it, so I bought a sugar-whistle. And I went home from the fair like a steamer, whistling.
