# Rhamon/Chapter 14

The next morning Rhamon went with his uncle to see the city and buy some spices in the Bazaar. Rhamon had never seen such a big Bazaar. So, while his uncle was busy tasting and buying little bags of the strong, good-smelling spices, Rhamon slipped away.
He wandered up and down and looked into all the little shops and open stalls that lined the packed and winding streets. Here and there he ​stopped to watch a man sitting cross-legged on the ground, sewing or weaving, or hammering on a piece of metal. He listened to the bright-colored parrots that hung in cages by the doorways and called to the tame monkeys that swung along the railings or dropped down from roof tops. He poked the lazy dogs that slept in the hot dust or snapped at the buzzing flies.
Crowds of people passed him, coming and going in a steady stream. Some were dressed in bright silk, some were dressed in rags, but few of them wore clothes like the garments he knew at home in the Valley. No one noticed Rhamon and he ran about gayly, dodging the noisy little horse carts that rattled their way through the narrow busy streets.
Rhamon had some annas that jingled in his pockets, so he looked at the colored candies in this little shop, the sticky cakes in the next one, and the gay array of penknives in another. "I really need a penknife," he thought, "one with a sharp blade that will cut the hardest root. ​Then I can whittle myself a top that no one can crack. I would like to have a knife like the American Sahib's." He remembered how he had once seen the Sahib cut a stick clear through with one slash of his beautiful knife. Ah, that was a knife worth having!
And so he stayed for a long time at this stall, looking first at one knife and then at another. But he could not find one like the Sahib's beautiful shiny knife that had come all the way from America.
As he went on through the Bazaar he saw a window full of wonderful tops. A splendid red and green one caught his eye, but he was sure it cost more than the four annas he had in his pocket. "I must bargain with this shopkeeper as the men do." So he went inside, looked at several tops and asked their price. Then he picked up the lovely red and green one and asked how much it was. "What! Seven annas? That is too much." So he put the top down and walked out of the store.
​"Six annas for you, boy," the shopkeeper called after him.
Rhamon laughed to himself and thought, "I'm pretty good." He came back and looked at the top. "I will give you three annas for this top," he said, winding it up for a spin.
The shopkeeper threw up his hands in horror. "Three annas! And how shall a poor man live when he must sell his goods for so little? Oh woe, oh woe! I have no luck today." Then as Rhamon started for the door again, he called, "Five annas and the top is yours."
"I shall look at tops farther down the street," Rhamon answered, jingling the coins in his pocket. Now Rhamon wanted the top, so just as he reached the door he pulled out his money and said, "I will give you four annas for that top."
"Allah have mercy!" the old man muttered as he put the shiny top into Rhamon's hand and gathered up the four annas with his bony fingers.
But it would be hard to say who was the hap​pier about the good bargain he had made, Rhamon or the shopkeeper.
At last Rhamon turned to go back to the stall where he had left his uncle buying spices. On the way he heard the sound of light fingers tapping on a drum, "Tum ta-ta tee tum; tum ta-ta tee tum." Quickly he wriggled his way through the small crowd of people that was gathered around the music. He ducked between the widespread legs of a brass peddler, nearly upsetting his tray of goods.
"You young rascal!" the old man screamed as he made a grab to catch Rhamon. But Rhamon was too quick for him and had safely hidden himself in front of a fat woman with a baby in her arms. Then he saw why the crowd was there.
A man was squatting on the sidewalk playing on a small drum. In front of him a young girl danced to his music and to the clink of the silver bells on her anklets. Her slender body swayed from side to side and her bare feet pad​ded on the ground. Rhamon loved the music of her dancing feet. When she whirled, her skirts made a cloud of red and gold about her. A floating veil covered her face, so Rhamon could see only the flash of her great black eyes. Too soon the dance was ended and people tossed coins at her feet.
Rhamon wished he had not spent his last anna for that top. He would have liked to reach into his pocket and toss a coin to the pretty dancer just like the other men. However, he moved away to meet his uncle.
On the way home from the Bazaar Rhamon saw a man sitting on the ground, blowing fire out of his mouth. People were standing nearby watching him. Rhamon pulled his uncle's sleeve, "Look, the man is on fire!"
"O-ho," said his uncle, "we must stop here and watch him. He is Mohammed Bukhs, and he can do tricks that will make you think he must be made of magic."
All this time the trickster was puffing his
​cheeks in and out, and in and out, like a pair of bellows, making the flames shoot out from his lips. Then he took the red coals out of his mouth and turned to his wife who was standing near him with a big basket.
Now for another trick. Rhamon watched him tie her hands together and fasten her inside of a strong rope net. Then he picked her up and stuck her feet first through a small hole in the top of the basket. She wriggled and squirmed her way down inside. Mohammed, the trickster, put a cloth over the hole. The basket began to wobble, then—out popped the net.
"Now how did she get out of that?" thought Rhamon.
At this moment Mohammed jumped into the basket with both feet and stamped about to show there couldn't be anybody inside. Where was his wife? Just to be sure she wasn't there he got out, and taking up a long sharp sword, plunged it into the basket, this way and that, in and out, again and again.
​"What is happening to the poor lady inside?" asked Rhamon.
"Wait a moment and you will find out," said his uncle, who had seen the trick before.
Sure enough, the basket began to wriggle and roll from side to side. Then Mohammed's wife squeezed herself out through the top and stood there looking very hot but not the least bit hurt.
All the way home Rhamon thought about that trick, but he couldn't figure it out. With his own eyes he had seen the swords go through the basket, yet the man's wife was inside!
It had been a long and busy day for Rhamon and he was tired when he crawled into his little bed that night. His foot ached, and he thought how glad he would be if the good doctor was able to make it right, so he could walk and run without getting tired.