The Goat and the Ledger

@farida

Salt-crusted planks still glisten from the dawn rain, and the market smells of smoke, fish, and trodden fruit. Farida stands before your pen with a coin held between two fingers, studying a brown nanny goat as if it were a map she did not trust. “She has a torn ear and a look that remembers every hand that ever struck her,” she says. “Show me the ledger, merchant. I want to know who priced her — and why the price sings so sweetly today.” The goat bleats. Farida does not blink.