At the Tobacconist s

The Tobaccionist was someone behind the counter, with long hair of ash, not too old, but not a young one, - looking at him, no one could tell his exact age.  Sometimes he looked as if he was in his early thirties; many people who knew him said he must be about fifty; but did the age really matter for the one who had so keen, dreamy eyes of a leaf shape, changing their color slightly from blue to hazel? However, nobody usually looked into Tobacconist's eyes - he wore huge glasses with thick lenses in them, and only occasionally his shiny glance would spark from above the frame. Those who managed to catch his sight, usually stood still, their own eyes wide open, astonished with what they've just seen, and  only after a while shook their heads, as if getting rid of a sudden delusion.
This afternoon was just another rainy afternoon, and the Tobacconist was sitting behind his counter with some science fiction stuff.  He didn't really like science fiction and modern fantasy, but he loved reading, and he needed something to read. Psychological prose made him sleepy like hell, and sometimes his nephew, coming down from the upstairs with a mop to clear the dust, would find his uncle snoring with his head on the counter.
- Was reading some crap again? - he usually asked, looking at the Tobacconist sympathetically. The Tobacconist would awake, then look before himself with senseless sight for a moment, and only then notice his nephew and say:
- Ah, that was you. Yeah, some holy shit again. Just can't imagine the one who writes it. Did I snore?
- A little bit, - his nephew would answer with a smile, sweeping dust from the shelves.
So it was another rainy day, and there were no customers coming, so Tobacconist was sitting alone at his stool, almost on the point of falling asleep, when suddenly the tiny bell above the door clinged, and a person came in.
A girl. That was a big surprise, for no girls came to the Tobacconist's store ever. There were some ladies in their mid-forties, asking for something special with additions of cinnamon, prunes or coffee, but there never were girls. Maybe, they preferred smoking some light stuff made by Tobacconist&Co factory, that bought Tobacconist's patent on tobacco with different flavors long, long time ago. Since that time,  Tobacconist&Co's production became extremely popular, and Tobacconist himself had just a small part of income it made every year. Anyway,  he didn't complain. He was just upset that the main business in his life is now used in the way different from what he wanted it to be.
So, Tobacconist was definitely surprised when the girl came in. So surprised, that he even put aside the book he was reading and started to watch his sudden customer with a keen look. The girl was young, and, like any young girl, pretty. Her clothes were long, dark-blue dress with pretty ornament on it, something of a boho-neo-hippie style, and a silk scarf of the same style and color, wound around her neck loosely. She didn't have an umbrella, and her long, fair hair were wet, so with a faint sigh Tobacconist guessed, that the girl was just looking for a place to wait until the rain stops for a while.
However, she didn't stand idly in front of the door, but started to entertain herself walking around, looking at the jars and reading the descriptions below. She seemed to be interested,  and so Tobacconist was surprised again - usually his tobacco was smoken by people of an older age, slightly haughty, well-educated,  good-mannered - and boring. It seemed strange, but Tobacconist didn't really like the most of his customers.
So he was watching the girl, wondering if  she would leave soon, or maybe stop for a quick talk with him. He didn't have any hope that she will buy anything, and the bigger was his surprise when suddenly she turned to him and asked in a soft, polite manner:
- Excuse me, sir? Could you tell me, how much is this? - and her long finger pointed right to the jar with the best Tobacconist's stuff, plain tobacco from far southern province, that he never had sold to anyone.
He opened his mouth, trying to say something; glasses slided down his nose, leaving his big, shiny, perplexed eyes open. He almost jumped out from behind his counter, and didn't notice that the girl had already caught his sight, and now looking at him with look so soft he couldn't imagine ever.
- I don't think it's a good idea, miss, - he muttered, gently grabbing the girl by elbow in attempt to keep her away from the dangerous jar. Lord, she didn't know what she's talking about! Even the University professors and strict sophisticated priests preferred something different, with slight addition of spices or flavours. That was the tobacco Tobacconist smoked himself, and it's taste was soft and heavy and bitter, like an old legend, like nothing in the world. He couldn't imagine anyone would like to buy it ever.
- But sir, - girl made a slight attempt to free herself. - Sir, I want this tobacco.  How much is it?
- I'm afraid it won't go with such a pretty flower as you, - the Tobacconist replied, almost forcing the girl to turn to the shelves where jars with special "ladystyle" tobacco stood.  - Here you are. Choose anything you like. We have some with addition of cinnamon, with coffee, with cherry flavour; even Chanel #5, though I don't really like perfumes, but that's allright. I can even give you a present if...
- No, sir, - girl frowned. She seemed to be really confident about her choice. - I want the tobacco, just the plain tobacco,  nothing else. The very one I've shown to you. Why won't you sell it to me?
- Because we have lots of stuff better than that, - Tobacconist started getting irritated. What a stubborn little perk, - he thought to himself, - she wasn't even going to buy anything special before coming here!  - Here is some with mint flavour,  would you try? We also have some with amaretto, champagne, any alcohol you like. Hey, look, how about that? It has chocolate flavor, and probably  you...
- No.
- Rose petals, green tea, lemongrass?
- No, sir. Plain tobacco,  please. I'm pretty sure I want it.
- Rosemary, thyme, meadowsweet? I thought about meadowsweet when you first came.
- No, no, no. Allright, sir. I think there's nothing else to talk about. The rain is finishing, and I think it's time to go.
- No, - Tobacconist said, suddenly even to himself. - No,  please, don't go. Stay. If you really want that goddammit tobacco to smoke, allright, I'll even lend you my pipe to try it, but I'm absolutely sure you won't like it, you'll curse me and this store forever. There, -  he finally set the girl free and reached to the counter for his pipe. - Where is it? I'm sure it was here yesterday. Maybe Leo brought it upstairs?  Oh no, here it is. - He turned to the girl with pipe in his hands and gave her a frightening look. - Allright,  little miss. If you want to try, if you REALLY want to try this stuff, and I bet it's too harsh for you, there you go. - He laid the pipe on the girl's open palms. - It's full. I was going to smoke it later, but forgot to. If you need any matches...
But the girl already put the pipe in her mouth and now was checking her pockets for a lighter. Foolish generation,  - Tobacconust thought, looking at her. The pipe looked horrible in her mouth. It was very big and heavy, very old, made in a shape of dragon's head, and the girl was so young, so fresh, so light, so...
Click.
The Tobacconist gently held the pipe for the girl while she was lighting it. Eventually, he brought in the matches and lighted it himself, then made a couple of whiffs and with a grin gave his terrifying treasure to the girl:
- Smoke.
The girl whiffed. For a moment Tobacconist thought  that she would fall dead, but, surprisingly, it was fine with her. She whiffed for a couple of times more, humbly and gracefully, and then looked up at Tobacconist with a smile:
- I think it's the best thing I've smoked ever.
The Tobacconist was astonished. He couldn't believe this heavenly creature could accept the stuff everyone except for himself thought to be too heavy.
-  Are you sure you liked it? - he asked at last,  looking at the girl suspiciously. She nodded and made another whiff.
- I wonder where you came from, - Tobacconist said. Bet we've never met before, but something in your face seems familiar to me. Tell me,  miss, what's your name?
- I'm Daisy, - said the girl, smiling; her jade, almond-shaped eyes twinkled. - Daisy May. My neighborhood is two blocks from here; it's called the Flower Lane. Have you ever been there? 
- Yes, - Tobacconist replied, shaking his head with a dreamy look in his eyes. - Long ago.  My wife was from there.  She lived in a house with beautiful little garden. The house is still on its place; and so does the garden; but now they opened a cafe in there. "Dancing snowdrop" it is called.
- And where is your wife? - the girl asked, rising her eyebrow.
- Gone, - Tobacconist was confused. - Like everyone is gone.
- Oh, - the girl sighed. - What a pity.
- Sometimes I feel so too; but at least I have my nephew to care of. He's a smart guy, and I love him a lot.  However, he's not a replacement. No one is a replacement for the one who understands you.
- Yes, - the girl replied. - I agree. I also used to lose people; I've lost a lot of them. It hurts.
- Give me a whiff, - said the Tobacconist.  Daisy handed him the pipe. He whiffed with his eyes closed and sent a curvy stream of smoke through his nostrils.
- Beautiful, - Daisy said, watching him smoke. - Looks like flowers. 
- As for me, it looks more like a dragon or a huge ship sailing away, the one Vikings used to sail on, - said the Tobacconist, opening his eyes. Only now he noticed that his glasses are now gone and hang helplessly on the tip of his nose. - Oh, - he said, gently pushing them back. - I've almost lost him.
- You seem to have a good vision though, - Daisy murmured. - Why do you hide?
- It's not easy to say, - Tobacconist replied. - The main point is that my sight scares off most of the people. Hope it didn't scare you though.
- It's didn't,  - the girl shook her head. - I just wonder how could it scare anyone. You don't look scary at all.
- I wish it was true, - Tobacconist sighed. - To be honest,  you're the first person except for my nephew and my wife and some of my friends who said that.
- Great, - Daisy shrugged her shoulders. - Then may I be your friend?
- Indeed you may, - answered the Tobacconist. - Here.  Have another whiff.
The girl took his pipe and smiled.
- Friends have names, - she said. - And how shall I call you? I knew some people call you Tobacconist, but can't be your real name. Am I right?
Tobacconist smiled back at her.
- Call me Ash, - he answered. - That's the name everyone used to call me when I wasn't the Tobacconist yet.
- Ash, - girl repeated to herself,  with her eyelids shut and lips curving with a smile. Good then. You're the smoke, you're the ash, and you're the silver. I'll remember.
- Silver, - Tobacconist smiled again, but now more to himself. - I've got plenty of memories related to silver. Not the gold, I don't like gold. Silver. My mother's surname was Silver, by the way.
- And what about you?
- Me? I'm the Tobacconist. My father and my grandfather were Tobacconists.
Before Daisy handed off, Tobacconist gave her a tiny pipe with floral ornament on it.
- Smoke and remember me, - he said. - Remember the flowers.  You can see flowers where others see beasts and battleships.
- I will, - the girl nodded. - Thank you. Your tobacco make people happy. By the way, how much is it?
- It's free for you now, - Ash replied. - And as long as you're my friend it will be free. Come an smoke with me. I have no one to smoke with.
- And what about all the big dudes coming to your store?
- The big dudes smoke different tobacco. It is made by me too, but it is different. Some likes it with coffee flavour; some would  prefer mint; some even smokes it with sandal. But no one smokes the plain tobacco. Just the plain tobacco from southern province.
- Got it, - Daisy's eyes were shining. - I'm glad I know you, Ash. I'll peep in as soon as possible.
And she gave Tobacconist a hug.
When Daisy finally walked out the store, Ash stood on the porch with his pipe, watched her going and smiled. The rain now stopped;  the golden setting sun was outlighting the curly cotton clouds. Some of them looked like dragons, some of them looked like ships, and some remained simply of flowers.
Leo, the Tobacconist's nephew, sunny blonde with dimples on his cheeks and chin, walked out the store with his harsh mentol cigarette. He bit it from one end to make the flavour go in and gave his uncle a gleeful grin:
- I noticed you talking to a pretty girl downstairs. Would you tell me who she is?
- You always talk about pretty girls, - Ash laughed. - Never mind. She was just a customer; a customer with strange, but reasonable taste.
And he murmured to himself, letting the smoke out the corner of his mouth:
- Just a customer.