Lemons for Sale

When I ring the doorbell it chimes a chorus of Hooray for the Red, White and Blue that lasts about 20 seconds. The Italian couple who live here are old, and I guess this gives them a good chance to answer the door.

The first two times I was here the old man answered. The last time it was his wife.

Today it’s the old man’s turn, again. It’s very hot and he’s wearing baggy underwear, but they’re navy blue so I say, ‘Oh, you are in your shorts.’

‘Yeh,’ he says standing half way between buying into my relief tactic and excusing himself.

He’ll be right back.

I’ll wait.

I’m here about lemons. Paul and I are on a health kick and have been drinking lemon juice every day for about three months. This time I’m not sure if I’ll be buying. They’ve doubled in price.

I’m standing in the shade of the patio and looking around. There’s a hook with lots of old plastic shopping bags on it. They’re pink and blue and green and gray. The one at the front has something in it to keep the others from floating away. There’s an old Formica topped table with old Styrofoam boxes pushed to the back of it. I see four bulbs of braided garlic on a nail that’s been pushed into the mortar of the brick wall. A little hand written sign reads “$2 each”.

He’s back.

‘The lemons,’ I say, ‘The sign says they’re $20 dollars.’

‘Yeh,’ he says nodding, ‘Not twenty.’

I ignore that statement.

‘Last time they were $10,’ I say.

‘Yeh,’ he says, walking with me to the footpath where he has his little stand set up for the passing traffic to see.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

‘They green,’ he states.

‘They’re what?’ I ask, looking into the boxes of lemons sitting in his wheelbarrow.

‘They green.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘They’re green? Oh, I see. They’re green! Yes, a little green! Why green? Not ripe!’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Is it because of all the rain?’ I ask, raising my shoulders and turning my palms to the sky. 

What the hell do I know about growing lemons?

‘Yeh. Maybe rain.’

‘When will they be yellow again?’

photo by Dom

‘Don’t know. Two months.’

‘Two months?!’

What’ll I do - ?

We stand together quietly for a minute and lament the situation.

‘Too much rain,’ he says.

‘What?’ but then I heard him and nodded.

The house is on a really main street. There’s a Barbeques Galore across the road and a Freedom Furniture, too. I know he and his wife have seen a lot of change over the years. There’s so much traffic now. Eight lanes just to cross the road.

They have thirteen lemon trees in their backyard. I asked last time I was here.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Umberto.’

‘Hi Umberto. Karen.’

‘Twelve dollar.’

‘Nah.’

‘Twelve.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeh.’ He always has sleep in his eyes.

I know the drill now, so I’ve brought my own bag. We load it up. He keeps the Styrofoam box.

‘Umberto, did you grow the garlic?’

He gives me a look that says, ‘What do you think.’

And I think, ‘Well, there’s a big difference between lemons and garlic.’

But I say, ‘Can I buy one?’

He says, ‘Four.’

‘Four?’

Who needs all that garlic?

‘Four.’

‘Ok. All four together?’

‘Yeh, four.’

‘Ok. Two dollars each?’

‘Yeh. Twenty dollar for all.’

‘Ok. Gotcha. Here’s twenty.’

‘Thank you.’

‘See ya next time.’

‘Next time. Yeh,’ Umberto smiles.