It’s not that I’m addicted to bobble-heads. Really.  The truth is that I’m addicted to the two charming children who sell them.  I first met them at Pedro’s fish taco place on the beach, where they politely approached me and showed me their wares.  As her brother calmly extracted a few individual animals to show me, the little girl played with her smaller tray of animals, repositioning them and occasionally holding one out for me to examine. They were not insistent, but rather seemed absolutely fascinated by the animals themselves. I asked their names.  He was Edgar and she was Flo. He went to school in Melaque in the mornings and she went to Kinder. In the afternoons, they sold the animals and clay candleholders while their mother and older brother sold other wares. I ended up buying seven animals, which Flo counted out in English, her brother continuing the count up to 20–not because I’d bought that many, but because he knew the numbers.

I thought our relationship was probably over as they walked away up the beach, but I had underestimated Edgar’s entrepreneurship. That afternoon, they appeared again at the steps that lead up to the beachside porch of my house. Calmly, Edgar produced a monkey and a cat.  That morning, I had noted that there were no monkeys or cats or rabbits, and  he had not forgotten. It had just been an idle comment on my part, but now how could I not buy them?

My upstairs neighbors arrived and, equally charmed, bought several animals each. Did they have any more cats, Nancy asked?  No, Pat had bought the last one.  Too bad they didn’t have yellow cats, I remarked to my friends.  We completed our transactions and after our small vendor friends had finished the lemonade I’d provided, they departed.

Over the next two days, they returned with cowboys, elephants, yellow cats, a moose, armadillos and a wonderful pig with a bobble tail instead of a bobble head.  I served lemonade or orangeade as Edgar neatly lined up his animals on my steps, creating little neighborhoods and groups.  Cowboys herded cattle. Rows of cats faced off with elephants. As we called other friends from nearby to view the animals, Edgar and Flo turned over their empty trays and beat out a little rhythm, chanting words I couldn’t quite make out.  They seemed entertained by their life. Did they ever go swimming?  I asked them.  I’d wondered earlier if they ever resented the children playing in the surf as they trudged up and down the beach selling their wares.  Yes, they answered.  Sometimes they played in the water in the morning or later in the afternoon.

By now I had 15 little animals surrounding the candlestick on the round coffee table in the sala. They perpetually bobbed their heads as though in agreement with each other, motivated by the air currents set up by the overhead fan.  As though in sync with them, I, too, continued to nod agreement as Edgar came forward with new animal after new animal over the next few days. Since then, I have not seen them on the beach. Nor have they come to my house. It may be because I have been busy and not sitting on my porch as they passed, or it may be that Edgar’s earlier counting to 20 was prophetic––for that is the exact number of animals in my bobble-head zoo.

(Click on the first photo to enlarge photos and on arrows to proceed through gallery.)

This worm was the first animal chosen to come home with me.

Cowboys line up to herd bobble-heads. Tableau by Edgar.

Flo and Edgar are mesmerized by the small game I gave them that I won in a grab bag at the feria in the local plaza.

Flo is ready for her turn as Edgar shows his skill at getting the tiny ball into the right slot.

Edgar willingly surrenders the game to Flo.

This little piggy will go to market no more.