Euripides was already at work. Wizard approached respectfully. The small dark man had opened his Fiddle case on the sidewalk before him and was playing merrily. Several landings below, a clarinet was completing with but not thatching him.

Euripides skipped and hopped his bow from one time to the next. Wizard felt proud to have seen him and Known his gift without Cassie pointing him out. As Euripides fiddled, bright quarters would bounce off the worn blue lining of his instrument case. He had a knack for playing the tune that was running through your head even before you saw him. It was a subtle gift. Keep your quarter in your pocket, and the same tune might run through your head for weeks at a time. To those who walked by with no music in their souls, he gave a note or two, kindly.

He was not a pure scavenger, but Wizard still admired him.

Each man had his own calling, Cassie would say, yes, and every woman, too.

Wizard waited politely for Euripides to pause between tunes.

He watched the passing folk, those who tossed a quarter and those who didn’t. A little girl in Seattle Blues jeans and a Kliban cat sweatshirt was coming down the steps. Her mother was walking behind her, a rather annoyed look on her face, for the child was going very slowly. A second glance showed the mother’s face to be more anxious than angry, irritated by some unseen threat. The girl was thin, and her dark skin seemed to be darkest in the wrong places. Euripides played for her.

The girl gave two skips and stopped to listen.

She drew closer and closer to the fiddler, paying no attention to the mother who warned, “Sarah! Come on now, or I’ll leave you.” Her ears belonged to the fiddler as his bow danced through the Arkansas Traveler. Closer still she came, bobbing like a little bird to the music. When Euripides made his final flourish, she did not hesitate. From her pants pocket she tugged a crumpled one-dollar bill. Hastily she smoothed it, and stooped to place it in the fiddler’s case. Euripides had put the bow to his fiddle again but, at the sight of the green paper, he paused.

‘That’s a lot of money to give a beggar,“ he said. His voice was not like his fiddle. It sawed and creaked.

“I liked your music,” she said simply.

He played a few errant notes thoughtfully and gave a glance at the mother, whose face was not approving. “Well, I don’t think I can take it. Not that much money.”

“But I liked your music that much,” the girl insisted.

“And I like you.” Euripides looked at her deeply. “Tell you what. I gave you a tune, and you gave me a dollar. Let me give you one more thing. A wish.”

She laughed. “I’m too big for that. Wishes aren’t real.”

Euripides was serious. ‘This one is. One of the very few real ones left in the world. And I’m giving it to you. One wish.

For you alone to have and make. So you must promise me to use it wisely. Don’t wish it today, for a ball of green yam or a blue rose. Don’t even wish it tomorrow. Because you must think it through carefully, and not be like all the foolish folk in the old tales. Think of all the consequences of the wish.

And when you’re sure you know what to wish for, wait three more days. Just to be positive. Will you promise me that?“

The girl’s face had changed as he spoke. From the laughing face of a little girl who is Just a tiny bit annoyed to be mistaken for such a baby, her expression had changed to one of doubt, and then wonder. Euripides’s earnestness had taken its effect.

By the time he finished, there was belief and awe in her face.

The crumpled dollar bill seemed a paltry thing indeed compared to what she had been given.

“He’s given me a wish. Mommy,” she exclaimed excitedly as she turned to her mother.

“So I heard.” Mommy was not completely sold on the wish idea, but she did not look as annoyed as she had a few moments ago.

“One more thing!” Euripides’s rusty voice stopped them as they turned away. He focused himself on the child. “A wish takes belief and heart. You have to believe you’ll get your wish. That means being prepared for it, and working to help it grow. The wish is like a seed. I can give you a seed and tell you there’s a tree inside it. But it won’t come out unless you believe it, too, and believe it enough to plant it and water it and keep weeds and bugs away. So care for your wish.”

“I will,” she promised, eyes shining.

“Sarah,” her mother prodded gently.

They left- Wizard moved closer to Euripides. “What was it?” he asked softly.

“Leukemia,” he sighed. “I just hopes she remembers the wish. They don’t know, yet. And when the chemo-therapy has taken away all your pretty curls, it’s hard to remember a ragged old fiddler in Pike Place Market.”

“Maybe you should have given it to her mother, to hold for her.”

“Naw. She wouldn’t… couldn’t believe in it. She would have thrown it away, or forgotten it.” He cleared his throat huskily. “You know. Wizard, that was the last one I had, too.

God only knows when I’ll be given more. I hate to think it might be wasted.“

“She’ll remember it.” Wizard said comfortingly. “Kids remember the oddest things.”

“Do you Know that?” Euripides demanded of him, eyeing Wizard keenly. “Or are you just talking?”

Wizard couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just talking, this time. The Knowings are like your wishes, fiddler. When you’ve got a wish to give away, you feel it. And when I Know, I just know it- But not this time. I do hope it, though.”

“Me, too.”

“Hey, seen Cassie?”

The fiddler grinned. “Not today. Three, four days back, she was here. She was the Gypsy girl, in a flaming skirt that wouldn’t stay down, and a white blouse that clung to her shoulders like mist. She started to dance, and I couldn’t stop playing.

Played tunes I didn’t even know. My fingers are still sore. I had so much silver in my case, the coins were bouncing off each other and ringing with the music. Some old dude in a black suit and whiskers even joined in the dance, ‘til his granddaughter hauled him away wheezing. And when Cassie was all done, she wouldn’t take a dime. Let me buy her some potatoes and carrots, and a red rose to carry in one hand as she walked down the street, but that was all. That Cassie!“

Wizard grinned. “Sorry I missed it. But if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“Will do. By the bye, my friend, the garbage truck broke down. It didn’t get to the end of its rounds, and the replacement truck missed a dumpster. That green one, with ‘not alt men are rapists’ spraypainted on it. You know the one. Some good stuff, from the look of it. Everyone cleaned out their Halloween stock.”

“Thanks.”

The clacking of feet coming down the steps sounded. Euripides lifted his bow and set it dancing to the same rhythm.

Wizard merged back into the flow of people and disappeared.

At the top of the Hillclimb, he stopped to survey his domain.

The steps spilled down the open hillside amidst plantings and landings. In the summer, some landings had little white and yellow tables with people laughing and eating. But the chill wind off Elliott Bay had blown away such diners today. A shame, thought Wizard. The wind was juggling seagulls for an empty grandstand. Past the gray chute of Highway 99, there were the piers of the Aquarium and Waterfront Park. The waterfront Streetcar clanged past, elegant in green and gold. Wizard had ridden it once, for the extravagant sum of sixty cents. We had stayed on for the full ninety minutes allowed, touching the shining woodwork and gleaming brass, smelling the past in me vintage 1927 genuine Australian trolley car. They were a recent import to Seattle, but already he loved them as much as he loved Sylvester and the pigeons and the market itself.

At the bottom of the Pike Street stairs, he sauntered along past parked cars to the dumpster. Even from a distance, he could see it wouldn’t yield much. Two men with green plastic trash sacks were working it for aluminium cans. He slowed his pace to allow them to finish. It was painful to watch their pitiful efforts. They had the basic idea of scavenging, but could not surrender their belief in money. There were too many steps to their survival. Find the cans, crush the cans, haul the cans, sell the cans, and go buy a cup of coffee. They wouldn’t have too much luck; the dumpster looked as if it had already been worked several times that morning. Ironically, there would be more in there for a pure scavenger than for a can hunter.