The Night of Odd Shoes

The food row at the night market starts to wake up at six. Malika lights the gas under her big pot of dumplings. Then she checks the paper lanterns above her stall. Each one is yellow and slightly crooked. She hung them herself three years ago, and she likes them crooked.

Around her, the other cooks do the same small jobs. The noodle man stacks his bowls. The woman who sells grilled corn blows on her coals. By seven, smoke and steam fill the whole row, and the first crowds arrive.

Malika knows most of her customers by their orders. The boy with the headphones always wants six pork dumplings. The two nurses share one plate and argue about the sauce. Tonight, however, a new face walks up to her counter, and the face looks upset.

The woman is about thirty, with a neat jacket and a tired smile. Malika looks at her face, and then she looks down. She cannot stop herself.

The woman wears one blue trainer on her left foot. On her right foot, she wears a gold sandal with a thin strap.

"Please don't say anything," the woman says. "I know. I know."

"I say nothing," Malika says. "Six dumplings?"

"Six dumplings, yes, and a big glass of water." The woman sits on the stool beside the counter and lets out a long breath. "My name is Brina. I work in an office near here. The power was off this morning. I dressed in the dark and put on two shoes without looking. I only noticed at lunchtime. By then it was too late to go home."

"Did anybody look?" Malika asks.

"Everybody looked," Brina says. "A child on the bus said, loudly, 'That lady has different feet.'"

Malika laughs, and then she covers her mouth. "I am sorry. It is not funny."

"It is a little funny," Brina says. "But tonight I have a dinner with my team, right here on the food row. They are all coming in an hour. Ten people, and every one of them will stare at my shoes. I just want to eat in peace."

Malika puts six dumplings on a plate and slides it across the counter. Brina takes a bite and closes her eyes. For a moment, the problem seems smaller.

"I wish I could do something about it," Brina says, with her mouth half full. "I wish nobody would look at my feet tonight. That's all. Just one evening."

Malika wipes her hands on her apron. She has a habit of taking small wishes seriously. Over the years, people have asked her for stranger things than this. A man once asked for a dumpling that tasted like his mother's. She tried nine times.

"I cannot sell you new shoes," she says. "There is a shoe stall at the end of the row, but the owner closes early. And I cannot make people blind." She looks along the row of lanterns, and a slow smile appears on her face. "But maybe I can make everyone busy with their own feet."

"What does that mean?" Brina asks.

"Eat your dumplings," Malika says. "I need to make a few phone calls."

She walks next door to the noodle man and speaks to him quietly. He frowns, then shrugs, then bends down and takes off his left shoe. Malika goes to the woman with the corn and does the same. Then she visits the juice seller, the man with the skewers, and the girl with the rice cakes. Each of them listens. Each of them looks at Brina's shoes. Then they look at each other, and one by one they start to grin.

Brina watches from her stool and understands nothing. Then she sees the noodle man bring out a pair of old garden boots from under his counter. He puts one boot on his left foot. His right foot keeps its own black shoe.

"What is he doing?" she whispers.

"Wait," Malika says, and she holds up a finger.

By eight o'clock, a strange thing is happening on the food row. The corn woman wears a pink slipper and a green clog. The juice seller has one tall boot and one tiny sandal he borrowed from his niece. The man with the skewers wears a work boot and a shower shoe. Even the man who sells phone cases joins in. He puts on a fluffy rabbit slipper and walks very seriously down the row.

Malika herself steps out from behind her counter. She wears one rubber shoe from the kitchen and one sandal from her bag. She bows to Brina like a queen.

"Mismatched Night," she announces, in her loudest voice. "Tonight, every cook has two different shoes. If a customer finds a matching pair on the whole row, he gets a free dumpling."

People stop walking. They stare at the cooks, and then they look down at their own feet, just to be sure. A teenager laughs and points at the corn woman. A couple takes photos of the juice seller's tiny sandal. Soon a small crowd forms in the middle of the row, and everyone is bending down, searching.

"Look at that one!" a boy shouts. "He has a boot and a slipper!"

"And that one has a sandal and a trainer!" says another voice.

"No, no, that is Brina," Malika says gently, and she points at the stool. "She is a judge tonight. She decides who has the most beautiful mistake."

Brina's mouth falls open. "I am a what?"

"A judge," Malika whispers. "Sit up straight and look serious. It helps."

So Brina sits up straight. She looks at the cooks one by one. She gives each of them a score from one to ten. The crowd cheers whenever she speaks. The rabbit slippers get a nine. The garden boot gets an eight and a half, because it is very big.

At half past eight, Brina's team arrives. Ten people walk down the row in their work clothes. They stop at the same moment, like fish. Nobody looks at Brina's feet. They look at the juice seller, then at the rabbit slippers, then at the customers checking their shoes.

"What is going on here?" her manager asks.

"It's a festival," Brina says calmly. "I am the judge."

Her manager looks at her for a long moment. Then he looks down at his own polished black shoes. "Do I need to enter?" he asks.

"I think you do," Brina says.

The team eats together at a long table beside Malika's stall. They talk about the day and laugh about the rabbit slippers. Nobody says a word about gold sandals. Two of them take off one shoe each and swap them, just for fun. By nine, half the row has joined the game, and the free dumplings run out twice.

When the crowd finally thins, Brina walks back to the counter. Her feet hurt, and her face hurts from smiling. She puts a folded note under the plate.

"You didn't make anyone blind," she says. "You made everyone look at everything else."

"That is how most wishes work," Malika says. She shrugs. "People get the thing they ask for, but not in the shape they expect."

"What shape was mine?"

"A very odd one," Malika says. "With a rabbit on it."

Later, when the last customer has gone, the lanterns still glow above the empty row. The cooks pack their pots and carry them away, one soft step at a time. Under the stalls, a line of odd shoes waits in the dust. Above them, one crooked lantern swings gently.