Charlotte leans against the door, feeling it shift slightly. She pushes harder and the door springs away, almost causing her to fall. She hears a bell ring somewhere in the back as she passes the cage. A parrot hops to the bars and sticks its beak out into the fetid air.
'So we meet again Buzz Lightyear.'� It screeches. Charlotte moves away from the bright plumage and sharp beak and further into the shop, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim light from a dirty hanging light dangling, like a line of a spider's web, from the roof.
'Don't be frightened miss'� a voice rasps from behind her. She turns quickly and sees the man. He is still dressed in the tropical shirt and grass skirt she saw him in yesterday. He is dark and tanned like a native statue and almost as small. He is no taller than she is, and Charlotte is only ten years old. His face is sloped with a flat forehead and wide nostrils but differs from most of the people on the island in that he has a red mark on his face shaped like the island itself. She does not know if it is a burn or a birth- mark or maybe even a tattoo. It looks painful and Charlotte tries hard not to stare at it.
'He thinks he's Emperor Zurg, from Toy Story.'�
He smiles at her and she sees half of his teeth are gold. The other half are missing.
'I'm not frightened. I was just surprised.'�
'He's always doing that.'� He continues as if he had not heard her. 'If he sees someone he likes he will talk to them for hours.'�
He wipes his hands against the skirt and looks at her.
'And what can I do for you today?'�
'I'm looking for a pet.'�
'A pet! Well you've come to the right place. Come in and see what I've got.'�
Charlotte had never seen this shop before yesterday. She was looking for a place to buy some cheap DVD's. Losing herself in the winding streets of the city centre she ended up on a dark alley. Before Charlotte could get too scared she had looked into a window and seen him.
He stared at her, from the window, as if he had been waiting just for her. His eyes had a sadness to them that could break a child's heart and when Charlotte cautiously came closer to the dirty glass she saw him spring back as if startled by a snake or a stroke of lightning. Then he crept back to his place under the fake palm tree and looked at her, longing in his eyes.
I saw something . . . '
'What was it?'�
'A . . . monkey.'�
'A monkey. We have no monkey's here.'� At her words the man had stopped smiling. The glint of his gold teeth had disappeared inside his face and his eyes had gone black and hollow.
'But I saw him.'�
The old man, skin stretched over his face like a mask, stared at her.
'I'm sorry, we don't sell monkeys. It's illegal. But I have some iguanas. And fish. Lots of fish.'� He turned to the display behind the curtain. Charlotte could see tanks full of tropical specimens floating in the clear water, a bead of bubbles streaming to the corner of the tank, the lazy fish like a rainbow cloud. A large golden carp with eyes like billiard balls flicked its tail.
'No.'� said Charlotte her face going red. 'I want a monkey. The monkey I saw in the window yesterday.'�
The shopkeeper had his hands around a lizard, that was in the process of changing its colour to match the flowery shirt that the old man was wearing, and turned back to Charlotte.
'Yesterday?'� He looked at her quizzically.
'Yes.'� She said, with a defiant look in her eye. 'And don't tell me it wasn't here. I saw him. He looked at me from the window.'�
The old man was weary. He sighed and sat down in a wicker chair that was beside the counter. The lizard hopped up onto the shelf behind him.
'I'm sorry. You can't have him.'�
'Why not?'� said Charlotte still ruddy from her anger.
'I'll tell you.'� said the old man, his face showing his reluctance to do any such thing.
'A long time ago I was married. And I had a boy.'�
Charlotte settled down on a stool that was under a fake palm - the same stool she had seen the monkey on.
'We were happy. I had my little shop. And every day at lunchtime I would meet my wife and my boy, his name was Kirta, for lunch at one of the curry stalls.'�
Charlotte had eaten at the stalls. They had an assortment of food on sticks that they bathed in hot sauces. Her mother had told her not to eat them because they were dirty and they did not keep food like people from the west. Charlotte ignored her mother.
'One day I was in my shop when I saw a group of people hurrying past my window.'�
Charlotte looked at the old man. A tear seemed to be welling in his eye.
'I stuck my head out. A lady from one of the stalls ran up to me. What is happening? I asked.'� The old man looked at the girl. 'I did not want to leave my shop. It was still twenty minutes till I had to meet my family. Maybe someone would come in and buy something.'� His hand swept across Charlotte's view of the shop.
'Come, she said. So I shut my door and ran to where the crowd was gathered.'�
'What was it?'� Charlotte asked. 'What did you see?'�
'A van, on its side. One of those things they use to carry goods.'�
'And . . .'�
'My wife. And my son.'� The old man could not go on. He had a sob in his throat and Charlotte could see the pulse of a vein in his neck.
Just then a creature jumped down into his arms. It nuzzled against him, its head a furry ball that seemed to sense the sorrow of the old man.
He nudged it and the two of them were as close as father and child.
'Kirta'� he whispered to it.
Then his black eyes shone at Charlotte.
'All I have left is my friend. Kirta.'� He ruffled the monkey's head, his bony hands like claws clutching at the thick fur of the monkey.
'So you see I can not sell him. He is all I have left.'� The man paused for a moment. 'Perhaps something else. The chameleon?'�
Charlotte did not want to disappoint the man. She reached into her pocket and found the local currency, beaming face of some woman she did not know.
'Is this enough?'� she asked in a tremulous voice.

When the girl had left the shop the man put the monkey down on the floor. It scarpered up the beaded curtain and disappeared in the shadows.
The old man smiled. Those tourists. Spin them a good story and they will buy anything. He picked up the straw broom that stood in the corner and began to sweep the dirt that had blown in from the afternoon breeze into a small mound.

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