Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I had an attic bedroom, and I wanted a carpet to cover the cold, worn linoleum floor. In truth it needed quite a bit of renovating and I got to work immediately, delighted to be a teenager with a room, at last, of my own.
I had pasted purple flowery wallpaper of my own choice and was contemplating the next decorative action when some raggedy fellows drew up in a van outside. Mater, suspicious, went to shoo them away.
"We have carpets," they insisted. "Lovely carpets."
Mater surrendered and had a look and then called me down.
Soon, having handed the men a reasonable portion of my funds, I was hauling a roll of green material up to my bedroom.
Given both the dubious source of the carpet and the curious shape of the bedroom, both Mater and I were certain it would either be too big or too small; but we were wrong. It was perfect. It reached to each corner with ease, and not one thread had to be cut, not one inch of floor was left bare. I was able to do it by myself, such was the easy nature of the project.
The characters, shady and suspect as they seemed to be, had sold a piece of material so perfect it was uncanny. Whether or not they knew it they offered their most awkwardly shaped carpet to the person with the most awkwardly shaped room, and it turned out to be a happy meeting, as happens sometimes.
Fifteen years have passed. The magic carpet is still, from Mater's accounts, in superb condition, but the fellows have never been back.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 11:32 AM