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The Secret Chalice by Joyce Elaine Morris

I met the strangest person today. She told me that her name was Zemi, and that she didn't believe in God. Well, the conversation wasn't quite that point blank, but I was a little enchanted about her candor. So, I decided to ask her few questions about her faith or the lack of it. Anyway, she told me that her mother was an atheist and that she'd never been inside of a church. Furthermore, she went on to say that her mother practiced Catholicism, Hinduism and Buddhism before becoming an atheist. When I suggested that she was an atheist because her mother was an atheist, she protested with an earsplitting voice saying that she was a self-avowed atheist and added that I didn't know her that well to make such an assumption. She added that she had been on this earth for twenty-nine years and starting making decisions for herself at a very early age. She was twenty-nine years old: old enough to be my daughter, I thought. "Well, let's get down to business", I said: not really knowing what to say, at that point. I was actually shopping for a gift for a close friend when I entered her antique shop: yes, her antique shop. I know what you're thinking. I thought what you're thinking. Why would such a young girl invest in or take an interest in collecting and selling antiques. And why would she risk running away potential customers by telling them that she didn't believe in God. I'm a devout Lutheran who believes very strongly in God. Eventually, I discovered that she inherited the shop from her deceased grandmother who died 3 years ago. With this in mind, I refocused on my reason for entering the shop called Agnes Anne. Her grandmother named the shop after her own mother: Agnes Anne Albright. Zemi talked incessantly about her grandmother; but said few words about her mother. So I asked, "Were you close to your mother?" To which she replied, "No. My mother", she said, "would be arrested for child abuse, were she living today". "Oh, your mom's deceased. I'm so sorry." "Yes" she sighed, "She died when I was 17 years old, one of the toughest days of my life". "How did she die, if you don't mind my asking?" "She had diabetes and died of a diabetic coma" "Wow," I said, "My mother died of the same illness. I was twenty eight when my mother died." "How old was your mom?", I asked her. "Fifty-three", she said. "Um", I said, "My mom was also 53". She began to look at me with reservation: as if I was not telling the truth. So I promptly changed the subject. "I need your help," I said. "I'm here to purchase a gift for a very close friend who collects antique chalices". "Well, you know what?", she said, "You're in luck. An elderly lady came in today and asked if I was interested in purchasing the oddest-looking chalices I've ever seen or sold. As a matter of fact, here they are. Zemi said. "I haven't priced them and don't normally sell this type of product, but there was something about that lady that made my softened my heart. I'll tell you what, find one that you like and make me an offer." "Okay", I said. "These are very nice; they remind me of trophies. I think I know which one my friend would enjoy." Almost on cue, the chimes rang indicating that another customer had entered the shop. As I examined the three chalices, one of them appealed to me more than the others. It was made of glass similar to stained glass. It seemed to glow or maybe it was my imagination. When I picked it up, I felt a sensation in my right hand and decided to put it back on the shelf with the other chalices. Just as I was about to release it I noticed that a growth that had been on my left hand for 8 months was no longer there. It was there when I entered the store. It disappeared. Could this be a coincidence? It was such an ugly growth. "Oh my God, It's gone!" "What's gone?" said this voice behind me. It was the owner. Should I tell her? Should I keep this to myself? She may not sell the chalices if she knows what just happened. Did it just happen? Is it my imagination? "Well are you going to tell me what's gone? Zemi asked. "Or is it personal?" "I guess it's personal," I said. "Okay, that's fine." Zemi said. "So which chalice did you like?" "Actually, I like them all. I'll take all three." "What's your offer?" Zemi asked. "Will you accept one hundred dollars for each one?" I asked. "Oh my," she said, "that's a very generous offer and I accept." She immediately began to wrap the goblets, as if she thought I would change my mind. "How long has that wart been on your index finger, Zemi?" I asked. "Three or four days", she said. "Don't you just hate it when you get one of those?" I said. "Um huh", Zemi mumbled. "Your total is $324.00." Zemi wrapped the goblets in thick wads of newspaper. As she placed the newspaper around the stained-glass goblet, I noticed that the wart was no longer on her index finger. "Oh my God", I said. "What?" she asked. " Nothing", I said. In an instance the wart disappeared from her finger. She never noticed it had disappeared. "Well, it certainly has been a pleasure doing business with you, and please come again." Zemi said. "I will." I anxiously rejoined. I nervously left the store, feeling as if I'd stolen something or did something wrong. But, I'd done nothing wrong. I did, however, begin a new hobby that day. I became a collector of chalices.

© 2004 Joyce Elaine Morris

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