Nantucket Island was truly a picturesque scene. Pulled straight out of a storybook, the cobbled streets, cloudless days and white-grained beaches were like a fantasy. I came here to live, learn and be. People liked moving to big cities like New York, London or Shanghai, but I was different. I simply didn't enjoy the smog, the hustle and bustle, the constant living with the weight of thousands on my shoulders.
I pulled out my journal and started to take notes of the streets, the sounds and the people. This was vital for my soon-to-be-published book. I wanted to create something with energy, something with force, but not of action or anger. I started noting the ringing of bicycle bells and the smells of pastry cooking behind windows, the combined energy of little things.
I explored the village on my third day, and the beach on the fourth. Each place held kindness and happiness, with fun and enjoyment practically becoming palpable. This day I was visiting the stores in the far reaches of the town. After all, the smallest details were even useful for this story.
By early afternoon, I had strolled around most of the town, journal in one hand, and freshly made ice cream in the other. While admiring the ornate design of the surrounding buildings, I spotted a store I hadn't yet seen. It was closely tucked between other shops, and it was relatively nondescript. However, the trinkets in the store window piqued my interest.
I opened the door, jangling the bell, and a small figure huddled from the shadows. He was an old man, with lines across his weathered face. His spectacles were oddly shaped and his clothes didn't match, but he had a funny way of walking and I already liked him.
"Hullo, Hullo. How are you doing today, madam?" He asked, adjusting his glasses and giving a beaming smile.
"Great, mister. Your trinkets are very beautiful."
"Thank you miss, they are from all over Europe."
"I like these a lot. Would you mind if I wrote some notes on them?"
"Of course, but what reason?"
"Oh, nothing, just for a story."
"Oh, story! I have some very nice thing for you." He shuffled to the back room to retrieve something.
I smiled and examined the wooden tops and dolls, the ornate dresses and clothes. He came back out with a nutcracker-style toy for me. "Here," he said, handing it to me, "you will like." The toy was cute, well-made, but with a few scratches here and there. I handed it back to him, and as I passed it, I saw a mark upon his forehead. It was confusing at first, but once I realized it, I was sure. There was a faded swastika carved into his forehead. Unsure of how to bring it up, I mumbled, but he soon understood and sighed. He pointed to it and questioned,"This?" I swallowed and nodded.
"Is that?" I finally asked.
"Hm. It is."
"N-Nazi?"
"No. "