The man walked into the card and gift shop just before lunch time. A set of bells over the door jingled brightly, and the college girl behind the counter looked up. The man appeared both rugged and soft—he might have been thirty-five, he might have been forty-eight. One couldn’t tell from his clothing whether he was a minister or a mountain-climber. The college girl lowered her eyes to the stenographer’s notebook on her lap.

In the rear of the store an old man and an old woman stood in an aisle of cards. “This one is just incredulous, don’t you think?” the old woman said to the old man.

The college girl shook her head slightly from side to side. Her long hair swayed slowly against her face.

The man who could have been a minister or a mountain-climber looked at the rack of magazines and newspapers near the front window. He swiveled the rack, just a tentative twist, and the metal squeaked. The man immediately stopped. The college girl was looking at him. She had full lips, a long yet sensuous face, and eyes which seemed to be asking a stern question.

“Um, do you have any maps?” the man said.

“Maps?” the girl said.

“Of around here?” the man said. He had a ruddy complexion, or else he was blushing.

Just then the rain started, a vigorous rain. The man looked out at the street.

“I knew this was going to happen,” the old woman said from the back of the store. She had the loud voice of a jungle bird. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“It’s not supposed to rain here this time of year,” the old man said. “It was sunny only a moment ago.”

“It’s still sunny,” the woman said. “On top of the clouds. Ha ha.”

“I guess I’d better hurry up and buy my umbrella,” the woman continued. “Before they run out.”

The college girl made a downward pecking motion with her forefinger. Not sure what she meant, the man took a few steps towards the counter. Just in front of it he noticed an umbrella stand. The quiver contained two umbrellas, each with a sticker on the end of its handle.

The man pulled an umbrella from the quiver. “How come these are so cheap?” he asked the girl behind the counter.

“Cheap?”

“Forty-seven cents?” The man pointed to the sticker on the handle.

“Oh,” said the college girl. “Those are forty-seven dollars. For a moment I thought you were being ... rude.”

“Forty-seven seems kind of high,” the man said.

“Well, we don’t get a lot of rain around here,” the girl said.

“Go ahead, ask him.” It was the voice of the old woman.

“Excuse me, sir,” the old man said. “Are you planning on purchasing that umbrella?”

The man turned to the old couple. “I, uh...”

“Yes,” said the college girl.

“He means the one in the basket,” the old woman said.

“Both of them,” the girl said.

“But surely he doesn’t need two?” the old woman said.

“Gifts,” the college girl said.

“Gifts?” the old woman repeated.

“Yes,” the college girl said. “Umbrellas make very nice gifts. And these in particular.” She spoke to the man. “Feel how smooth the skin is. And how stiff and heavy the handle. If you hand those to me I’ll have them wrapped in a jiffy.”

“But it’s raining,” the old woman said. “We’ll get wet.”

“I could give you a large bag,” the college girl said.

“No, we’ll just wait it out,” the old woman said.

The old couple retreated to the rear of the shop, and the man handed the umbrellas over the counter to the college girl. “I don’t think that I can buy both umbrellas,” he whispered.

“Why not?” the college girl said. “Don’t you like them?”

“It’s not that.”

“A wonderful souvenir of your stay in the desert, don’t you think?”

“I just don’t have that much money on me.”

“What if they were 47 cents?”

“Are they 47 cents?”

“They might be.”

“I guess I have that much.” The man dug into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a curled dollar.”

“Perfect,” the girl said. “I just know you’re going to love these umbrellas.”

The girl stepped off the stool to take the dollar. The man noticed that she was tall and slim but shapely in her tight jeans and thin blouse, not skinny at all. Carefully she put the stenographer’s notebook on the counter. Using both hands, she wiggled the dollar into the front pocket of her pants.

“I don’t do everything for a reason,” the girl said, “but I did put my notebook face down on purpose—do you want to know why?”