It was the younger man that I asked for the coal oil lamps, and he seemed displeased. I could almost see what he saw, an untidy, browned, tough-skinned woman with garish hair; he shrugged and told me to wait, then went over to the old man, who straightened, looked less vague and came toward me. The younger one went back behind the counter; he continued to watch us.

“You’re asking for coal lamps?” the old man asked.

“Yes, do you keep them in stock?”

“I doubt they’re stocked any more, but there’s stuff from years back in the basement, and I can go take a look if you don’t mind waiting.”

He disappeared into the basement and I wandered around the store, followed by the eyes of the younger man behind the counter, keeping a tally of the items I picked up: light bulbs, fuses, the electric heater. I looked wistfully at a chainsaw, but that was ridiculous. A scythe, perhaps, I thought, to cut an area for sitting outside the cabin for next summer, but that wasn’t needed yet. I put my purchases on the counter and waited for the old man to reappear.

He came back eventually, carrying three ancient boxes, crumpled at the corners. They were very dirty, but the old man laid them on the counter and began to open one, setting dust flying, dirtying the counter and a pad of receipts, and the younger man started to speak but then held back. The old man was absorbed; I don’t think he noticed.

The lamp he pulled out was not dusty, protected for years by the box. They decided to sell me the three of them for six dollars, because if I didn’t buy them, it was unlikely that anyone ever would. “Will that be all?” the younger man asked. He spoke abruptly, as if he wanted me gone.

“Yes, thank you.” I turned deliberately to the old man. “Thank you for going to so much trouble. I’m sorry you had such a search.”

“That’s all right ma’am,” he said, grinning a little. “We don’t get any call for them any more. I’ve — we’ve — got things down there nobody’s ever going to want, now. It’s probably time to clear it all out, but it’s a hard thing to do. So many of the old things....” His voice trailed away.

“I’ll need coal oil, too,” I remembered and the younger man stopped making up the bill and sighed.