The gun was small, a revolver, with the normal six-bullet capacity. It seemed old and worn, the silver tarnished and scratched, but well cared for. For a moment my eye was on this tarnished firearm, and I speculated on whether it was a standard death-inducing weapon or a specialized gun meant for the purpose it was now being put to. Then my eyes fell on the small silver bullets, glinting wickedly under the sun, shiny and new, each roughly the size of my thumbnail.
"Is that a real gun?"
For a moment he continued cleaning the gun slowly, wiping it down carefully, and I wondered if he didn't hear me and at the same time realized he couldn't have not because we were too near together to pretend we couldn't hear each other. I briefly experienced the devastating humiliation of being pointedly ignored before he turned and looked at me with an odd, almost stern expression on his face, as if reproving me for asking such a question. He spoke very slowly, carefully enunciating each word. He didn't answer me directly, simply asking, "Does it look like a real gun to you?"
"I don't know," I answered back just as simply. "I've never seen a real gun before."
His face twisted briefly, almost into an expression of amusement, before he turned back to his work. It was very curious: he was not ignoring me out of spite or malice, but seemed rather to be patiently enduring me as if I were a curious child. He said nothing else, but opened the part of the gun where bullets were inserted before wiping it meticulously with a cloth. I waited just as patiently for an answer that did not seem to be forthcoming. My eyes lingered again on the bullets. Blank, they must be, but I wished I could pick them up and examine them closely, to gauge their weigh and contents more accurately.
Silently, he began loading the gun, sliding each bullet home and rotating the barrel with a series of clicks to insert the rest of them.
A passer by known to me inquired humorously, "Why are you looking so closely? Do you want to buy one?" He laughed.
My name was called. I turned away and left the man and his gun.
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