A Souvenir to Remeber

I saw it in the shop window. A tiny white bell, covered by an elegant blue floral pattern, was slightly swaying, whether in the wind or just recalling a sweet melody of times that have passed… It was my first trip to Vilnius, and, after a long flight, I was eager to enjoy another summer school and visit all tourist attractions at an easy pace. The latter was crucial, as my previous vacation turned up to be rather a hasty family shopping tour, than a breathtaking romantic getaway to Paris.
Back to the gift shop, I pushed the door and met the shopkeeper – an elderly man, with a curvy gray beard, attentive blue eyes under his bushy eyebrows, wearing cheap plaid shirt, in contrast to the exquisite gallery of vintage baubles. Despite the rigorous appearance, Andrius appeared to be talkative, so in a few minutes we were already chatting about the Soviet legacy of Lithuania, crisis and corruption. Anyhow, what I recall the best was not nuances of our talk, but the elegant manners of this remarkable man.
He took all the souvenirs gently, by two fingers, and demonstrated them carefully, like small paper shapes - even if these were massive 50-year-old locks or heavy-set cowbells, made by Lithuanian craftsmen in early 1930s. His shop was hidden in Uzhupis - a neighborhood filled with mature painters: they’re mostly forty and they look like tradition keepers, venerable servants of art, from which one expects more stories about art than art itself. Therein Vilnius is more like a museum to itself, and these gift shops, scattered throughout its surface are small birthmarks, which help you to recall a body of someone you missed for ages.
You can find myriad of reviews about sightseeing in Vilnius, where lines of bored tourists sluggishly follow arrows and signs. But there is another feature about Vilnius that is rarely mentioned – the atmosphere of true old-time charm, saved in narrow cobbled streets, hand-made souvenir shops and romantic coffee houses, yet untouched by the ever-present grasp of mass touristic industry.
That day, I’ve bought a bell that caught my eye. But today I’m desperate to find it in the depths of my flat. It has silently disappeared, and I’m afraid I were not enough polite to it. I grabbed it by all fingers, not two, as the old friendly man taught me. Was it scared that I’ll destroy it? Or just keeping the fragile balance of his past?
If I find it, I’ll take it carefully, by two fingers, like a small paper shape that can be easily crumpled.