Chapter 4d07
Chapter 4 (Draft 07)
Two weeks later, Sally was marveling at the cloudless, blue day and her own perfect reflection in a stack of red apples. She looked around suspiciously; something was very different about her favorite fruit stand, but she wasn't exactly sure what it was.
"Hello Mrs. Carmichael, what can I get you today?" said a bright young man, still tying his morning apron.
"Oh… I don't know, Ronny; everything looks so good today." She looked around warily before turning to him. "Okay… I give up, what's changed?"
The teenager frowned. "Changed? What do you mean?
Something is different. Everything looks brand new." She looked at him again and smiled. "What is it? What did you do?"
The boy looked around them, looking puzzled. "We haven't changed anything, Mrs. Carmichael." He smiled at her. "Maybe it's because you haven't been around in a while. I heard you were in the hospital; is everything all right?"
The boy's father was suddenly by his side.
"And look at this. Look at who's finally come back to see us?" The man reached out and gathered Sally's tiny body into his gentle embrace. "Miss. Sally — it's so very good to see you again."
"Hello Mario. I wanted to thank you and Mary for the nice get well card."
The man smiled warmly. "My Mary was at Mass every single day while you were in that hospital, Sal. That woman was wearing her knees out praying for your good health," he told her, in his classic Italian bur.
"Mary is a Saint." She smiled and looked down at herself. "And as you can plainly see, her prayers were answered."
The man smiled and then cocked his head to the side to evaluate her. "You really do look great, Sal. I gotta say — those doctors took ten years off you."
Sally picked up one of the cantaloupes and breathed its deep fragrance. The wonderful smell went straight to the back of her head like some new path just discovered and ignited every sensory partition the old woman still had left in her body. Her knees almost buckled from the ecstasy of it. She opened her eyes and was embarrassed to find the man and his son still looking at her. She blushed as she returned the melon.
"You're exaggerating again, Mario, but thank you for saying it." She tapped the melon next to it. "Everything looks so good today." She looked hopefully again at Ronny. "If I buy a little extra can I ask you to deliver to my apartment again?"
The young man smiled. "Of course, Mrs. Carmichael. I'd be glad to."
"Will you look at this?" Mario whispered, pointing at another man inspecting a stack of grannies. "This Jamook spends ten minutes every morning taking up valuable space in front of my cart… and for what? One lousy apple. Every day — the same thing, one apple — Madonn!"
"What's it going to be today, mister?" Mario yelled out to the man. "As if I didn't know," he whispered back at Sally.
"Look, mister… what's the matter with you? Every day… one apple. My family should starve waiting for you," Mario said, gesturing toward the heavens in exaggerated frustration.
"Look at this woman," he continued, motioning both hands back to Sally. "She's my best customer; ninety three years old and she moves around this neighborhood faster than these kids on their skateboards. You? One apple — Bah!"
He pointed at Sally again. "Look at her, she's so beautiful, no? Take two apples today and pray you live half as long as our beautiful Sal here."
"Mario!" Sally said, blushing. "You're being rude to a customer; you should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Oh… is that what he is… a customer?" He leaned in to whisper. "Mortadella… il misero. How-my-gonna pay for Ronny's college on one apple a day, huh? I ask you."
The man standing at the cart smiled. He looked at Sally appraisingly and then back to the applecart where he promptly withdrew two from the stack.
"There you go," Mario said with a huge smile. "Very good! Now you come back tomorrow and get two more apples and double your life, eh? The customer reached into his pocket and paid Ronny for the apples and then turned to Sally before leaving.
"He's right, you know. You are very beautiful." He looked at the cantaloupes next to her. "Maybe I'll try melon tomorrow." Sally blushed again as he continued down the sidewalk, eating one of his apples. She could still smell the lightness in his cologne as he disappeared around the corner. Sally looked back at Mario who was muttering under his breath as he restacked his grannies to fill in the gaps.
"Mario, I'm going to tell Mary you were rude to that man," she warned him coyly. Mario raised his hands in surrender and then wiped them on his apron to smile.
"He's a smart man. He takes one look at your pretty face and sees how ridiculous he is with his one apple." Another customer called out to him. "Excuse me, Sal."
Sally walked with Ronny until her box was half full and then paid the boy.
"I'm going for a walk, but I'll be home in about an hour. Can you deliver the box then?" The boy, thinking of Sally's generous tips, readily agreed.
Left alone to wait for her change, it suddenly dawned on Sally what was different about Mario's stand that day. It was actually brighter. Sally frowned. Maybe it was the lack of rain and the depressing ambiance the wet always threw upon the city, but the difference today was more than startling. The colors were so bright and everything around her seemed to glow in contrast to the norm. Every texture was detailed, everything sitting in the carts before her looked so much more delectable than what she remembered before going to the hospital.
And then there was the smell: the sweetness, the blending of so many things mixing together. It was a soup of wonderful, almost intoxicating bliss.
Sally collected her change and turned to leave, and as she began to stroll along she knew she was going to enjoy her walk more than she had in years.
She continued down the street until she paused at the local flower shop. Once again, the colors of the budding flora seemed to leap happily into her eyes. And the fragrances; they were more than intoxicating; they were nearly orgasmic. She carefully lifted a small bundle of daisies from a water filled bucket and marveled at every detail she found in the pedals before noticing a small flaw in their center. The clustered mass in the middle of the pedals wasn't nearly as detailed as the rest. She squinted hard and saw it improve. She removed her glasses and then looked again; perfection. She put her glasses back on and then looked over and under the top of the frames to scrutinize the difference. Definitely better without, she thought to herself.
She removed the glasses and stowed them in her purse. Looking around, she was startled again at the clarity and texture of the simplest things around her. Sally frowned when she realized Ronny was right. The only thing that had apparently changed… was her. She slowly turned to look around her again. She could see so much better without her glasses. It reminded her of those exaggerated testimonials on television and people swearing to their improved eyesight after laser surgery. 'Just call us and let me give your eyesight back to you,' some doctor in a white smock said exaggeratedly. She remembered thinking Mario had nothing on this guy.
She continued her walk until she came upon her favorite bakery and Sally truly thought she was going to pass out from the wonderful smells. She could swear to every ingredient used in the baker's recipes. The flour, the yeast, the caraway seeds, the fermenting dough, the cinnamon, the matzoh, rye mixed with pumpkin, even the sour cultures were reaching out to be counted. Every smell was there as if she was kneading the dough herself.
Sally looked in the window. There was a short line, but she dare not go inside. She knew without any doubt she would surely pass out from the smell if she allowed it to hit her brain directly without the glass between them to protect her. She glanced over to watch Tommy Guadalgna, the store's owner and its master baker, tearing a loaf of white bread open with dried tomatoes and basil to show one of his customers. Sally could see the man listening to Tommy's speech about the lack of yeast in his breads and how that fact made his product better than all the rest. She could hear Tommy's voice.
"There's no hurry up in my store and that's the only thing all this over-yeasting is doing for you – it makes bread faster. That saves time, but it cuts out the texture, the flavor, and the shelf life. You'll see," the baker promised the man.
You tell him, Tommy.
"Wrap it up," the man replied, and Sally smiled as she turned to continue her walk.
She finally came upon a new store she had never seen before that day: Ethan Books and Stationary. Sally frowned. She never liked a business that put the owner's name on the front. It always seemed so boastful to her. Like nobody else in the world ever sold a book before or the paper to write one. She entered to the soft sound of a tinkling bell.
She was immediately hit with the smell of freshly glued bindings and the pleasant sight of newness everywhere. There were stacks of various color paper of every size and quality, and dozens of pens and quills with which to write. There were matching ink wells, and envelopes, leather dressed binders, business cards, memo pads, post-it notes and embossed letterhead. There were announcement cards, mailing labels, and so many choices. There were aisles of books and something else that suddenly intrigued her. There was a dusty smell somewhere in the room that she immediately recognized. It was the smell of oldness. Somewhere in this place, there were some very old books; she could tell before she was five feet inside the threshold. Maybe the place had more to offer than she initially thought.
Sally toured up and down the aisles to find the normal array of literary trash. Romance novels with their gaudy covers of love-sick women in the clutches of a thick man without a shirt. How droll. Then there was the information section and dozens of cookbooks to show people the wrong ways in which to make bread. Tommy would surely sneer. There were maps to faraway places for honeymooners and the children's section. Harry Potter was everywhere, The Story of Michael the Arch Angel and the inevitable Cat in the Hat.
Then there were the best sellers of the day, and that's when Sally realized just how long she had been away. She didn't recognize any of the titles and only one or two of the authors.
"Hmmm… Stephen King has a new one out again." Another co-authored thing, Sally said to herself, shaking her head. Been going downhill ever since The Stand. The next thing you know, he'll be fussing over comic books.
She eventually found a room separated from the rest of the store by a set of green curtains. Peering inside, she found two very comfortable looking chairs under a tasteful set of reading lamps and a threadbare rug. It was a reading room set in the decor of the mid 1930s and Sally was immediately captivated. She turned to look at the shelves and there they were: the books she had been seeking the moment she first entered the store. They were set individually on their sides on green felt with their bindings out to reveal their titles.
It was the most impressive collection of books she had ever seen: Poems by Auden sat above a label attached to the edge of the shelf that said, 'First Edition'. The date 1928 was printed in gothic font. The Maltese Falcon, 1930 – wow. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L Frank Baum. Unbelievable – a 1900 edition. There was something called The Pyramids by Rupert Brooke, 1904.
"See anything you like?" a gentle voice asked behind her.
Sally turned and was surprised to find the man she saw buying the apples from Mario's cart standing in the doorway.
"Oh, hello," Sally replied nervously. She slowly looked back to the shelves. "This is a wonderful collection. I'm surprised you leave them sitting out in public." She noticed the placard on the wall next to a shelf containing a copy of More Pricks Than Kicks by Samuel Beckett, 1934. The sign read, 'Please ask for assistance before removing books.'
The man came forward to stand next to her. "Some of my favorites were in my father's collection, but I've been able to acquire a few first editions that I'm proud to own."
Sally smiled. The man's voice was warm and flattering.
"I don't remember this store being here before; is your father the owner?"
The man shook his head. "No… unfortunately, my father passed away a couple of years ago. The store was my idea; we just opened two weeks ago.
Sally could hear it in his voice; the man had been very close to his father.
"Well… at least he's left you a wonderful collection," she said admiringly, looking again at the tomes placed respectfully on the shelves. "I'm surprised you would sell them."
"Oh there are some I would never sell, of course. I keep them at home under lock and key. Those would be my father's favorites. They might not be worth as much as some of these, but they have enormous sentimental value. He used to read Tolkien to me before bed every night."
"Tolkien?" Sally frowned. "All those ghouls in a young boy's head before falling asleep? It's a wonder you didn't have nightmares."
The man laughed. "It's Sally, right? Isn't that what the man at the fruit stand called you?" He stuck out his hand.
Sally smiled back, raising her hand to shake his. "Yes, Sally Carmichael, and… you are?"
"Ethan M. Dodge. The new owner and proprietor of what I hope to be my first successful venture in buying and selling."
Sally smiled back, and then, "Any relation to Major General Glenville M. Dodge?" she replied flippantly.
Ethan's eyes widened. "My God… how in the world did you know that?"
Sally's mouth dropped. She was just as surprised as he was. "I was… I was just kidding. Oh… are you saying you are related?"
"Yes, I am… he's a distant uncle." The man anchored his fists on his hips. "Wow… that's amazing. Are you from the mid-west?"
Sally's smile returned quickly. "Nebraska born and bread," she replied with a note of pride.
"No kidding? My father was born in Danvers, same as the General. I've been back a few times to visit relatives, but it's been more than twenty years. Where are you from, husker?"
"I was born just outside of Shubert."
"Wow… what a small world. I've never met anybody who ever heard of old Glenville Dodge."
Sally reached back to think. "Born in 1831 and became famous for his role in building the transcontinental railroad. He's in that famous Promontory Summit photo in Utah, the one where they drove the Golden Spike?" she rattled off knowingly.
Ethan rolled his head back and laughed. "You - are - amazing, Sally."
She shrugged. "People should know more important people than Johnny Carson came from Nebraska. In our day, we were expected to remember them."
The man stared at her before finally catching himself. "Where are my manners? Please… have a seat, Sally. Can you talk some more?" He was motioning her toward one of the comfortable looking chairs.
Sally gladly sat down and the two began talking like two old friends at a family reunion. She thought Ethan was a very handsome man, perhaps in his mid-forties. He had light brown hair with just a touch of gray invading his temples. He had a tan, a rarity in Seattle, he said he acquired recently while traveling to buy some books in Texas, but Sally found herself thinking his olive skin was most likely from a Mediterranean blood line. His face was chiseled and well groomed, clean-shaven, which suited well with his thin build. He wore English tweed with the classic leather patches and matching buttons. She found the man extremely knowledgeable on a variety of subjects and Sally was surprised at how he captivated her.
"Rarity is very subjective when it comes to books. Unfortunately, there are no easy formulas or guides you can count on and there are no valid features that set rare books apart from others. In the end, the most significant thing is the book's intrinsic importance. That's the thing that drives demand, creates market value and that sense of rarity." Ethan finally stopped.
"Look at me… nattering on and on about my books. I must be boring you to no end."
"Oh no — not at all, Ethan." She fell back to study him. "You are a surprisingly fascinating person," she added honestly. She looked at her watch. "Oh my; I have a delivery due at my apartment in ten minutes. I should be going." She quickly stood. "But it was very nice meeting you."
"The pleasure was all mine, Sally Carmichael, and I hope you will come by my store more often."
She smiled but then shook her head. "I don't think I would be a very good customer. My being on a fixed income wouldn't allow me to buy your Virginia Woolf," she said longingly, looking at the shelf behind her again.
The man stared at the shelf and then walked over to lift the book down. "If you promise to come back, I'll let you take the book with you."
Sally was surprised. "Ethan! Oh-my-no. It's much too valuable to carry around the city. I would be a nervous wreak having it in my possession. No… I couldn't."
Ethan thought. "Well then… how about this: If you tell me where you live, I'll drop it off for you… if I get your promise you'll come back to see me."
Sally stared at the book pensively in his hands. She looked up into his deep, brown eyes and couldn't believe it when she agreed.
"All right."
"Good, excellent. And your address?"
Sally nervously gave it to him and then looked up into his eyes once again. "I promise I'll take good care of it, and I'll be sure to inform my friend Kari about my borrowing it. That way, if something happens to me, she'll make sure you get it back."
The man frowned disapprovingly. "Sally, we've only just met and new friends always have much to share. Nothing can happen to you now. God wouldn't stand for it."
She cocked her head to glare up at him. "I'm 93 years old and just out of the hospital; I will take the necessary steps to insure your book is safely returned or I won't take it," she immediately softened, "especially from a man as generous as you. Thank you, Ethan."
"You're very welcome, Sally. I'll be by tonight after I close to drop it off."
She smiled as she turned to leave the room. "And I promise not to bore you with my troubles if you come."
"I seriously doubt a person such as you will ever bore me. Your troubles are now mine. Remember Virginia Woolf: Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends."
Sally turned and grinned appreciatively back up at him. She thought. "But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end, William Shakespeare."
"A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails, Donna Roberts," the man challenged her back.
Sally felt her heart flutter as she clutched her purse tight. "Yes… but Dorothy Parker once said, 'Constant use can wear ragged the fabric of friendship.'"
The man tilted back and laughed. "My dear lady… you've changed the quote to suit your deepest fears. The actual quote from Parker is, 'Constant use will not wear ragged the fabric of friendship."
Sally blushed at being caught so easily and then came forward to shake his hand once more. "If instead of a gem, or even a flower, we should cast the gift of a loving thought into the heart of a friend, that would be giving as the angels give."
Ethan smiled gratefully and then whispered, "George MacDonald."
Sally suddenly ranked him close, "And a good friend is cheaper than therapy."
Ethan roared with laughter as he followed her toward the door. And as Sally reentered the street, she could hear him reaching out again.
"The friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you, Elbert Hubbard."
Sally smiled but didn't look back.
7
