Nicolas Feuilly stood at the doorway of his uncle's workshop timidly. The workshop was a small room dimly lit by a stream of light streaming through a small window. There was a large table in the middle and an old man sat up to the table facing away from the door. He carved a stick with a sharp knife-like tool.
Nicolas wasn't sure whether to walk in or not. "Hello," He said knocking lightly on the wall by doorway. The old man didn't respond. "Hello," Nicolas repeated, thinking his uncle didn't hear.
"Come in," The old man said quietly. Nicolas walked over to his table. Getting closer he realised that the man wasn't that old, his hair was just grey. He wore wire spectacles and had a grey moustache.
Nicolas searched his mind for something to say to his uncle. "I'm sorry if you didn't know I was coming," He said. "We sent a letter. Or Agathe did. It's just that you are my closest relative to me and when…"
"I knew you were coming. Sit," The old man said. Nicolas did what he was told. He looked at all of the perfectly carved wood sticks on the table.
"What are you doing?" Nicolas asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Carving," The old man said. He didn't look up from his work as he spoke.
"Are those sticks going to make a fan?" Nicolas asked. He picked up a stick that was sitting on the table.
"D-d-don't touch that," The old man said.
Nicolas careful set the stick down. "I'm sorry Uncle," He said. Then he stopped. "Shall I call you uncle? Or do you want me to call you something else?"
The old man still didn't look up. "Most people call me The Fanmaker," He said.
Nicolas didn't think that was a suitable name to call an uncle. "Is that what you want me to call you?" He asked.
The Fanmaker didn't say anything. He went back to his work. Nicolas got the feeling that he wasn't going to say anything else. "I better be going. Nice meeting you, Uncle." Nicolas got up slowly and walked to the door. He stepped out into the store.
Rosalite was dusting the ceiling corner. "What did The Fanmaker say?" She asked, setting down her duster.
"He knew I was coming," Nicolas said. "He was carving sticks to make a fan. He told me not to touch them. Then he told me most people call him The Fanmaker. But he didn't say that much."
"You're lucky he said that much. He hardly ever speaks to me," Rosalite said. She began to rearrange a display of small fans on the counter.
Nicolas noticed that his suitcase was still in the middle of the shop floor. "Where will I put my things?" He asked.
Rosalite walked out from behind the counter. "There is a spare room upstairs. That's where The Fanmaker lives- in the apartment above here. I'll show you." She opened a door which revealed a staircase. She walked up it and Nicolas followed her with his case.
Rosalite spoke to him. "So, you are from Alscase?" She asked. "What city?"
"No city," Nicolas said, struggling up the stairs with his heavy case. "We lived in a cottage in the countryside. We had a farm with animals."
Rosalite stepped onto a hallway at the top of the stairs. "What kind of things do you like to do?" She asked Nicolas.
"I like to play outdoors. I had a horse named Snowbell that I liked to ride, and I had a goat named Madeline that I would play with. There was a big meadow I would play in. And I love storytelling."
Rosalite pushed open a door at the end of the hall. It revealed a small room with a little bed by a window overlooking the street. "It's a little musty," Rosalite said. "It hasn't been dusted in a while."
"No, it's great," Nicolas said, setting down his suitcase. "I slept in the attic space of my old home. What kind of things do people in Paris do for fun?"
"Well, different people do different things. Many children play at the park down the way, but you may be a bit old to play with them. Um… The Fanmaker has lots of books. You said you like stories."
Rosalite stepped out of the room. Nicolas followed her. "I can't read books," He said. They walked back downstairs. "I just make up stories in my head and tell them."
"You should learn to read and write. Then you could write down your stories," Rosalite said.
"Can you read and write?" Nicolas asked Rosalite.
"Yes," Rosalite said. "My Papa taught me when I was young. I can teach you if you want me to."
"I'd like that," Nicolas said. He stood at the stair doorway and watched Rosalite walk around the shop. She moved briskly, rearranging fans and tidying the shop. She had a certain grace about her, she reminded Nicolas of one of the rich, proper ladies from stories. "Rosalite?" Nicolas asked. "Are you bourgeois?"
Rosalite laughed. "If I were bourgeois, I wouldn't be working as a clerk in a fan shop."
"You look like you could be," Nicolas said.
Rosalite looked down at her plain brown dress and laughed some more. "You're funny, Nicolas Feuilly. I'm going to like having you around."
Nicolas smiled then walked over to a pink floral fan hanging on the wall. It had blue flowers on them that reminded him of a dress his Mother wore. He looked over to his uncle's workshop door. He thought about how his uncle could never replace his Mother. His Mother would laugh and sing and play with Nicolas. His uncle had difficulty speaking to him. He tilted his head up to the ceiling.
"Are you okay, Nicolas?" Rosalite asked.
Nicolas nodded and said "One time I told my Mother a story about a little mouse who lived in a little burrow, and one day his burrow got destroyed and he had to move out and learn to live in the big forest. I feel like that mouse."
Rosalite smiled. "I think you'll learn to like it here," She said.
"The mouse did at the end of the story," Nicolas said.