by Tom Reilly
“Okay, thanks,” Timothy said.
Timothy walked into the shop and noticed mostly empty shelves. Odd.
“Well, well, well. Hey, Ed, look who just showed up. The gimp,” Dez said.
Timothy smiled. “Dez, Ed.”
Ed nodded and ashes fell off her cigarette onto the counter. She coughed and blew the ashes on the floor.
“So, did you make a decision?” Dez said.
“Yes, Dez, I did. What’s with the empty shelves?” Timothy asked.
“Getting rid of stuff. Moving out. Setting up shop at the other place,” Dez said.
“You’re closing this store? Just like that?” Timothy asked.
“Just like that. What did you decide?” Dez pressed.
“I’m staying in school,” Timothy said.
“Told you, Ed. This one ain’t nearly as smart as he thinks he is. Like I said, boy, there’s two kinds of people in this world—those that get it and those that don’t.”
“Get what?” Timothy said.
“Reality, that’s what. I told ya. Life’s mean and you gotta be meaner than life. You gotta take what ya can get when ya can get it. I gave ya a chance to take and ya didn’t. You’re gonna be the one that gets taken from. You’ll be sorry for that, I guarantee. Right, Ed?” Dez said.
“Damn straight, Dez,” Edna said.
“Dez, I’m pursuing my dream—an education,” Timothy said.
“Won’t matter,” said Dez.
“It already matters. If I decided to stay here, you’re moving. What would I have done? Gone to the other store?”
“Why not?” Dez countered.
“No, I made the right decision. I’m staying in school. I’ll figure it out. My mind’s made up.”
“Your life, O’Rourke. Screw it up any way ya want to,” Dez hacked.
“I will. Thanks for the work over the holidays. I needed the cash.”
“Don’t let the door slap ya on the ass on the way out, soldier boy,” Dez said.
Edna laughed.
Timothy turned and stared at Dez and Ed. They looked older than a few days ago. I guess cynicism ages people fast. He left by the side door to say goodbye to Kenny.
“Hey, Kenny. Do you know what’s going on in there?” Timothy asked.
“Yeah, the old bastard is closing down the shop. He’s selling everything cheap so they can get outta here. Told me I could buy Parodis at his cost. That’s a good deal. Better deal if I steal them, though.” Kenny smiled and showed his rack.
“Are you going with him?” Timothy asked
“Nope. Got me another job.”
“Where?”
“Down at the doughnut shop. Hoffen told me ’bout it. Went down there, and they told me I could get thirty-five hours a week makin’ more than I’m making here. They don’t sell no cigars, but I’ll be able to eat all the doughnuts I want. That’s a good deal ’cause I like doughnuts. Hours ain’t bad either. Gotta be there by five in the morning, but I get off by noon. I get to screw off the rest of the day.”
“I’m glad to hear you have something, Kenny. Hoffen told you about it, huh?” Timothy said.
“Yep. Told me on Monday when he came in to talk to Dez. Lots of yellin’ goin’ on in there. Couldn’t understand it, but when Hoffen left, Dez said they was leavin’ the place.”
“That’s odd,” Timothy said.
“Oh yeah, Hoffen left this for ya. Told me you’d be by and I should give it to ya. Tell ya the truth, I was gonna open it for myself but figured since he helped me get that job at the doughnut place, I couldn’t do that.”
Kenny handed Timothy a rectangular package wrapped in grocery bag paper and tied with a piece of twine. Timothy held it for a moment and knew instantly it was a book.
“Hoffen said there’s a card inside, and you’d know what to do with it.”
“Okay, Kenny, and thanks. I enjoyed working with you,” Timothy said.
“Even when I spit at ya?”
“Well, maybe not all the time.”
Both grinned. Timothy extended his hand and Kenny shook it like a pump handle. Timothy turned to walk to his car.
“Come by and see me at the doughnut shop.”
“I will, Kenny.”
“And if the owner ain’t there, I’ll give ya some free doughnuts.”
“Okay, Kenny, thanks.”
“You was always nice to me, Tim. I’ll never forget that. I’m sorry about your mom.”
Timothy paused, turned, and smiled. A toned-down Kenny was a little out of character, but today was strange anyway. He made it to the car, sat, and stared at the package a few moments before opening it. He found a handwritten note.
Dear Tim
It has been a pleasure getting to know you and your family. Your world is a wonderful place. As we have often discussed, life is difficult but not impossible. At times, it overwhelms. You know this. You have lived this. You are also living on the possibilities side of life. The hope or despair people feel often result from the choices they make. There is never a bad time to make a good decision. I know you will make good decisions moving forward. You are standing at the gateway of your future. Behind you is everything that has made you the person you are. Before you lies everything that will make you the man you will become. The philosopher Mengzi wrote, “When Heaven is about to confer a great office upon you, it first exercises your mind with suffering and your sinews and bones with toil.” When you pass through the gateway to your destiny and commit to its path, the same force that tested you will move in ways you never could have imagined and guide you with occurrences you never could have found on your own.
Please accept this book as a token of our friendship. It means a great deal to me. Take it immediately to Le Rive Gauche bookseller in Downtown Saint Louis. Ask for Louie, an old friend of mine. He knows what to do. And remember this: There is always hope in the shadows of war.
Your friend,
H.
This was the nicest goodbye Timothy had ever received. He opened the rest of the wrapping and saw a copy of The Old Man and the Sea. He thought, I read this in high school. He decided to drive to the bookstore, a place he knew well because it was close to school.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TIMOTHY DROVE STRAIGHT to Le Rive Gauche. The building façade dripped with old-school architecture—brick, mortar, stone and an awning. The bookshop occupied the basement of an old apartment building. The name of the shop was hand-painted on the window in French script. Old volumes of books filled the store window. Passersby would recognize it as store for ancient, rare books without reading the sign.
An old-fashioned bell announced his arrival. The place smelled like old books—a blend of vanilla, almonds, and leather. New books smelled like chemicals. Creaky wooden floors counted every step he took and a couple of ceiling fans kept the air moving. A few wooden shelves housed current best-sellers, but this was a repository for old books. The cash register rang a sale for the only customer in the shop. Timothy heard a humming in the background and spotted a dehumidifier, a necessity to keep the air dry but cool. The customer smiled as he passed Timothy, clutching his purchase like it was a treasure, which it probably was. Timothy nodded.
Timothy approached the clerk. “Is Louie around?”
“I’m Louie, and who are you?”
“I’m Tim O’Rourke, and we apparently have a mutual friend.”
“Oh yeah, who’s that?”
“Hoffen.”
“Ah yes, Hoffen. You’re his new friend. You worked with him at the tree lot, right?”
“Yes. Did he tell you I would come by?” Timothy asked.
“He sure did. I know exactly why you’re here.”
“The book?”
“Yes, the book. I’ve wanted to get my hands on that book for a long time,” Louie said.
“Why? What’s special about that book?”
“Did you open it?”
“No, why?” Timothy said.
“Did Hoffen tell you
anything about our friendship?”
“Not much. Just that you were old friends.”
“Very old friends. We met in Paris in the twenties. We both hung around after the war and met while running in the same circles.”
“Hoffen didn’t tell me a whole lot about his past, but I knew he was in France.”
“Yes, that’s true. One of the guys we became friends with wrote for a newspaper and later became a novelist. There was a whole crowd of us. You may recognize some of the names.”
Timothy looked at the book again.
“You can probably piece some things together here,” Louie said.
“Whoa! You mean you guys knew Ernest Hemingway?”
“Yes, Hoffen more than I, but we all ran in this big circle. Hoffen became good friends with Ernest because of the war. They met in a hospital in Italy.”
“I knew some of that,” Timothy said.
“We palled around for a couple of years before we all moved around. I worked in a book shop on the Left Bank—”
“Le Rive Gauche? I get it,” Timothy said.
“Yes, the Left Bank. I decided to move back to the States. I was following a girl I met who was a student in Paris. A beautiful woman. She stole my heart and my money, but that’s another story. Anyway, I ended up here, and Hoffen eventually made his way back to the States, too. He got married and had a son whom he lost in the Second War. And we thought the first one would end all wars. Anyway, his wife grieved herself to death, and Hoffen kicked around for a while.”
“What kind of work did he do?” Timothy asked.
“I don’t know. Mostly labor, I think, which is strange because he was so well read. I never knew much about his past before the First War. I guess it didn’t matter much back then. He and I remained in touch through letters. I still have a box of them in the back. I got a letter from him in ’53 or ’54. I don’t remember exactly when it was. He asked if I saw Ernest’s new book, Old Man and the Sea. He bragged he had a signed copy. I guess Ernest sent him one.”
“This book?” Timothy said.
“Yes, that’s the book. Have you read the inscription?”
“No, I didn’t think to,” Timothy said.
“Go ahead. Open it up.”
Timothy opened the cover and read the inscription:
Hoffen,
Thanks for all the great memories and your friendship. Friends like you only come along once in a lifetime.
Your pal, Ernie
“Ernie? You’re kidding, right?” Timothy said.
“Nope, Ernie. Hoffen was the only one I ever knew that called him Ernie. Or, should I say, he was the only one Hemingway allowed to call him Ernie.”
“That’s incredible!” Timothy said.
“That’s the truth. That’s why I want this book. It’s the only book Hemingway ever signed Ernie. In my world, there has been a persistent rumor over the years this book exists, but it was shrouded in so much mystery that collectors began to doubt its existence,” said Louie.
“The only one?”
“Yes, the only one,” Louie said.
Timothy wore his surprise openly. “That means this thing is—”
“Worth a lot of money.” Louie finished. “I know it’s legitimate because Hoffen told me the story. Later, at a literary show, I ran into Ernest, and we had some drinks. I asked him if it was true. He told me it was.”
“But how do you prove this to others?” Timothy asked.
“It doesn’t matter. The words of two close friends are enough for me. I’m sure the experts will study the handwriting, but for me, seeing this is good enough.”
“This is an amazing story. I can’t believe Hoffen didn’t tell me about it.”
“Oh, he is, Timothy. He’s using me to do it,” Louie said.
“What should I do with it? I don’t know if I feel safe hanging onto it. I mean, I don’t want to lose it or worse,” Timothy said.
“I know exactly what to do with it. Leave it here with me. I have a special safe to keep this in. It will be with good company, trust me. I collect these types of things. And for you, I have a check,” Louie said.
“A check? How do you know I’ll sell it?” Timothy said, protective of the book.
“Hoffen came to see me a few days ago. He told me what was happening in your life. He knew you needed some help. This is his way of helping you,” Louie said.
“How much help are we talking about?”
“Five thousand dollars,” Louie said.
“Five thousand dollars! For this book! You’re kidding me, right?” Timothy stood incredulous.
“No, I’m serious. That’s a lot of money, but that’s how much it means to me. And know this, I have no plans to sell this book. It’s here any time you want to come and see it or maybe reclaim it,” Louie said.
Timothy smiled and laughed. “Five thousand dollars? I can’t even get my head around that much money.”
Louie smiled. “Hoffen knew it would open some doors for you that you thought were closed. Do yourself a favor. Take the check. Do me a favor. Let me hang onto this. We both get what we want. What do you say, Timothy?”
“I say yes. Absolutely. Hoffen set this up. He knew what he was doing. I trust him,” Timothy said.
“Good. I have your check right here in the register.” Louie opened the cash register and the bell rang again, like before. He lifted the cash drawer, removed the check. Timothy stared at it and shook his head.
“I don’t know what to say. Yes, thank you. I keep hearing these words in my head, ‘We must take the current when it serves or lose our ventures.’ I think I understand that quote now.”
“Julius Caesar,” Louie said. “You’re well read, too. How many psychology majors know Shakespeare?”
“Not many, I fear. How did you know I am a psychology major?”
“Hoffen,” Louie said.
“Oh, of course.”
“Perhaps someone with a thirst for literature should drink from that pond?” Louie said.
Timothy paused to consider Louie’s words.
“How can I get hold of Hoffen? I need to thank him,” Timothy said.
“He’s gone. He left early this morning. I’m not sure where he’s headed, but he’ll write when he lands somewhere. He always does. He knew you would appreciate this. That’s why he gave you this gift. Do you have plans for this money?”
“Oh yes, school, bills, living expense. But there is one thing I need to do right now—that is, after I deposit the check, I need to make a stop,” Timothy said.
“Hoffen figured you would. What are you going to do next semester? Have you figured it out yet?”
“Yes, I have a TA position in the English department, and that will help me out a lot.”
“Like I said, drink to satisfy your thirst.”
Timothy stared at Louie. Even though this was the first time they met, he had a strangely familiar countenance about him. Timothy nodded.
“You’re working at the hospital, right?” Louie asked.
“Yes.”
“If you decide the hours don’t work for you, I could use some help around here. I’m pretty flexible with scheduling, and the pay’s not bad. That way you could see the book anytime you wanted.”
“That’s incredibly generous, Louie. Thank you. I may take you up on that offer. For now, I have to go see a man about something.”
“You go, and good luck. We’ll talk again,” Louie said.
Timothy left the shop with the same ring of the bell that brought him in.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TIMOTHY LEFT LE Rive Gauche and drove to the bank to deposit his check. Louie banked at the same place as Timothy, which he thought a great coincidence. Timothy thought about the last few days and how quickly things had turned around for him. This much change unsettled him, even though it was good change. He discovered even good change could overwhelm. He parked in front of the bank and walked with purpose through the main entrance to the counter to write up a
deposit slip and get in line.
“Good morning, sir,” the teller said.
“It is, indeed,” Timothy said. “How long will it take for this check to clear when I deposit it?”
“Since it’s one of our commercial accounts, I will post it today, and it will show on your account in tomorrow’s statement.”
“Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Can I still do a partial cash withdrawal today on the deposit?”
“Sure, that’s no problem.”
He deposited the check and withheld one thousand in cash.
Timothy left the bank and drove to his next stop—Flagler’s Jewelry Store. He and Cheryl visited this place earlier in the year for the most embarrassing window-shopping experience of his life. Cheryl put no pressure on him. Either she had low expectations or didn’t want to add to his load. Today’s excursion was different.
Flagler’s was a small, family-owned jewelry store close to Cheryl’s house. It had been in business for seventy-five years.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?” the clerk said.
The clerk had a Monet paint job on her face, the reddest hair Timothy had ever seen, and more jewelry on her hands than most people owned. She obviously spent a lot of time preparing for her workday. She fit the job perfectly. He choked on her perfume and heard Alvin and the Chipmunks singing Christmas music on the local radio station. The irony of his being here was not wasted on Timothy. A week ago he could not have imagined this.
“I’d like to see your engagement rings,” he said.
“Excellent. Who’s the lucky girl?” the clerk asked.
Timothy smiled at the routine question. Who do you think it’s for? My sister? “My girlfriend and, hopefully, soon to be my fiancé.”
“Wonderful. And what is the lucky girl’s name?”
“Cheryl.”
“Do you know what Cheryl likes?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, she’s fond of a marquise setting.”
“Okay, let’s look at some marquises for Cheryl.”
They moved to a display case that housed the engagement rings.
“Do you see anything Cheryl would like?” she asked.
It bothered Timothy that the clerk used Cheryl’s name so casually.
