A little story about a little bookshop

In a Little Bookshop at the Train Station…

                                         By Pete Schulte

In the city of Denver there is a little bookshop at the train station. It hasn’t been there for long, or maybe, somehow, it has…

It was getting late, and getting cold outside, and Romero had but one customer in his bookshop. He could take it easy, he could reflect. Romero looked around his shop with pride. There were chocolates and candy and mints for sale, and as well sodas, post cards, aspirins, tourist trinkets, t-shirts, newspapers, magazines, and, of course…books. It amazed Romero at just how many books you could stuff into such a tiny store. It amazed him more at the great number of them he’d read over the course of his life. So many books, he thought. Who will be left to read them?

Romero eyed the young customer as he browsed the shelves. He was a young man, and tall, and dressed very well for his age, for this place. This was a man who took his time, a thoughtful man. After he finished browsing he turned to Romero. “Do you mind if I sit?” he said, gesturing to one of the two stuffed chairs in the shop. “It’s so noisy in the concourse and so quiet in here. I’m afraid my train has been delayed.”

“Please, sit,” said Romero. “It‘s nice to have someone who appreciates the quiet. Tell me, where will the train take you this evening?”

“I’m headed for Chicago,” said the young man. “I have some business there, and then I’ll pass through again next week on my way home to LA.”

“Such a long journey,” said Romero. “I wish you well.”

Romero noticed that the young man did not pick a book from the shelves. His hands were empty. “Did you not find a book you’d like to read while on the train?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the young man. “I saw many that looked promising, but I do have book with me already, in my luggage. It’s called True Grit, by Charles Portis. Have you read that one?”

“Of course I have,” replied Romero. “It’s a wonderful book. But you know it’s so exciting, and with such action and adventure, that I believe you will be finished with this book before you even get to Chicago. Better have two to be safe.”

“But I’m a very slow reader and I want to give all my attention to True Grit. Besides, I’m not really sure what I want to read next.”

Romero paused for a moment and then gave the young man a long look. “You’re going to Chicago on business, correct?”

“Correct.”

“But if you could go anywhere, not for business but for pleasure, where would you go?”

The young man stroked his bare chin while pondering Romero’s question. “I’ve recently seen this movie, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, so I think I would like to go to Spain, to Barcelona. It looked so nice. I want to eat paella in Barcelona. That would be such fun.”

“Of course it would!” said Romero. “And I will write down for you three places where you can eat paella in Barcelona. Don’t go to the beach. You’ll get tourist paella and that’s no good. You will get the real Barcelona paella!”

“I will!”

Romero slipped the young man the paper with his notes, then stepped back and put his hands on his hips. “Now, for the book you must read. I will go and get it.”

Romero walked down to the very end of the fiction section and grabbed the last book on the shelf. He smiled as he held the book high over his head and then quickly returned to the young man. “I have in my hand The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. You must read this before you go to Barcelona. You must.”

“Well, maybe I will if I must,” said the young man. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a boy in Barcelona whose father takes him to a mysterious mansion that is filled with endless aisles and tall shelves with nothing but books. The boy is allowed to take one book and one book only. This will be his book.”

“Does he like it, his book?” asked the young man.

“Does he like it? Oh, you bet he likes it. He loves it. The book has magic and intrigue and danger and love. And it seems to come alive in a way when a murky man in the shadows comes to steal the boy’s book away.”

“But why should he do that?”

“You have to read the book -- and then you must go to Barcelona.”

“Well,” said the young man, “perhaps you could hold it for me because I do have to make my train. I’ll read True Grit in Chicago, and then on my way back to LA I’ll stop in and get this one.”

“Boy, you’re a tough sale,” sighed Romero. “Okay, I will hold it for you. Tell me your name.”

“Semper. That’s my last name. I’m Dan.”

“I’m Romero, and I will hold this book for you until you return.”

But the young man did not return. It has now been six years and Romero gazes on the book, The Shadow of the Wind, still with a tag bearing the name of Dan Semper. Maybe True Grit was the only book for the young man, or maybe he’s gone digital? Romero didn’t know. He put the book back down. He would wait a little longer.

The first cold night of the season arrived later than usual in Colorado, but when it came everything froze solid. The train was late and people huddled. The bookshop was warm compared to the cold outside and Romero had a steady stream of readers. He sold a few Gone Girls, a Harry Potter, and a Stephen King. This was nice…This was good business…

After his Stephen King customer had made his purchase and left the store, Romero looked above his cash register. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was him, the young man, coming into the bookshop! Well, he wasn’t so young anymore but still much the same. This man, this Dan Semper, sighted Romero but didn’t seem to recognize him. Romero was unfazed. “Hey, Kid, you’ve come back! It’s been a long time but you’ve come back, just like I knew you would.”

“Come back?” said Semper. “Come back from what? I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“But of course you have,” said Romero. “Look, I’ve got your book.”

“My book? What book?”

“I was holding it for you. You remember, The Shadow of the Wind? You were going to return and pick it up.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You’re Semper, correct?”

“I am Semper.”

“You’re Dan Semper, correct?”

“I am Dan Semper.”

“Then I have your book. Would you like me to ring it up now, or would you prefer to do more shopping?”

“Wait,” said Semper. “I’m feeling funny. If  this happened, it happened a long time ago. You’ve been holding it for me all these years?”

“Yes. I want you to read the book and then I want you to go to Barcelona.”

“But I’ve already been to Barcelona.”

“Without reading the book? Dan!”

“I forgot about the book.”

“What about the paella?” asked Romero. “Did you eat the paella? What did you think of the paella?”

“It was okay.”

“Okay? Dan, you ate the beach paella, didn’t you?”

“Well, we were already at the beach. And it looked really good in the photo they had.”

“Tourist paella. Poor Dan. You’ll just have to go back and do it again.”

“Listen, this is all very strange. I’ll go ahead and buy the book. I don’t really remember the book, but I’ll buy the book. It was so kind of you to save it for me.”

“If you don’t want it,” said Romero, “at least pass it on to Julian. I think he’s almost ready for a book such as this.”

“Julian? That’s my son. How do you know of my son?”

“It’s all in the book, Daniel, The Shadow of the Wind. You really should get around to reading it some day.” 

Dan Semper left the store with book in hand. He was a hard sell, Romero thought, a hard sell indeed. But no man lives by True Grit alone, at least not in this bookshop.

The end.