The Door-to-Door Bookstore by Carsten Henn

Author:Carsten Henn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Published: 2023-04-24T16:54:32+00:00

* * *

Carl wrapped his books in silence. The action of folding the edges of the paper, the soft tearing of sticky tape, the rasping sound of one paper packet rubbing against another in his backpack, the whole familiar routine calmed his breathing but not his heart. He was on probation: a single mistake would lead to exile. Carl also wrapped the books he’d chosen as gifts for his customers, to make them happy, just as Schascha had planned.

Which book would he choose for himself, if he was dismissed? Sabine Gruber’s computer would undoubtedly recommend a book of practical activities for a man of his age. Raised-bed gardening, cooking with two ingredients, crocheting beanie hats, silk painting, perhaps a study program for senior citizens. Any of those could make a person happy, provided the person hadn’t just lost the one activity that had made him happy for decades. They would be no more than a substitute, as bitter tasting as chicory coffee to someone accustomed to fresh, ground beans.

Even the sight of Schascha in her yellow winter coat, looking like a sun on two legs under the overcast sky, did nothing to lighten his mood.

“You look different,” she said by way of greeting.

“I’m still the same person.”

“Your eyes are different.” Schascha took a step back to scrutinize them.

“I only have the one pair; they’re not something anyone can change.”

“Have you been crying?”

“No.”

“Have you been crying on the inside maybe? Not with tears in your eyes, but like, with your heart?”

“With tears in my heart?”

“If that’s a thing, then yes.”

“In that case, why would my eyes look different?”

“They’re ashamed, because crying should be their job.”

Carl stroked a fingertip over his eyelids, in case his eyes really were ashamed, and needed a little care.

“Can I ask something else?” asked Schascha.

“You don’t usually seek permission. Normally you just ask.”

“I’m a bit worried you’ll think it’s a silly question.”

“That’s never bothered you before, and I see no reason to change things. Out with it.”

“Have you got a name for me today?”

“No. I can’t think of any book character who’s like you.”

“But I want one! You’ll have to read more books!”

“I expect I’ll be doing just that very soon,” said Carl, though he didn’t explain why.

Dog appeared, earlier than usual, and began rubbing its flank against Carl’s right leg, where the pastille tin of treats was kept. Carl gave it nothing. Will it still come back? he wondered. As he bent down to stroke its head, it dodged away. Clutching at air, Carl stumbled headlong. Cobblestones are notoriously hard, and these had a centuries-old history of defiance, yielding neither to horse-drawn carriages nor to tank tracks. Carl touched down on his knees, then fell sideways. Pain shot through all his limbs, but the disappointment smarted more. He’d never fallen over on his round, never had so much as a momentary slip. He’d always been able to rely on his stout shoes, thick socks, and his feet. It seemed the world was changing, and not just

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