Soon after the sunrise, the rain came. Unlike the day before, the downfall was unexpected and heavy.
Due to the rain, we called off our plan for a walk along the beach. Not for swimming but the beauty of the sea in the rose-pink shade of the dawn.
Having nothing else interesting to do, we stayed nesting in our room.
He was leaning by the window, busying with the crossword on yesterday’s local newspaper. With my head resting on his lap, I curled up in the thick blanket with the book I bought yesterday when we went to the town on the other side of the mountain.
It was a lovely afternoon, the chilly wind came from the harbor and waltzing slowly with falling leaves. In a street corner placed a small bookstore with crimson walls and large glass windows, through which rows after rows of small light bulbs relentlessly reflected their warm yellow light. The streets were crowded with tourists, not many of them held an interest in book-shopping. Most people just took pictures from the outside and left. Besides us, there was only an old couple who cared to come inside. As soon as the heavy glass door opened, a brief and melodious ringing sound wakened the serene ambiance. Turn out, there was a big brass doorbell hanging over the door frame.
“It’s been a long time since I last saw an authentic one like this.” He exclaimed.
It was an old-fashion bookstore with no particular decoration or design. Instead, there were just endless lines of bookshelves and a small open space in the front. At the wooden counter, sitting an old man wearing a green handmade sweater who was busy with his small leather book.
Behind him, there was a grand poster for the bestseller list, I tried to make a quick glance at it, the number one was a self-help book by a respected author of that genre. That book is her seventh in a row top-selling work. And then, three lines under it came my book which was released five months ago. Honestly, it’s not a bad result for me. Since I have never made it to number one, I don’t mind much about the ranking things.
I mean, I do appreciate it when my books are selling well but that isn’t my priority. Since I’m not the number one, it doesn’t weigh my heart with the thought that I had to work harder to prove that I’m deserved it and do my best to keep that place. I’m the kind of writer who works for my own interests, not the others. The most important point is I don’t have to seize myself into popular and appealing subjects. I like to be free to write down my true thoughts about the topics that I care about. Like many things else in my life, I would prefer to work things out at my own pace and method.
If life is an endless marathon, I guess you can call me a half-hearted runner.
We passed the best seller column and started browsing through the labyrinth of wooden shelves. At last, I picked up a new arrival by a foreign author. Although it’s his debut work and some parts are lost in translation, it’s well-written and equipped with an interestingly surrealistic plot. However, it didn’t seem to sell well, which could be explained by the poorly designed cover and the original alien language title. Either it was a terrible marketing job or another half-hearted runner.
I went on through the maze and pondered whether I should buy some classic books, and that was when I saw a pair of pink sneakers tipped out from a distant corner, and coincidently, it was the classic literature section. Turn out, there was a little girl about fifteen or fourteen years old in an oversized white windbreaker who was sitting on the floor with a book in her hands, “Brave new world” by Aldous Huxley, to be precise.
With her brows cluttered intensively and her head buried in the books on her lap, she didn’t realize my approaching. For my part, I just stood there silently. I thought it must be weird if I tried to stir up the pleasurable silence. So, I just leaned on a shelf nearby and stayed quiet, as if I was trying to hear the words sounding out in her head. Not until the kid turned the pages over for the fourth time, she didn’t notice my presence.
“Sorry but am I in your way?” The kid looked at me with bewilderment in her eyes.
“Oh, no no… It’s just a rare scene to see someone at your age enjoying that book.” I explained. “Such an interesting book, isn’t it?” I asked before she had a chance to say anything.
She unconsciously made a slight nod, “Well, so far, it’s the best book I’ve ever read. Although there are some words and lines that I don’t totally understand…”
“That’s why it is called a masterpiece.” I replied with a mysterious smile, “Some works take time to be acquainted with.”
The kid’s face clearly showed that she was still confused as she couldn’t fathom why a stranger suddenly appeared and aimlessly chatting about a book.
“Can I hear some of your thoughts on it, if you don’t mind?” I rose the conversation, again.
“Oh, this is the first time someone deliberately wants to know my opinion on things.” The kid said in surprise and a hint of excitement.
“So, I’m all ears.”
The kid hesitated for a few seconds and started to speak in a low voice, “I don’t really get the idea of the ‘dystopia concept’, I mean…” she paused for a moment to search for the right words.
“To us, it’s certainly a dystopian world but possibly to them, from their own perspective, it’s a perfect utopia. It’s like we’re forcing our idea over a world that has completely different groundings from ours. Whether it’s controlled and manipulated or not, if they feel happy and not bothered by their ‘sufferings’, why should things not stay that way?” The kid shrugged her shoulders.
“Interesting opinion.” I nodded satisfyingly and came to sit by her.
“Sometimes, I do wish things can be that simple. But human is a complicated creature. To be human requires a handful of things. We all want to lead a good life. However, to reach that goal, ‘being happy’ is not enough.”
The kid listened quietly.
“That’s why the thing called ‘utopia’ by definition doesn’t exist. Humans can’t be happy by all means, that’s how we are coded. If we want to achieve the ultimate happiness, we must shed off our own identity as human beings and reborn into a new race. But then, aren’t we no longer human? So what is the point of it?”
“So, mankind can’t be truly happy?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“What a hopeless fate.” The kid cried out.
“As it has been mentioned in this book, there is a choice to make. The truth and beauty versus happiness and comfort. We can’t have both. Nonetheless, what is the truth, what is beautiful, and so on about happiness and comfort? To some extent, life is doubtful but also definite.“
“The more you think about it the more confused, lost, and unhappy you are. That’s why when someone people reach a certain stage in their life, they learn to let loose of their hands and let things go.” I continued.
“How about the other who can’t?”
“They never find themselves at peace, I guess.”
We let the silence fluted over the ambiance. I cast my eyes over the skyline further away, watching the tide dyed in the unique velvet-blue shade. Since when the street lights had already lit up. The calmness of the small town by the sea seemed to be lost in the wave of strangers.
“How many books have you read?” The kid asked promptly.
“A lot but not so many, I think. I stopped counting many years ago.” I smiled and patted her head.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I am reading for? I feel lost… You’re right, no one around my age reads this kind of books, so there’s no one to talk to. Once I tried to seek a way out by enrolling in a book club, but I quitted soon after that since it became too phony for me….” Said she.
“One day, you will realize that to a certain type of people, the need for acquaintanceship will soon fall away. Leading a solitary life maybe not the best thing we could wish for but sometimes it isn’t the worst.” I replied when noticed the small pile of books next to her that was all classic books.
“I see you have quite a mountain here.” I joked.
“Yep, but I only can afford one and it already cost me half of my pocket money for this month. So, I’m kinda deciding which one to buy…”
“There is no fortune that can cover even half of the bill on all the books have ever written. In my college year, I usually cut down my meal fee so that I would have more money for books which resulted in my weight loss. For such a long time, my mother complained a lot and even threatened to burn all my books.”
Hearing that, the kid broke into giggles.
“Come on, get up! I’ll buy them for you.” I declared when the giggling subsided.
“Seriously? We just meet!” She asked with disbelief but couldn’t hide her delightful smile.
“Well, let’s think it as a gift from a book lover to another.”
“Thank you!” Said the kid, a blush clouded on her ears.
On the busy street outside, the long line of cherry trees slowly cast its shadow over the crowd.
“What’s another word for whalebone which has six letters?”
“I don’t know. Maybe baleen?”
He wrote it down with a small hum and kissed my cheek, evidently, he knew the answer. A crease vaguely appeared on the bridge of his nose. Years went by and we were already in our thirties. Where will we be in our forties, fifties, and sixties?
Outside, the sky was glitching in the gray assortment. The rain didn’t show any sign of ending. The rain dropped heavily, beating hard and patiently on the glass window, creating their own symphony.
Despite being installed for such a long time, the heating system of the inn still ran well and didn’t make much noise. Its hot air traveled around the web of iron pipes in its own tune.
From a room somewhere, the music from the gramophone record flew gently through the closed space.
I was carried away from my book by all those sounds, sinking deeply into the rhythm. The lines just became blurrier and blurrier, and my eyes started to feel heavier and heavier. Gradually, I fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up in the afternoon, the rain had stopped, and I found myself in his warm embrace.
Two days till the fireworks night.
1:09 pm, 8/7/21.
Gác Nhỏ Của Lam 