The Bookman

A Short Story

"I had never in my life seen a dead body, in such a bad condition and that too reading a scrawled book..."

R

aining it was heavily and restive I was for I wanted to venture to have a stroll. I wouldn’t fain go out as the atmosphere was not congenial for having a walk. It was quarter to seven in the evening that the intensity of the rain dwindled and I finally left. The streets were wet and empty. Sidewalks were wet and empty too. The Shops were shut, offices closed and restaurants deserted. I could feel the cold raindrops penetrating through my clothes and biting my skin. My clothes were bedraggled wet, and after walking a few hundred yards towards the bridge, I decided to walk beneath it to prevent myself from further rain, if only for a while. River was swollen, furious, and I was worried about the water level, and I was worried that floods, to obliterate the entire city, might come once again. While I was walking beneath the bridge and pondering over the future tribulations that the rains would wreak; Too gritty, I was marching towards the end of the square, where there was a hospital, which now, was not working owing to the floods which came two months ago; a Chinese restaurant, somewhat restored, above which, on the second and third floor was the inn which had grown derelict and deserted. No sooner did the shelter of the bridge abandon me than it started to rain more rigorously; rain drops were hitting me like hail; I was once again naked, under the grim spilling angry clouds, like a fly trapped in a whirlpool of dirty  water and struggling to run swim out of it.  

In a frenzy or I’d say hurry, rather, I could not prevent the water, of the pools on the streets, from oozing into my shoes and drenching my socks. I rattled towards the building to the left of the hospital which was a public library – desolate as all the other buildings in the vicinity. The door was broken, and I could easily enter the building. It was dark inside, humid, damp and everything smelled like mud. The great shelves and racks had a multitude of books – which were dirty, illegible and full of mud and dirt – on them. The bleak look of the library gripped me.  I wiped off my face and patted the sleeves of my jacket dry and then I stooped forward to take off my shoes to drain off the water from my socks. But before I could dare to do so, a feeble flickering bulb, which was shining intermittently, caught my eye. It cast a long shadow of an elaborate creature on one of the walls that was dirty. I stood up and walked towards it.

My heart started palpitating. I did not know where they came from, but the cold droplets were drooping from the ceiling unevenly. Their collision with the surface made strange slurping sounds. As I walked towards the wall, the sound of my footsteps aroused the echoes all over frantically. It was absolutely frightening. I was breathing too fast and my legs were trembling badly. I staggered and towards the left, I saw a rotten corpse sitting against the wall, adjacent to a large bookshelf, holding a thick dark book – with craggy pages – and a torch,. The book was dirty, sieved by worms and the name on the half-torn spine was wholly illegible. He had no eyes, and his skeletal face bore a ghastly grin as if grinning at my terrified face; and there was a big spider crawling over his cobwebbed ribcage and creeping over his face. It was not a body, but a skeleton wearing the rotten clothes – a trilby hat with dirt, long torn overcoat, decrepit trousers and sauntered shoes.  I was scared to death and my shriveled lips were shivering and my teeth chattering and my whole body perspiring. The bulb glimmered over him spasmodically. It was more troubling, when the echo of falling droplets was simultaneously coinciding with the feeble movements of the glimmering light, as if the light was dancing to a tune.  I had never in my life seen a dead body, in such a bad condition and that too reading a scrawled book. My throat went dry with fear. I tried to deviate myself, but somehow I could not avert my eyes, from him. 

I heard the crisp and clear sound of the turning pages, it did not perk me up, but surely it was a sigh of relief. I scurried promptly towards the place, in the sheer darkness, with the aid of my ears. I saw there a large table in the middle of the hallway, in the center of the huge book shelves where somebody was reading a book under the torchlight. I couldn’t see his face, but a dark, gruesome silhouette of him, holding a torch and reading a thick book, a very clean and probably it would have been legible too. I shouted at him in awe,

“Hello! Who’s there?”

But there was no reply. I shouted again and there was no reply this time either.

“Hey! Hello! Who’s there? Why don’t you answer?”

This time he shone his torch sharply and dazzled my eyes. I hid my eyes from it and tried to peer through my sleeve, and walked towards him. He again put his torch at his book and started reading again. He seemed to peruse through the pages with leisure and composure while I was not serene at all. I was gripped with fear and blended with curiosity. As I dared to walk closer to him, I found that his face was faintly illuminated with the light of the torch that reflected from the pages of the book. He raised his slowly, and glanced at me – fair complexion, wrinkled forehead, blonde stubble and sunken cheeks. His bloody red eyes, with furtive acuity, were peering into mine. I was tangled in the paroxysm of fair. His face bore the countenance that kept fluctuating from gloomy to angry and angry to gloomy. His visage brought my heart into my mouth. My dehydrated lips trembled with fear. 

I ventured to talk to him, petrified though. “Good evening! Who’re you?” I asked with a tremor.

He gave the impression of triviality, though after a long pause he replied in grave voice,

“What business is it to you?” his response was impertinent.

“Er… nothing… er… I just –” I tried to justify but he interrupted

“Come, sit here” he gestured towards a chair opposite to him

For a moment, I was in a dilemma, whether to comply with him or not. Though, finally I capitulated to sit in the chair for I deemed it as the only alternative to attain composure. His face was emaciated. And he had sharp and thick hairs in his stubble. I was very much curious, fossilized and restive. Before I would endeavor to say anything, he asked me

“What did you say earlier, young man?”

“I – I asked… I mean… I asked who you were… but –”

“But I did not tell you who I was, did I?”

“No, you didn’t”

He chuckled sardonically, and closed the book with a dour whack. His countenance transformed into something scary. He seemed angry at me. I was frightened and I swallowed my dry throat in fright.

“Why don’t you people spare me? Why don’t you let me do my business? You people always interrupt my reading. The librarian did this last time, and I died.”

(To be continued...)