Fiction: The Insomniac Nighthawk

Fiction: The Insomniac Nighthawk

The bell above the door rang as I stepped inside. There was not a soul in sight in the brightly lit bookstore but it was hard to tell between the towers of books scattered around on the wooden floor and the rows of shelves that reached toward the ceiling and crammed with all sorts of books arranged in a rather chaotic way.
    As the door shut close, the rain outside immediately muffled. I shook the rain from my coat and hair. "Hello?" I called out but there was no reply. Tiny puddles of rain littered around a tall, silver canister standing by the door with two brilliant yellow umbrellas already there.
    My steps echoed slightly in the dead silence as I walked on the wooden floor. The rain outside became a distance sound as I got farther down the aisle. Colorful couches were here and there occupied by readers. It was a few minutes after 2 am and I might have questioned why these people were here but I was here. The hours on the door said 1:10 am and 4:09 am which itself was unusual but then again, the store was called The Insomniac Nighthawk.
     I thought about removing my coat but I was comfortable enough not to. Walking pass the books, I discerned the many different shelves I would stray toward as a kid. A new book smell mixed with some hints of antiquated burnt scent was floating around. Some of the book piles may have been shifted as there were areas on the floor where the dust created empty rectangle shapes.
    Passing shelves after shelves, I thought about the times I had spent at the public library reading book after book and only left when it was closing time. I passed a goat flipping the pages of a book with its mouth. I paused, took a few steps backward to look again between the shelves but it was a guy in a while hooded sweatshirt. Had I imagined the goat?
    Shelves after shelves, piles after piles, there were more books than I could imagine possible for such a small space and yet, it wasn't a small space, not when there were so many shelves.
     I ran my hand through a shelf full of thin paperbacks. The image of my father coming home after a business trip suddenly came to me. He would always bring back a book for himself and a toy for me. I was more fascinated by the books than the toys but I was not allowed to read them but I had flipped through them when he wasn't looking. When he left, he took his books with him.
    The rain outside suddenly sounded rather loud but then it dialed down to an almost mute noise. A few moments ago, I was just walking and then it started to rain. I had to find shelter and immediately the bookstore was in front of me. I had never seen the store before. Had I dismissed the place because it had looked like a building about to be torn down?
    As I glanced through another shelves of paperbacks, I recalled one of my friend's friend, a bibliophile. He had been looking for a certain copy of a rare book and was willing to pay a large sum to anyone who could get it for him. But the books here seemed not to be organized in any way that I could see. Perhaps such a rare book would not be lying around in a pile or on one of the many shelves. I needed to talk to a salesclerk.
    A cooing sound like an owl resonated from above. I looked up but there was no creature about. But there was a little elevated area on the left corner with a wide wooden staircase descending from it. Other than a table with a small pile of books and two chairs, there was no one there. I stepped around a couple of piles of books and book shelves for a closer look. Someone was sitting on the bottom steps of the stairs. There were two small piles of books on the left and right of him. The man was slightly overweight and he had wild, slightly curly, white hair and a full white beard. He held a paperback of The Time Machine in one hand and in the other a steaming coffee mug. As I stepped closer, I could make out the name on the tag on his black button-down shirt: Winter Denny. Was he the owner of this bookstore?
    "I'm sorry to interrupt but can you help me find a book?" I said.
    The man put down the mug onto the book pile on his left and turned a page in the book he was reading. Then he scratched his beard. His eyes roamed the pages with a speed more quicker than I thought possible. He took a sip from the mug and put it back onto the book pile.
    I stepped closer to the man. "Mr. Denny, hello?" I waved my hand in front of him.
    The man peered up above his eyeglasses. "Oh, I'm sorry. Got too engrossed to hear you." He closed the book with his thumb in between the pages. "Hello. You must be new here. We're glad you can join us. Would you like a cup of chamomile tea? It's my daily pre-breakfast drink." His eyes, a shade of iron gray, gleamed with a trickster's shine.
    I shook my head. "No thank you, Mr. Denny."
    "Please call me Winter." He smiled.
    "Winter. Right. Winter, I am looking for a book. It's call In search of the time traveler who lost a bet and returned to the past as his own grandfather," I said quietly. The bookstore had a silent air that made me not want to talk too loudly.
    "Oh, that one. We get that one a lot lately." Winter furrowed his thick eyebrows. The corner of his lips quirked slightly. He kept saying we. Were there other employees around?
    "So, do you have the book?" I stared at the man. I was almost certain he would say yes.
    "What is your name, sir?" Winter asked.
    "Fish. Fish Lang." I smiled.
    "Ah, Fish Lang, good name." Winter smiled.
    "Do you have a copy here or if not, do you know someone who does?"
    "Fish," said Winter. He paused and took a sip of his tea. "Don't tell me, someone wanted you get the book and is willing to pay a large sum for it. Am I right?"
    I nodded. "Yes but... I really need the money. My grandmother is sick and she needs surgery and..." I had no debts to pay but I did lose my job a week ago.
    "Don't give me that. If there's one thing I hate is when people lie. You were just going to make a quick buck getting the book for some collector who really doesn't care about the book. They just wanted it just to brag or show off." Winter grinned.
    Why did I lie? Had I hoped he would pity me and get me the book? "I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know why I lied."
    "Don't worry about it. Hey, do you want to know what I think of book collectors?" Winter raised a thick and unruly eyebrow.
    "Sure." Was this man going to lecture me?
    "Well, I'll tell you. They get this expensive, rare book and they will store it away and it will never be seen again. Or they will foolishly try to read it. Reading a rare book is like making love to a woman. You want to be gentle but you end up being rough."
    I chuckled.
    "I understand you probably need the money but looking for a book that is the equivalent of rubbish is just a waste of time. And anyone who value that book is an idiot."
    "So you know about the book?"
    "I certainly do. Trust me, forget about it. Look, Fish, rubbish is rubbish, they can't turn into gems just because we want them to. Sit for a spell. Grab a book. Start reading. The night is too brilliant to let it end without reading a book." Winter smiled.
    A howl sounded.
    "What was that?" I asked.
    "It must be a full moon. Lots of crazy weirdos this time of the year. I had better check that out." He took another sip of his tea, put the mug back down on the pile, closed the book he had been reading, put it on the other pile and stood up and started off. But then he stopped and turned around. "Before I go, let me get the book for you." He walked around me toward a table piled with books above and below it. With a sigh, he bended down and pulled out a paperback that was under one of the table legs but no books fell down. "Here is the book that everyone is looking for. I read it. It's rubbish. You can read it and judge for yourself." He held it out for me. I wasn't sure why my hand shook as I took the paperback from Winter. "Thank you," I said.
    Winter nodded. "You're welcome. It's 1.99 if you want it but I can assure you, whoever wanted to spend more than two bucks on such a book must be dumber than a doorbell, well, less than that." He turned around and left me alone.
    I sat down on one of the one of the steps. The book was thin and light. The orange cover with the man chasing a large clock was worn at the corners and the author's name was nearly blocked out by pencil marks. Was this book worth thousands of dollars? I turned to the first page.

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This week's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by me over here. This week's prompts are: soul, brilliant, breakfast, winter, moon.