Page 21 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

At lunchtime he headed to a nearby café and was surprised to see a newspaper other than the Lighthouse lying on the counter – and even more surprised to hear his fellow diners openly debating the government’s current reforms.

Eavesdropping on the conversations around him, Mitch pieced together that there had just been a change in government. His heart thumped. Approaching the nearest group of people, he apologized for butting in, explaining that he’d just come back from a long trip. They told him that the governor had been ousted earlier that summer. An election had been held immediately after, and the woman who had won it had restored the nation’s freedoms.

The news should have filled Mitch with joy, but it had the opposite effect. He was furious: he’d served his full sentence for something that hadn’t even been a crime for the past three months. They’d just left him there, forgotten in his cell, as if his life meant nothing to anyone.

He paid the bill and stormed out of the café, taking deep breaths of fresh air, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use.

By the time he got back to the bookshop, his anger had hardened into rage. Tears filled his eyes. In one sweeping motion he sent a stack of books flying off the table.

“What on earth’s got into you? Have you lost your mind?” A stunned older woman had just walked through the door, and was staring at Mitch in astonishment.

“Madame Bergol?”

“Good lord, Mitch? Where have you been all this time?”

She rummaged in her purse and handed him a handkerchief. “Love troubles?” she asked.

“Self-love,” Mitch replied dryly.

“Ah, well, that’s more complicated.”

“What makes it complicated?”

“It’s much harder to make peace with yourself than with others. Anyway – where were you?”

“As if you didn’t know,” he muttered.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” she snapped. “I was in the hospital when you vanished. For two months. Two terrible months. The doctors did their best, but the food was vile. The kitchen staff must assume everyone’s about to die anyway.”

She rubbed her chin and grimaced.

“Where was I? Oh right – so, as soon as I was discharged, I rushed straight here, and I had my reasons for doing it, believe me – but the whole place was dark. Couldn’t see much through the window, but I thought maybe you’d taken a vacation. I kept coming back, every day for weeks, but when the shop stayed closed I finally figured you’d gone out of business. Just my luck. So where were you, all this time?”

Mitch was silent. The old lady stared at him.

“I’m back now,” he said at last. “The rest doesn’t matter. I’m glad my absence didn’t worry you for too long.”

She drew herself up, hands on her hips. “What about my absence? While I was getting carved up in surgery – did that worry you?”

“I had no idea you were in the hospital.”

“And I had no idea you’d upped sticks and left! I suppose we’re even.”

Mitch coughed. Slowly, he flipped a blank page in his empty order book, then looked back up at her.

“Is your health better now?” he asked, reluctantly.

“You’re not very observant, are you?” she said, amused. “Now, hand me that copy of Womanlight on the table over there. I’ll take it.”

Arms folded, Madame Bergol stared at Mitch. At last, taking pity on him, she leaned closer, widening her eyes until they were big as saucers.

“While they were removing bits of my stomach and intestines, I thought I’d get the cataracts done too. I’d thought my vision loss was just another degenerative issue; I’ve got quite the list going already. Hips, for starters. Anyway, if I’d gone to the doctor sooner, I’d have known it wasn’t that. But I’ve always hated going to the doctor. As long as I didn’t go, I could pretend everything was fine. And for the record, since you’re suddenly so concerned about my health – the surgeries went very well.”

“I’m sincerely delighted to hear that,” Mitch said.

“Well, you can knock off the sarcasm,” Madame Bergol snapped. “I don’t actually give a damn that you’re having a bad day. In fact, if you hadn’t been so kind in the past, I’d have walked out of here already and bought my book somewhere else. And judging by your current lack of customers, you’d have missed your only sale of the day. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

It was an order, not a question. She grabbed the bookshop’s stepladder, dragged it over to the counter, and perched on the third rung.