Page 40 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“Women?”

“People I don’t know well.”

There was a kind of humility in his words that Anna rarely saw in men.

“Me neither. But it’ll be hard to get to know each other if neither of us talks. Okay, I’ll start. What made you want to own a bookshop?”

“My parents. My mother was a bookbinder, and my dad never went anywhere without a book. He passed his love of reading on to to me. Taught me to travel through imaginary worlds, make friends with the characters so I was never lonely. He used to quote phrases straight out of books. I thought he was doing it for show, but now I catch myself doing it too, without evening noticing. No other profession could have made me this happy. I became a bookseller so I could share that feeling. Encountering new ideas, traveling through time, discovering lost civilizations, different ways of thinking…” He paused, admiring Anna’s beautiful coat. ‘It’s like keeping the magic of childhood alive. To read is to open myself up to the world.”

“For someone who thinks he’s boring,” Anna said after a moment, “you’ve just managed to perfectly articulate how I feel when I cook. I’ve never been able to.”

They sat down on a bench by the water, and Anna set her tote bag at her feet. Out came glasses, silverware, a placemat she spread between them, a Tupperware container, a foil-wrapped bundle, and a Thermos. She opened the Tupperware first, revealing a colourful stew of reds, greens, ochres and yellows. Mitch had never seen a dish like it.

“I’ve been working on this recipe for ages,” she said. “It’s a hybrid of dhal and vegetarian curry. In all modesty, I think I’ve got it pretty close to perfect. The ground almonds are the key,” she added earnestly, like she’d unlocked some great secret.

She held out a forkful to Mitch’s lips. When he closed his eyes in obvious pleasure, she launched into a passionate explanation: how she’d balanced the textures and flavours, how she’d sliced up the vegetables and the order she’d cooked them in, the delicate layering of spices, and, of course, the precise timing for the ground almonds. Mitch found himself transported to the heart of Udaipur, the city that had inspired her. He walked with her through the maze of streets, pausing at a stall in a bustling open-air market as she picked through ingredients, and, when her basket was full, wandered down to the banks of Lake Pichola, a place he’d only visited in books when he was fifteen and obsessed with all things India. Later, Anna poured cups of fragrant tea from the Thermos and unwrapped the aluminium bundle to reveal two slices of chocolate cake. As the sun began to set, she climbed up the bank to catch the last glimmers of light on the water. Mitch followed her, but the slope was steep, and he stopped halfway up.

“Go on, I’ll catch up,” he said, rubbing his leg.

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when the air’s very humid. It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mitch. You’re terrible at it, and little white lies are the trickiest ones to tell.”

“Oh yeah? Speaking from experience?” Mitch asked, catching up with her.

“I think I’ve talked enough for one day, and don’t think you’re going to get out of answering my question that easily.”

“Fine, if you insist… honestly, it doesn’t bother me much anymore, I’ve got used to dragging it around like a ball and chain. But it makes other people uncomfortable. I was afraid it might bother you too. When I’m out in public, or on the train, people give me the strangest looks. And if I want to go and read in a park, I have to stay well away from the playground.”

“Why on earth—”

“People are afraid of anything that’s different. Or maybe ignorance chips away at our humanity. I make parents nervous sometimes. They suspect something shady. Whisper to each other. They’ve even called the police.”

“The police? But you’ve got every right to sit anywhere you like!”

“Yes, in principle. But that’s not really how it works in my life. The first time they picked me up, they ran my name, saw my record and kept me overnight. I had to tell the lieutenant a hundred times that I was only reading in the sun, that I hadn’t even noticed the bench was near a playground. That was a little white lie, as you call them. I used to love reading near children. Their shouts, their laughter… It can bring you back to life.”

“The first time?” Anna repeated incredulously. “It happened more than once?”

“Just one other time. They were much nicer then, though, and let me go after an hour, after I’d promised to steer clear of the swings. Ironically, it’s because of the justice system that I walk like this.”

Mitch’s colour seemed to be returning, and it looked like he was in less pain. Anna gave up on climbing the hill and led him gently back to the bench.

“Accident?” she asked.

“I was beaten up once before the trial. Double fracture. But the real damage was done while I was in prison.”

“How?”

“I don’t really like to talk about what happened in there. I’d rather forget about it.”

Anna stared at her hands, folded in her lap. Her sudden air of sadness made Mitch think she was hurt that he didn’t trust her enough to confide in her.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you a secret. But promise you won’t judge me.”

She nodded.