Real
life rarely happened to him. He visited no one. All his
regular day to day visitors and buyers were expertly handled
by his three loyal and hard working French assistants.
Sometimes
his assistants would suggest to him that a good collection
of non fiction, health and self-help books would boost sales
ten fold.
Every
time the idea was put up, he would thunder away the nascent
drops of hope from his assistant's minds with a stubborn
No! that echoed around the empty walls of his bookstore
to the winding roads and the hills below.
He
would not give in to even the faintest thought of diversification.
His
experience in the early years of his life as a janitor during
the Second World War in Germany had scarred him. For 40
years now, he had been living the peaceful life of a book
store owner. Frugality and social isolation
ruled his life.
George
lived magnetized by the written word. Not for him the pleasures
of daily soaps on television. Written words left his imagination
free to take off on tours of ethereal landscapes and sublimely
beautiful women.
During
his word adventures, Brick would look at him curiously through
half closed eyes, before resuming his slumber.
The
most remarkable thing about George was that here was a book
store owner in Paris having been in the trade for 40 years
who had never set his eyes on a non fiction book.
George's
loyalty to fiction was fierce and extreme. In George's world
to even look at a non fiction book with admiration or longing
was treachery.
Meanwhile
his assistants had had enough. They decided on a plan of
action.
So,
it was that on one hot sunny afternoon, George received
a parcel. An elegantly worded letter, addressed him as Sir
George Wisefeather and kindly invited him to review a beautiful
work of fiction from a promising new novelist titled, "Leaves
from a flower ".
As
George Wisefeather read it. His eyes misted as he was once
again caught up in the torments and passion of life's experiences
- this time it was about a gardener's romance with flowers.
Then,
when he reached the end of the book, a small booklet felt
out from the jacket of the book. Curious, he opened it...and
there he saw the conversation from the book continued...as
the gardener described his garden in vivid detail, the kinds
of flowers that grew and their growth requirements. As he
turned over the last page of the tiny booklet, a small packet
containing seeds for five different flowers popped out into
his hands.
For
the first time in his life, one of his fictional characters
had actually come alive - stepped into 3 dimensional spaces
of his life and world, so to say. One person from the thousands
of people with whom he had cried and laughed for 40 years
had actually jumped out of the pages of the book and offered
him something to validate those experiences.
It
moved George like nothing in his life had. He wanted to
test it out to see if every experience that Frederick the
gardener had described would actually happen to him. He
knew he was being silly. That was after all a work of fiction
and this - the seeds in his hand were reality. He shook
himself for his childish sense of curiosity...but he just
couldn't help it.
That
day, he drove to the market, to buy the most expensive gardening
tools.
For
seven days a week, at six in the morning, he would be there
out in the garden - plowing the soil, planting seeds and
watering them with loving care. Soon, they were ready to
bloom.
Meanwhile,
many birds, wild animals and some teenagers in his neighbourhood
had all been eyeing his flowers. One fateful day, before
noon - before George could reach his garden in time to witness
the dazzling sight of seeing all his flowers in full bloom,
a desolate landscape awaited him. Not a single flower was
there on a single bush.
Hurt
and pained, George walked slowly back to his book store
- stooping more than he normally did. Brick who normally
accompanied him in his walks to the garden and back today
did not return back with him.
That
night, George saw Brick run in and out of the house several
times in the night. He felt hurt by Brick's behaviour too!
the first time that he hadn't curled up beside him for a
good night's sleep.
That
morning, Brick did not accompany him. Feeling lonely, he
clutched his book, "Leaves from a flower" close
to his chest. Just then, a small bookmark caught between
the pages grabbed his attention. It said, Category - Non
Fiction.
As
he walked into the garden, still reeling from the shock
of knowing that he had actually enjoyed the pleasures of
reading a non fiction book - from a distance, he saw the
garden ablaze with a riot of colours.
How
can it be? he asked himself? Only yesterday, he had seen
every single flower and bud that was about to bloom had
been plucked away. May be he had imagined all that had happened.
He was not sure anymore.
As
he came closer to the garden, George saw that the bright
flowers were all of Brick's soft toys colourfully lined
up on the branches...a bright red mouse here, a cheerful
yellow bird there...a purple beetle in the corner...
