THE GREEN KING (part 32)

THE GREEN KING (part 32)

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The Photographer from Salzburg

He didn’t recognize Reb Michael Klimrod at first.

This was not surprising. More than four years had passed, and so many things had happened since last he had a visit from the child in short pants, with strands of hair hanging down his high forehead. The child came in almost every month, always on a Thursday during the school term. He would look through the shelves silently, examine the glass-fronted bookcases, usually leave without saying a word. Every so often, he would stop before a book, always one recently acquired by Wagner, with an infallibility that, after a time, ceased to amaze the bookseller. Then he would shake his head slowly, as if to say: ‘We already have it.’ Or he would ask about the origin of the book or manuscript, its date of publication, its price. Always ending with: ‘I will speak to my father about it. Could you please hold it until next Thursday?’. Seven days later, he would return and announce the verdict in his soft, still high, but curiously distant voice, his eyes dreamy: Barrister Klimrod was or was not baying. When necessary, Wagner would call at the house to conclude the transaction with the invalid, whose fabulous library filled him with wonder.

The figure that now appeared before Wagner in no way reminded him of the child from years back. It was almost a foot taller, was wearing a British-looking tweed jacked, rust-coloured pants – both slightly too short – magnificent low shoes, the kind you hadn’t been able to find in Vienna for years. Wagner thought it was an Englishman.

At this point, Reb came down the last step and was no longer standing against the light. The eyes suddenly evoked something. Then the way the newcomer began roaming through the books accentuated the feeling of déjà vu.

TO BE CONTINUED

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I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…

I LOVE YOU…