Passion Novel - Volume 4 - Chapter 84

The man had truly terrible luck today. He had been in Italy for twelve days and had already been pickpocketed twice. And both times at the same station, on the first two consecutive days.

In fact, he wasn’t that careless. He was known for being incredibly fond of people, to the extent that others would say, ‘There’s no one who loves people as much as he does.’ He enjoyed making new friends and approached strangers with the mindset that he could befriend anyone, but that didn’t mean he blindly accepted every stranger who approached him.

It went without saying that he wouldn’t accept people who approached in a group, using the same old trick, clutching bundles of newspapers or bouquets of flowers. He politely sent away a gypsy girl who thrust a bouquet at him as if to strike his face, then tried to slip her hand into his pocket, by grabbing her wrist. When a few adults and children, like a family, swarmed him, he subtly sidestepped them before they could surround him. However, he let his guard down for a moment with a young man who approached him with a clean face, asking for directions, and that was his undoing.

After kindly studying a map with the young man, who was looking troubled and lost, even though the man himself didn’t know the way well, and then sending him off with a satisfied feeling, he realized that his wallet had also left with the young man. That’s how it was. Similarly, he was pickpocketed again near the station the next day.

After that, the man came to his senses and went about his business, resolving to be wary of strangers first. He felt regretful that the pure act of kindness towards others was diminishing in this way.

After twelve days, traveling between two cities, he finally finished his business in Italy. Satisfied with his fruitful achievements, he boarded a train departing from Italy. He could have taken a plane, but as soon as his business in Italy was concluded, he decided to grant himself a week-long vacation.

Coincidentally, a music festival was being held in Salzburg. It seemed like a good idea to leisurely visit Austria for a few days before slowly returning to his home country.

The train, which departed a little before 11 PM, was scheduled to arrive in Salzburg around 4 AM. The man, having barely managed to complete his busy schedule on the last day late at night, and feeling refreshed after finishing his work, was tired as he boarded the train. So, even when the person in the seat next to him spoke to him in a friendly manner, something he would normally have enjoyed, chatting all night, he only conversed for about half an hour before finding it hard to resist sleep and closing his eyes. The thought that he hadn’t booked a hotel suddenly crossed his mind, but he figured he could just find a suitable place after arriving.

He drifted off to sleep on the train, moving further and further away from Venice, which was teeming with pickpockets. He must have slept quite deeply for a short while, as he only managed to open his eyes with difficulty after someone had been shaking him for a long time. His eyelids were heavy, and it took several blinks before he could finally look at the person in front of him.

It was the conductor. They seemed to be crossing the border. The man nodded to the conductor, who asked for his passport, and still with heavy, barely open eyes, he fumbled inside his coat. Suddenly, his eyes shot open. All traces of sleep vanished. What should have been there, wasn’t.

In front of the conductor, who looked at him with a puzzled expression, he frantically turned his empty inner pocket inside out. Only dust came out. He rummaged through his other pockets too, even though he had no memory of putting anything in them, but to no avail. There was no way something he hadn’t put in would appear.

“My bag, it might be in my bag. Maybe in my sleep, I developed somnambulism and put it in my bag, who knows?” The man searched for his bag. But the bag wasn’t there either. The conductor looked at him with a pitiful expression, as if he had roughly guessed the situation of the man sitting there with a dumbfounded face. Then, muttering “Ah,” the conductor picked up something that had fallen on the floor, as if hidden beneath the bed. It was his passport.

“Here’s what you were looking for.”

The conductor looked through the passport and then politely returned it to the man. The man, still dumbfounded, took the passport and habitually mumbled, “Thank you.” Then he leaned down under the bed, checking if anything else might have fallen near where the conductor had picked up the passport. Only dust came out.

“Perhaps the person next to me saw something?” The man turned his head to the adjacent seat. It was empty.

The conductor, with an understanding look, said to the man, “I hear there’s a growing trick these days where they drug your drink, and then go through your belongings while you’re asleep. I can help you fill out a lost property report if you wish. Were the lost items important?”

The man shook his head blankly. Nothing was that important. The only thing he couldn’t afford to lose among his possessions was his passport, and thankfully, it seemed they had left it behind while taking everything else.

The man sighed, recalling the friendly young man in the next seat who had offered him juice before he fell asleep. “Others would laugh if they heard this. Three incidents in just over ten days.”

The man had never been deceived or betrayed by anyone in his work. He was good at discerning such things. But he occasionally fell victim to pickpockets targeting small sums of money. Each time, his friends would scoff, saying, “How can a guy with such unparalleled judgment when it comes to people fall for that?”

“By the way, sir, do you have a train ticket?” the conductor asked the man, who was lost in thought with a blank expression. The man looked at the conductor blankly. He fumbled through his pockets again, which he had already searched once, but he could only shake his head. Before long, the train stopped briefly at the next station, and the man got off, walking listlessly towards the police box inside the station.

The man had incredibly good luck today.

After going to the police box and filling out a lost property report, the man waited there until dawn, dozing in a corner. He came out after morning broke. It was summer, so the sun rose early, and sunlight was already shining even though stores still had a while to open. The situation wasn’t desperate. Fortunately, he hadn’t lost his passport, so he wasn’t stranded.

However, the problem was still money.

Even if he wasn’t stranded, he needed money to go anywhere. He could go to a bank, confirm his identity, and withdraw money, but this village, where he had gotten off after crossing the border, was a very small rural town. It took less than 15 minutes to walk from the station to the main street, and even that “main street” was just a neighborhood shopping area.

There were a few banks, but most were local banks, and he didn’t see the sign of the bank he used. After searching around the streets and failing to find it, he finally went into a nearby bank and asked. A kind employee made a call to inquire and told him that his bank would be near a larger station six stops away.

Six stops. It wasn’t far, but for a man with no money, it was an impossibly long distance.

He even considered opening an account at this bank and calling his company collect to have money transferred to this account, but then he remembered that international transfers take several days. How could he stay and live in this village for the few days it would take for the money to arrive?

Should he wash dishes? A cleaning job wouldn’t be given to someone staying for only three or four days. Or maybe it would be better to call James directly and ask him to come here, even if he’d get scolded later. Ah. But James had a meeting with the Tyler management today, didn’t he?

The man pondered seriously.

As he often did when he had something to think about, he walked aimlessly.

The village was small. It was a cozy and peaceful rural town. Only a few border-crossing trains passed by occasionally each day, so it wasn’t bustling and seemed pleasant to live in. Come to think of it, his parents also moved to the suburbs, wanting to live away from the city. His father still had a strong work ethic and often visited the company, but his mother quietly enjoyed life in the suburbs, tending her garden.

“When I get older, should I build a house in a neighborhood like this and live here?” The man had lost his worries and was slowly strolling, looking around. In the small, pretty houses, flowers bloomed profusely over low fences. The streets, though old, were neatly maintained and continued cozily. Occasionally, small shops were interspersed among the quiet residential areas where birds chirped somewhere in the distance. There was a bakery and a vegetable store. There was also a clothing store.

They didn’t seem likely to thrive, but these small shops, appearing here and there on the residential streets, added color, looking as if they were run comfortably without being desperate for business.

Then, one shop caught the man’s eye. It was a used bookstore.

The entrance was so narrow that at first, he didn’t even realize it was a shop. When he approached the door, he saw that the shop, which stretched long like a corridor inside, was perhaps only three or four pyeong (approx. 10-13 sqm). It looked even narrower because it was packed with bookshelves. It was so narrow that only one person could barely squeeze between the shelves. Moreover, books were piled up like mountains next to the shelves, making it seem like they would collapse with one wrong move.

Deep inside the shop, an old man with white hair, presumably the owner, sat basking in the sunlight streaming through the window. His head occasionally tilted, perhaps pleasantly dozing off. It seemed like a shop where flies would be the only customers all day, but surprisingly, there was already one person inside. It was a young man wearing a hat and carrying a bag. He was standing in front of a bookshelf, holding a book and turning pages, as if he had found something interesting.

“Even a shop like this does business at this hour,” the man felt inexplicably pleased.

He loved books immensely. Not just a usual liking, but to a maniacal degree. The joy of getting his hands on a rare old book that he had always wanted to read, mentioned in ancient texts but too old to find, was the greatest joy he knew. So, at one point, he even started a company to reprint rare old books, but as he himself had expected from the beginning, that company failed spectacularly. A company could not be run on affection and hobbies alone without generating profit.

Ultimately, he was now managing a profitable company inherited from his father, but he was still dealing with antique books on a personal level.

That’s why he also loved old bookstores, and when he saw unprofitable shops like this, he always wished for them to prosper.

“Let’s see, what books are there…?”

The man scanned the bookshelves lined along the wall outside the shop door. He clicked his tongue, seeing books carelessly displayed where direct sunlight hit them. He gently brushed off the dust accumulated on the books with a sympathetic heart as he examined them. Used bookstores of this size, located in a remote rural village, usually had books haphazardly arranged. It would be ideal if they were categorized by subject and then by author, but at best, similar-themed books were loosely grouped together.

This shop had no classification whatsoever. It was literally haphazard. A cookbook was next to a novel, and a music score was next to that. The man sighed. He hadn’t expected anything when he saw the books exposed to the sun, but it was still regrettable to see them decaying like this. These books would become rare in a hundred years or so.

The man gently stroked the spines of the books, feeling the same pity one would feel for an abused child. If they were children, he could report it to the police, but he couldn’t do that for these books.

Just then, the man’s hand paused. Beneath his fingers was a worn-out book. The man’s eyes widened as if they would pop out. His mouth involuntarily fell open and wouldn’t close.

“730 Days of Solitude – Holt Rumpels”

The man pulled out the book with trembling hands. He carefully turned the tattered back page of the worn book to check the edition, 1994 edition, Hartenhardt Publishing.

He couldn’t believe it. In 1994, the German edition of Rumpels’ book was banned and ordered to be incinerated at the time. Amidst that, only a few copies remained and were published in small quantities in other neighboring countries a few years later. Even those quickly went out of print, making the overseas editions hard to find.

But a 1994 edition? And in German, no less!

The man’s hands trembled, to find such a treasure in a remote rural village, in a dilapidated used bookstore!

The man was genuinely grateful to the pickpocket. If it hadn’t been for that pickpocket, the man wouldn’t have gotten off at this station, and this precious encounter wouldn’t have happened.

He wanted it. No, he absolutely had to get his hands on this. The man repeatedly caressed the tattered leather-bound book. What should he do? He was back to his original problem. He had no money. Moreover, even if he haggled down the price for its poor condition, this book would still be worth at least 5,000 euros.

If he hadn’t lost his wallet, he would have gladly handed over thousands of dollars and walked out hugging the book, but now he didn’t even have 5 euros, let alone 5,000 euros.

What to do about this? Should he really call James and tell him to finish his work as quickly as possible and rush over here? Then he could come tonight. But what if someone bought this book in the meantime? It was such a treasure that it wouldn’t be strange for someone to take it right now.

The man stomped his feet, clutching the book. He even felt like just running off with it.

Pacing back and forth in front of the bookshelf, muttering “What to do, what to do,” the man suddenly stopped. Once again, his eyes widened as if they would pop out.

“Ensemble – Henry March”

“Gasp…”

He was breathless. Henry March’s Ensemble. Was this not the very book that all the philosophers dominating the late 19th century had praised, as recorded in historical documents, a book he had once frantically searched for but found no clue of, making him doubt its very existence?

The man hastily pulled out that book too. His heart pounded. He felt as if he might collapse from a heart attack at any moment. At that point, his eyes glazed over. Money and reality were secondary. He decided to thoroughly search this crumbling treasure trove.

First, he scanned the bookshelves lined up along the wall outside. There were no books as valuable as the two he had initially found, but he did discover another book that would fetch a good price at auction. Since the man already owned it, he reluctantly decided to pass on it.

The man entered the shop. The thought of navigating this cramped and packed space made his vision momentarily blur, but considering it a treasure trove, he was willing to endure the discomfort. The inside of the bookstore was no different from the outside in terms of disorganization. He had no choice but to examine each of the haphazardly mixed books one by one. The man started from the bookshelf closest to the door and moved inward, checking each one. Along the way, he found several valuable books. Only one of them was worth pulling out and clutching immediately, but if his other book-loving friends saw them, they would go wild and pull out every single one.

Today was truly a lucky day. He tried to recall if there had ever been a day in his life as happy as this, but nothing readily came to mind.

Almost lost in thought, the man bent low, meticulously scanning even the lowest shelves, backing up slowly. Then, with a thud, his hip bumped into something, and he finally came back to his senses. He turned his head and saw the young man in the hat from earlier. The commendable young man who had been in the used bookstore reading books since this early morning. He was still reading.

The man briefly said, “Excuse me,” and turned his head back. He didn’t have time to pay attention to a stranger. Although he was very fond of people, these treasures were incomparable to people. He felt the young man’s calm gaze on him as he frantically scanned the books, but the man didn’t look back. He had already apologized, so what? …Ah. This book is also rare. But I have it.

He wondered how such a treasure-filled bookstore remained unknown. No, more than that, he couldn’t believe there was a place that collected only such precious books. Perhaps that ordinary-looking old man dozing there was actually a legendary broker…

Soon, the young man’s gaze left him. He heard the sound of pages turning again. Eventually, the man, having almost completely scanned the bookstore, was clutching five books in his arms. Holding them tightly as if he couldn’t bear to lose a single one, he stood before the last remaining bookshelf.

“Excuse me, would you mind moving for a moment?”

The man politely asked the young man, who was still standing in the same spot reading. Although it was hard to tell with his hat pulled down, his bone structure and skin visible below his nose suggested he was Asian. The young man looked at him in confusion, seemingly not understanding what he said. The man hesitated for a moment, wondering which language to use, then glanced at the book the young man was reading and saw it was in English. He repeated the same request in English. The young man then readily moved aside. The man took the spot the young man had vacated and began to scan the last bookshelf in the treasure trove, starting from the top shelf. The books were haphazardly arranged, some placed horizontally in the empty spaces above the shelves, and even pocket-sized books were double-stacked, so it took quite a long time to rummage through them.

By the time the man had thoroughly scanned that last bookshelf, quite some time had passed. And the man’s body was completely drenched in sweat. Having found one more book on the last bookshelf, the man wiped the sweat from his forehead with great satisfaction. It felt like ten years since he had felt such a sense of accomplishment. The man proudly looked around the bookstore once more. He would have to come here often from now on.

Only then could the man, with a somewhat calmer mind, think about reality again. “Wait a minute. But I don’t have any money.” What to do about this? He groaned and pondered, then suddenly turned his gaze to the young man standing beside him. The young man was still there, reading a book. He seemed quite absorbed, not even looking up once. “The kind of customer bookstore owners dislike the most is someone who just reads books without buying them…”

As the man thought this, he tilted his head to peek at the book cover, wondering what interesting book he was reading. The red-tinged leather-bound book looked quite old. The title seemed to be written in gold leaf, but the young man’s fingers were covering it, making it hard to see.

The man soon lost interest in him. His immediate concern was the money problem.

Just then, as if he had read enough, the young man closed the book. And as if to buy it, he approached the counter where the old man was still dozing.

That was the moment.

The book’s title briefly flashed before the man’s eyes.

“Wait!”

The man grabbed the young man’s wrist. The young man looked back, startled. His mouth twitched under his hat. The man, ignoring him, almost snatched the book from the young man’s hand and examined it.

Unbelievable.

Milou Kavli.

That book, so rare that there was a half-joking saying that no one had actually seen it, only heard about it. The very book that the man had been searching for by all means for over 20 years, without finding even a hint of a clue.

The man’s eyes widened, and he flipped through the pages. The old, yellowed book was not in good condition. There was even a slight hint of mold on the back cover. But this book was an unparalleled treasure. Even if he gave up all six books he was currently clutching, their value might not even offset this one. It was a treasure he would risk his life to possess.

“Are you going to buy this book?”

The man asked the young man. His voice felt hoarse with tension. At his words, which sounded almost like a hostile challenge, the young man was startled and remained silent for a moment. Then he slowly opened his mouth. At that moment, the man tensed up, staring only at the young man’s lips.