that disappeared into darkness. I was surrounded by thousands of books. The air was heavy with the scent of paper, of stories and dreams that lived in written words.
“Hello?” I called.
There was no answer.
“Hello?” I called again, a little louder this time.
From the depths of one of the book tunnels, a man’s voice called, “How can I help you?” in a thick Armenian accent.
I took a step back, calling, “Where are you?”
Right in front of me, a gray shadow came into focus. I gasped.
The shadow laughed.
“I’m sorry, little girl. I didn’t mean to scare you. What do you want?”
I had to remind myself to breathe.
“I…I want to buy a book.”
“What book?”
I took all my money out of my pocket and showed the coins to the thin, old man standing in front of me.
“I have this much money. Doesn’t matter what book, as long as it’s good.”
He smiled and ran his fingers through his gray hair.
“Why don’t you go to the bakery next door and buy yourself a few donuts instead?”
“But I want a book. Isn’t this money enough?”
“Young lady, the problem is that all my books are written in English. Do you speak English?”
“I’m very good in English. In school, we study English for an hour every day. I’m in the third grade.”
“Okay, let’s see what I can find for you,” he said with a sigh and disappeared behind the book mountains.
I waited, wondering how he could possibly find anything in that mess, but he miraculously emerged from the dark clutter with a book.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it to me. “ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It’s a wonderful book and the first one of a series.”
I examined it. It had a blue-gray cover in the center of which was the picture of a lion with a boy and a girl sitting on its back. The lion had leaped into the air. The book looked old but was in a reasonably good shape.
“How much does it cost?”
“Five tomans.”
“But, I only have four!” I said, almost in tears.
“Four will do.”
I thanked him, ecstatic, and ran home.
Three days later, I had read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe twice and had fallen in love with it. I wanted more. But only having two tomans saved, I wasn’t sure if the man at the bookstore was going to be generous again, and I was afraid to ask my mother for money, so I decided to sell my pencil box to my friend Sarah. At the beginning of the school year, Sarah had asked me where I had bought the box, and I had told her that my mother had bought it at the big department store at the intersection of Shah and Pahlavi Avenues. But when Sarah’s mother went to buy one like mine, they were sold out, and Sarah was very disappointed. It was a blue plastic box with a magnetic lock that clicked when you closed its lid. The next day, I caught up with Sarah on my way to school. She had large dark brown eyes, thick curly black hair that fell on her shoulders, and she owned a fancy watch, on the face of which was a picture of Cinderella with Prince Charming putting a glass slipper on her foot. Cinderella was sitting on a stool and had crossed one leg over the other, and her leg moved back and forth every second. Sarah’s mother had bought the watch for her when they were vacationing in England. I asked her if she still wanted my pencil box, and she said she did. I told her I was willing to sell it to her. She wanted to know why, sounding rather suspicious. So I told her about the bookstore. She agreed to give me five tomans if I also gave her my scented eraser. I accepted her condition.
After school, it took Sarah and me less than five minutes to run to her house, which was on a narrow residential crescent where all houses had small yards and were surrounded by tall brick walls to provide privacy for the residents. I loved her street, because without cars, stores, vendors, and beggars, it was quiet. The air was filled with the mouthwatering fragrance of sautéed onions and garlic. One of the
“Hello?” I called.
There was no answer.
“Hello?” I called again, a little louder this time.
From the depths of one of the book tunnels, a man’s voice called, “How can I help you?” in a thick Armenian accent.
I took a step back, calling, “Where are you?”
Right in front of me, a gray shadow came into focus. I gasped.
The shadow laughed.
“I’m sorry, little girl. I didn’t mean to scare you. What do you want?”
I had to remind myself to breathe.
“I…I want to buy a book.”
“What book?”
I took all my money out of my pocket and showed the coins to the thin, old man standing in front of me.
“I have this much money. Doesn’t matter what book, as long as it’s good.”
He smiled and ran his fingers through his gray hair.
“Why don’t you go to the bakery next door and buy yourself a few donuts instead?”
“But I want a book. Isn’t this money enough?”
“Young lady, the problem is that all my books are written in English. Do you speak English?”
“I’m very good in English. In school, we study English for an hour every day. I’m in the third grade.”
“Okay, let’s see what I can find for you,” he said with a sigh and disappeared behind the book mountains.
I waited, wondering how he could possibly find anything in that mess, but he miraculously emerged from the dark clutter with a book.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it to me. “ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It’s a wonderful book and the first one of a series.”
I examined it. It had a blue-gray cover in the center of which was the picture of a lion with a boy and a girl sitting on its back. The lion had leaped into the air. The book looked old but was in a reasonably good shape.
“How much does it cost?”
“Five tomans.”
“But, I only have four!” I said, almost in tears.
“Four will do.”
I thanked him, ecstatic, and ran home.
Three days later, I had read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe twice and had fallen in love with it. I wanted more. But only having two tomans saved, I wasn’t sure if the man at the bookstore was going to be generous again, and I was afraid to ask my mother for money, so I decided to sell my pencil box to my friend Sarah. At the beginning of the school year, Sarah had asked me where I had bought the box, and I had told her that my mother had bought it at the big department store at the intersection of Shah and Pahlavi Avenues. But when Sarah’s mother went to buy one like mine, they were sold out, and Sarah was very disappointed. It was a blue plastic box with a magnetic lock that clicked when you closed its lid. The next day, I caught up with Sarah on my way to school. She had large dark brown eyes, thick curly black hair that fell on her shoulders, and she owned a fancy watch, on the face of which was a picture of Cinderella with Prince Charming putting a glass slipper on her foot. Cinderella was sitting on a stool and had crossed one leg over the other, and her leg moved back and forth every second. Sarah’s mother had bought the watch for her when they were vacationing in England. I asked her if she still wanted my pencil box, and she said she did. I told her I was willing to sell it to her. She wanted to know why, sounding rather suspicious. So I told her about the bookstore. She agreed to give me five tomans if I also gave her my scented eraser. I accepted her condition.
After school, it took Sarah and me less than five minutes to run to her house, which was on a narrow residential crescent where all houses had small yards and were surrounded by tall brick walls to provide privacy for the residents. I loved her street, because without cars, stores, vendors, and beggars, it was quiet. The air was filled with the mouthwatering fragrance of sautéed onions and garlic. One of the
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