Confessions of a Curious Bookseller(16)
Even though I’ve drained the toilet in the customer bathroom, there is still water leaking from somewhere. The floor is growing soft, and I don’t know what to do. On top of that, Kyle, Sam, Angela, and I all tried shutting the jammed window together but nothing happened. And then a customer suggested I use WD-40. So I sprayed some in the sides and voilà! The window shut. This was after I cracked the glass from trying to hammer it shut. Now there is another air leak, albeit comparatively modest.
It’s always a good day when I receive Jane’s rent. Her daughter, who happens to live in Hawaii, always sends it on time, thankfully. Last night I went down to check on her again. I stood outside the door and pressed my ear to it. The television volume was so loud that it sounded more like an air-raid announcement. There was another noise that I recognized but couldn’t place.
I was back in my apartment when I realized that it was the sound of Jane’s recliner. My father had the same one; I know because of the mechanical sound it makes when the lever is pulled and the whump of the upholstered footrest knocks against the chair’s frame. It made me shudder. It immediately brought me right back to my childhood. In instances like this, I doubt the linearity of time. If it were linear, how is it possible that a single sound can transport me to another place?
Because of my inexhaustible love of culture and all things ethnic, I once went to a Serbian food festival in North Philly—maybe about three years ago at this point—and wandered the small church grounds while a handsome man with an accordion deftly played Serbian songs. I ate delicious food that I’ve since forgotten the names of, but I do remember there were a lot of meats and vegetables. In any case, they were offering a tour of the church, so of course I signed up, as I knew nothing about Eastern Orthodoxy. And because no one else signed up, I was given the private tour! The priest, a bearded, middle-aged man, led me up the creaky, cloistered stairs. He apologized for walking so slowly due to his knee problems. (This was before my bad back.) Upon entering I was struck by the iconography, the beautiful paintings on the walls depicting the saints, and the cozy warmth of the quiet, dark place. It smelled of incense, polished wood, and summer. I took a seat in one of the pews and immediately felt transported to medieval Europe. He told me many things that I’ve since forgotten about Eastern Orthodoxy, but a few facts linger like an old song that you can never quite shake. He said that traditionally the congregation doesn’t sit, and the only reason this church had seating was because they bought a Roman Catholic church and didn’t feel like ripping out all the nice old pews. He said people traditionally stand because the service is interactive. You are not checking out, sitting back, and relaxing while the priest goes on, but you are an active participant in the word of God. Along those lines, he also explained that it is their belief that time isn’t linear. They are not only reading about the Last Supper, telling a story set thousands of miles away and thousands of years in the past, but they are actually there, watching it take place. They are transported. They fully live the Bible through the course of the year. And when he said this to me, it made perfect sense. I often feel as if my past is my present—that it follows me around, and all I need to do is take a moment to step into it and all the feelings, fears, and desires come screaming back at me. I can see my sister in the back room, working on her homework while organizing invoices. I can see myself changing a light bulb on a ladder so worn with age that every time I climbed it, I crossed myself. I can see my father standing in the doorway of his store and hear the rubbery squeak of his old boots on the dusty floor as he shifted his weight and talked to a customer about a boxing match the night before. How can time be linear if it only takes a single sound, a whump of upholstery, to send me back?
If I happened to believe in God anymore or saw any personal benefit to religion, I’d like to think I’d convert to Eastern Orthodoxy. There is something so perfectly honest about it that appeals to my sensibilities.
Tomorrow we will begin brainstorming about holiday decorations. I’ve never bothered to decorate in the past, but this year we truly need all the help we can get. Perhaps this will distract me from my worries and get me into the holiday spirit!
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Wed, Dec 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM
To: Staff
Subject: Decorations?
Dear Staff,
Normally we don’t decorate for the holidays, but due to the fact that there has been no snowfall whatsoever, I am concerned that none of my customers are in the holiday spirit. Therefore, let me know what you think about decorating the store this year to evoke some holiday cheer and hopefully make wallets more slippery than usual.
I was thinking garlands on the staircases and a Christmas tree in the front foyer by the discount books. We can add a menorah in one of the smaller rooms to be inclusive. Thoughts?
Fawn, Owner
From: Angela Washington
Sent: Wed, Dec 12, 2018 at 7:27 PM
To: Fawn Birchill, Staff
Re: Decorations?
What about a snow machine like they have at ski resorts? We can spray snow on the roof and in front of the store.
—A
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Wed, Dec 12, 2018 at 7:30 PM
To: Staff
Re: Decorations?
Angela,
I like your suggestion, but how would we get it over the roof?
Fawn, Owner
From: Kyle Krazinsky