Oracle Night Read Free Page B

spend.’
    ‘Ah,’ he said, looking up from the cash register and breaking into a big smile that exposed a mouthful of crooked teeth. ‘You must be writer yourself.’
    ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I answered, trying to keep the tone playful. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret.’
    It wasn’t a very funny remark, but the man seemed to think it was hilarious, and for the next little while it was all he could do not to collapse in a fit of laughter. There was a strange, staccato rhythm to his laugh – which seemed to fall somewhere between talking and singing – and it rushed out of his throat in a series of short mechanical trills: Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha . ‘No tell nobody,’ he said, once the outburst had subsided. ‘Top secret. Just between you and me. Sew up my lips. Ha ha ha .’
    He went back to his work at the cash register, and by the time he’d finished packing my things into a large white shopping bag, his face had turned serious again. ‘If one day you write story in blue Portugal book,’ he said, ‘make me very glad. My heart fill with joy.’
    I didn’t know how to answer that, but before I could think of anything to say, he extracted a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me across the counter. The words PAPER PALACE were printed in bold letters at the top. The address and telephone number followed, and then, in the lower right-hand corner, there was a last piece of information that read: M. R. Chang, Proprietor .
    ‘Thank you, Mr. Chang,’ I said, still looking down at the card. Then I slipped it into my own pocket and pulled out my wallet to pay the bill.
    ‘Not mister,’ Chang said, smiling his big smile again. ‘M. R. Sound more important like that. More American.’
    Once again, I didn’t know what to say. A few ideas about what the initials stood for flashed through my mind, but I kept them to myself. Mental Resources. Multiple Readings. Mysterious Revelations. Some comments are best left unsaid, and I didn’t bother to inflict my dismal wisecracks on the poor man. After a brief, awkward silence, he handed me the white shopping bag and then bowed by way of thanks.
    ‘Good luck with your store,’ I said.
    ‘Very small palace,’ he said. ‘Not much stuff. But you tell me what you want, I order for you. Anything you want, I get.’
    ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘it’s a deal.’
    I turned to leave, but Chang scuttled out from behind the counter and cut me off at the door. He seemed to be under the impression that we had just concluded a matter of highly important business, and he wanted to shake my hand. ‘Deal,’ he said. ‘Good for you, good for me. Okay?’
    ‘Okay,’ I repeated, letting him shake my hand. I found it absurd to be making so much of so little, but it didn’t cost me anything to play along. Besides, I was eager to get going, and the less I said, the sooner I would be on my way.
    ‘You ask, I find. Whatever it is, I find for you. M. R. Chang deliver the goods.’
    He pumped my arm two or three more times after that, and then he opened the door for me, nodding and smiling as I slid past him into the raw September day. 1
     
     
    I had been planning to stop in for breakfast at one of the local diners, but the twenty-dollar bill I had put in my wallet before starting out had been reduced to three singles and a smattering of coins – not even enough for the $2.99 special when you figured in the tax and tip. If not for the shopping bag, I might have gone on with my walk anyway, but there seemed to be no point in lugging that thing around the neighborhood with me, and since the weather was in a fairly nasty state by then (the once-fine drizzle had turned into a steady downpour), I opened my umbrella and decided to go home.

    It was a Saturday, and my wife had still been in bed when I’d left the apartment. Grace had a regular nine-to-five job, and the weekends were her only chance to sleep in, to indulge in the luxury of waking up without an alarm clock.