The Blue Book

The eighth chapter. James.

I found a kind of peace in my name. It helped. I gently picked it up and placed on my tongue, rolling it back and forth. Blue, Blue, Blue.

Hm. It was odourless, but tasted good.
Blue.
It bothered Mr. Bookman that I didn't remember my last name, and he'd been quite flustered when I asked if I could borrow his, although I don't know why.
'But why not?'
'Because it's mine.'
'Don't be so selfish, can't you share it?'
'No, you can't just give someone a name.'
'What do you do with newborn babes then? And you gave me the name Blue.'
'But a surname is valuable. It has meaning, you share it only with family.'
'Family?'
'Yes. Do you even have one of those?'

This was the kind of question that saddened me, so I pressed on.
'What about storytellers then? They give people names.'
At this point, he either didn't have an answer or he couldn't be bothered.

After our second encounter in his library he hadn't really left me alone.
He'd made a nest for me beside his bed, but I'd never dared to shut my eyes. Instead I spent my nights on a platform attached to his shop and flat surrounded by a fence while counting how many lights went out and when in the evenings. Most went out around eight and I made up stories that played out before the houses turned dark. Which kind of people that lived in them, their nightly routines, if they found night-tea as essential as I'd come to do, and the way they wished the other good night.

One night, after Mr. Bookman had gone out like the lamps in the houses and I was doing my nightly contemplation I felt a pricking in my forehead so I got up. My sock-clad somewhat blistered feet walked down to the courtyard, it was empty and I threw up in the corner. I cursed for the first time, by the way. I groaned, found that my fingers were aspen-leafs, and my moth tasted raw fish. I clumsily stumbled to the old water pump in the middle of the courtyard, first timid, I pushed the lever and ice-water poured into the cup I found, drinking slowly, almost as if I was worried it would burn me, but much rather than removing the abhorrent feeling bit by bit, I pushed faster and faster and eventually stuck my head underneath the tip of the pump. I thought about the time, effort and sleep I'd stolen from Mr. Bookman, forcing myself to muffle a shout not to awaken him. I'd enjoyed the rain enormously, my dear droplets, I missed them so, they were cold but soft, but oh, this, this was entirely new waters. I spat and sputtered until all I felt was empty, took Mr. Bookman's magical coat that could make just about anyone stop shivering, glanced up at the room where I knew he performed the curious talent of sleeping before setting off to vanish until sunrise.

We'd been together for four days, and in that time he hadn't shown me anything except every nook and cranny of his home. When I'd been with Jeremijah we had always been close to a river, Medina, I think. Now, Mr. Bookman's apartment was apparently close to the sea, to a harbour. I walked for half an hour before I came to the edge of land. I saw fishermen, couples and pub-owners that ought to have shut down hours ago. Such confusion. Such hostility. Such an alien I was. No matter. No shyness, that's my promise.

'Could you tell me where I am exactly?' I blurted out to the bar-man after placing my elbows on his desk.

'Pardon?'

'Of course, would you please tell me where we're standing, right now, right in this moment on this particular spot in history?'

'You're ... in Shanklin, love.' he said, while looking to his bar-mates, begging for assistance. He got none.

'Shanklin.' I repeated, dragging on the word.

'Quite.' He confirmed.

'Hm. Thanks.' I replied, smiling. 'Ale, please.' This seemed to be more of common request which he happily granted me. I handed him a piece of paper that all of Mr. Bookman's costumer handed him after an agreement.

'Don't fret, love. Til another day.' He denied my creased bill and presented the bottle.

'Do you have a name?' I asked. This was both an inquiry of his actual name and an investigation whether everybody in fact had been presented with one pre contra post their birth.

'James, love. Florist by day, bartender by night.' Pride and remorse etched his response.

'Both essentials, people must love you.'

'Only drunkards and cheaters, but yes.'

Humour. I liked him. 'Going out dancing then, I suppose?'

'Dancing?' I knew what this meant, didn't I? Mr. Bookman and I had done it, no? Or was that cleaning?

'You know, movements to music?' he teased me, ironically I actually didn't know. We had done movements to music, Mr. Bookman and I, but one didn't exclude the other. Dancing or cleaning? Both? 'It's in the hall, couple houses from here, stealing all my drinkers, but sometimes I hear the music.'

'Musician, too then?' I think I would like a music-maker.

'Nay, however my most loyal customer and friend is the musical genius of this island.' Mental sigh. Too many question-marks.

'A drunkard?'

This made him laugh. I liked it. 'Never, alcohol be messing up his fingers he says, he's a loyal buyer of the floral kind. Lilies and daisies. The wisest man I know. I often steal his words to give out here.' I loved his chuckle.

'Thank you, James.' I finished and moved towards the door.

'Miss? The ale?'

'I wouldn't want to mess up my fingers.' I responded and felt my feet compelled to the music. 'Good night.' I realised that this was by far, the strangest encounter the kind florist and bar-man James with the chuckle would have this evening. I wondered if it was universal or only on this island that people had more than one profession. Librarian and jeweller, florist and bartender, musician and wise man.

The old man in the door where the music came from didn't ask for identification or money but instead looked at my outfit and handed me a necklace. Mr. Bookman had changed my brown dress I had awoken in to a yellow one that reminded me of lemons, whatever that was. I thanked him and pressed on into the crowd.

Eventually somebody came up to me, hand stretched out and said

'Miss?' After that he promised me a night he would make sure I would not forget any time soon. Such an ridiculous offer, but I agreed, because I had suddenly decided not to be Blue for a moment, instead I gave him the name I knew Jeremijah had given me. Helga.