Readers of this blog are aware that many strange things happen in this bookstore. This story is strange, but it also a bit sad.
While walking to the shop one morning near the end of July, I noticed a bright red bicycle leaning against a lamppost. It was not locked and no one was around. When I walked home that night, it was still there. It remained there for more than a week, and each day I was surprised that no one had disturbed it. Meanwhile, an unsettling thought crossed my mind: Perhaps something had happened to the owner.
One day, after a heavy rain, it occurred to me that the bike would begin to rust if it wasn't taken inside. I brought the bike to the shop and took it to an unused corner of the basement. I made several flyers with photos of the bike and a note saying that I had taken it to the bookshop for safekeeping. I put the sign up around the area where the bike had been abandoned.
I heard nothing for months. Then, a few days ago -- on Halloween, in fact -- a woman came into the shop. She was large, with gray hair and a stern face. She walked straight to the counter.
"You got a bike here." She slapped a copy of the flyer down. "Probably nobody else could find this place. You didn't put no phone number and you didn't put no address."
I realized with great embarrassment that she was correct. I have trouble remembering little things like that.
"I found it, though," she continued. "'Cause I was a trucker. I know all the roads and all the streets."
"Is the bike yours?" I asked.
"Not mine," she said. "But I knowed the owner. I'll send someone for it. You don't give that bike to nobody unless they say Large Marge sent them." She left without another word.
Three days later a blonde woman entered the shop. She looked as if she had been crying. "My name's Dottie. Large Marge sent me. She said you've got PW's bike."
"Ah, yes, Large Marge. She said someone would come by. I'll bring it up for you." I went to the basement and, with some difficulty, managed to get it up the stairs.
When she saw the bike she sighed deeply, then ran her hand over the handlebars. She smiled sadly. The sigh told me that PW was gone. The smile told me that she remembered him fondly.
"It's a beautiful bike," I said. "I'm sure it brought him much joy."
"It did," she said. "And he brought much joy to all of us."
She rolled the bike outside. I watched her as she headed down the sidewalk. She did not ride the bike. She walked alongside, as if someone else were riding.