Read an Excerpt
“Excuse me. Are you related to the owner of this shop?” Vish almost screamed when this question was whispered at the back of his neck, because he could feel the speaker’s breath, which smelled chemical, like bleach or chlorine. And because the voice wasn’t the girl’s, but an older man’s. He hadn’t heard the chime ring again, but there was someone else in the store.
Vish turned and saw another person he’d never seen before. Unlike the girl, this man looked like he was trying to blend in with the general Kelowna look, but had gotten it wrong. For one thing, he wasn’t just untanned, he was as pale as the inside of a tree root. The knees and calves between his slightly too-short cargo shorts and black dress socks (another mistake) were so white they almost gave off a light of their own in the little bookshop. The t-shirt, with a snowboard company logo on it, was almost right, but it was sky blue and too young for the man, who was at least fifty. His hair was dyed blacker than Vish’s, but there was a small thin mustache with a few white strands in it that glistened like mucous. He had the thinnest eyebrows Vish had ever seen on a man, which made his forehead look enormous, a big tank for a brain that Vish thought he would be able to see if the man stood with direct sunlight beaming onto that paper-pale skin. If Agastya had looked a bit sick, this man looked like he should be in bed for months.
“The owner will be right back. And no, we’re not related.”
“You work here.”
“No.”
“You just assumed he was related to the owner? Why?” The Septum-Pierced Girl had come around from the rare books corner holding a small hardcover in her right hand. She spoke with an accent, maybe German. Vish was glad she wasn’t talking to him, because he wouldn’t have been able to answer right away. The Thin-Eyebrowed Man turned to look at her, then spoke.
“The owner of this establishment is a man of subcontinental extraction. The young man I’m speaking to is of that race, as well. Virtually no-one else on these streets is. Hence my question. Should I apologize?” He said this last part to Vish.
“It’s okay,” Vish said. He was still staring at the now-inert snowboard logo. When the conversation didn’t resume, and Vish looked up to see disappointment in the Septum-Pierced Girl’s eyes, Vish looked for something else to say, this time with a bit more of an edge in his tone.
“What do you want?” he said. “From the owner, I mean. What should I tell him?”
Instead of answering, the man kept on staring at the girl.
“Yes,” the girl said. “I know it’s you. You look worn out, Mr. Farris. And not really holding together. The meat’s starting to separate. Not long left at all for you, is there?”
