The Man Who Was Poe (Open)

[rainier]

Caspar spent most of his time at the library, reading anything that he could get his hands on. He liked the library because there was no limit as to how much he could read, as poor as he was. But there was one satisfaction that Caspar sorely missed: holding a book in your hands and knowing it was yours for the keeping. Of course, you couldn't do that with a library book. Miss Claythorne, the librarian, was kind enough, but Caspar knew she wouldn't be too keen on him keeping any of the books.

Upon hearing of a book store in Harlem, Caspar was immediately interested. He would have to save up for a book...not the easiest task, when you lived an existence where every penny was precious. But eventually, he put away a penny each day for two weeks, until he was sure that the fifteen cents he had in his pocket at the beginning of the third week was enough to get him something that he could call his own. Finding Harlem (hard) and navigating his way toward Into The Pages (harder), he spotted the small shop near the end of the street and gleefully made his way toward it.

Inside, the store was small, but the shelves that lined the walls were packed with old paper-bound books with pages that were turning at the corners and turning yellow around the edges. The clerk scarcely looked up when Caspar entered, his eyes zealous as he looked upon the shelves. Carefully he took a tome from its place and read the title: The Three Musketeers. He didn't know what a musketeer was, or why there would be three of them, so he replaced the novel and continued his search.

Some of the titles were mysterious to him, who was fluent in Dutch and unfamiliar with many things English: Dracula. Markheim. Thrawn Janet. Others he could understand: Jane Eyre. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The Black Cat. But for some reason it was the books by a man named Poe that most caught the young Netherlander's interest, their titles bespeaking an odd wonder that he could only half understand. The Black Cat, The Tell-Tale Heart, The Oval Portrait, The Cask of Amontillado, The Fall of the House of Usher, the Masque of the Red Death...

By some good fortune, some brilliant publisher had compiled all these interesting works and more into a single tome, thick with bold type. Great Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Thirteen cents. Hardly believing his luck, Caspar paid for his new treasure and hurried out of the store. He quickly located a bench, took a seat and opened the book to the first story.

True!--nervous--very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am, but why will you say that I am mad?

[rainier]

Caspar was engrossed in the story he was reading, The Tell-Tale Heart. His knowledge of English was broad enough so that the storytelling of the narrator seemed to chill him, which he assumed was the idea of the story from the start. When Caspar read, he had a way of focusing in on the words, and being oblivious too everything else around him, until someone yelled for a third or fourth time, "Ay, Professor!" Which was why he would rather be alone when he read.

And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God!--no, no! They heard!--they suspected--they knew!

Caspar could hear his pulse quickening along with the narrator's. He gripped the edges of the book tightly, leaned forward a little in his seat, as if at a suspenseful part of a flick-show in the theater. What storytelling! Caspar had never before been able to feel terror and agony along with a narrator...

Any thing was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!--and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!--

"Edgar Allan Poe is amazing, don't you think?"

Caspar gasped and gave a start. He looked around wildly for a moment, and saw a young woman standing nearby. She was attractive, older than he, and held a book in her hands as well. He gathered himself again, sighed, and smiled a bit at his own foolish action. "I am sorry..." he said, aware as always of his heavy accent and imperfect grammar. "You frightened me. I was reading the book." He grinned up at her, and glanced back down at the story. "Yes, the author is very good. His story scared me a little. The Tell-Tale Heart, was this one."

His eyes wandered to the tome that the girl carried in her hands. He squinted momentarily at the title. "Little Women," he read aloud. "What is that story about?"

[rainier]

"Yes, he's one of my favorites. I love his stories, they keep me on the edge of my seat."

On the edge of...? Caspar assumed the girl had used an expression, because he couldn't quite grasp the significance of what she had said. But in essence, he didn't think he truly needed to understand what she was saying at the end of her statement. Sometimes he lucked out with that: he didn't need to understand everything to reply in an appropriate manner. "You have read his books?" Caspar said, grinning slightly. He flipped to the index of his own book and showed her the titles. "Which have you read?" He was eager to see which stories were the best.

"Oh, its about four sisters. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy."

Caspar had read enough books to know that there would have to be more to the story than that. But one of the names caught his attention. The girl had told him sisters, but hadn't she listed a boy's name? Caspar's brow furrowed for a moment. "But Joe...that is a name for a boy, yes? Or is it a nickname for a girl?" Being a newsie, Caspar had seen some colorful nicknames given, and it had taken him a while to grasp their significance: odd-sounding names, names for objects given to people. Not the best thing if you're learning English (his first week as a newsboy, he had called every boy he saw a Jordan).

"I'm Natalia, by the way."

He grinned and offered her his hand to shake. "My name is Caspar. My friends call me the Professor." He moved on his bench and gestured to the seat next to him. "Would you like to sit?" It was rare that Caspar got to meet someone who liked to read as much as he did, and he thought he would enjoy Natalia's company.

[rainier]

"Well, 'A Predicament' is one of my favorites, so is 'The Pit And the Pendulum'. But I haven't read many, the ones I have read are some of my favorite books."

Caspar looked through the table of contents. The first title she mentioned wasn't there, but the latter was. He turned to the page and scanned the first few words, testing them out: I was sick--sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me... Fascinated immediately, Caspar glanced at the page number as to remember it before closing the book and putting it beside him. "I will read it once I am home again," he promised her. It would be rude, he knew, to start reading while someone else was talking to him.

"Yes, Joe is a name for a boy. But the name 'Jo' in the book is short for 'Josephine'."

"Josephine," Caspar mumbled, testing out the word. It was difficult for him to say, the word sounding very unlike his native tongue. He grinned up at Natalia. "Is there more to the story? What do the sisters do?" Caspar liked to know what story was about, so even if he couldn't read it right away, he would imagine what the story might turn out being, and find out if he was right or not later. He was interested to know more about the novel and the girl with a boy's nickname.

"The Professor? That's an interesting nickname. I'm usually called 'Gnat', but that's from my brothers. They love to pester, and bother me."

At first, Caspar thought she had only said "Nat" but realized that she could very well be talking about the bug, and understood the joke. He didn't laugh, but was glad of his understanding. He didn't understand American humor too much. Sarcasm, for one thing, baffled him completely. "Do your brothers read such books?" Caspar asked.

"Are you a newsie?"

With a grin, the Professor nodded. "I sell papers in the morning. I am not very good." He shrugged modestly. "And you? Do you sell papers as well?"