4

The brownstone had no number and no sign for a shop. I checked the numbers of the adjacent buildings on the tree-lined sidewalk before returning to the front of the four-story building. I tried without success to peer through the oak shutters on the windows. Finally, I pushed the white button of the bell beside the door.

“Yes?” The man didn’t sound welcoming.

“Do you sell model boats?”

“Yes,” he replied after a pause that seemed to signal reluctance.

“May I come in?”

A chime resonated with a gentleness that made it sound distant. I stepped through the door only to stop in confusion because the walls trembled with motion. After a moment I realized that water was falling in smooth sheets over the walls of the entrance hall and into marble catch basins on the floor. It made a susurrus like ocean waves receding back into the depths. In the cool mist I smelled a tang that reminded me of wind sweeping across salt water. Recessed ceiling lights lit the way to the end of the passage, where the man opened the door to the interior of the shop.

“You want a boat.”

The shopkeeper appraised me with eyes of pale blue that peered intently from beneath extravagant white eyebrows. A thin, tall man with a squarish face and a full head of long white hair, he might have been eighty or more, but he stood straight behind the counter and spoke with a faint accent that I couldn’t quite place.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“How did you find the shop?”

“On the Internet.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Impossible.”

“But this shop sells model boats.”

“I’m not on the Internet. The shop can’t be found that way.”

I shrugged, ill at ease.

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t exist in the same way as other shops.”

Only a single beam of light fell from the ceiling to illuminate the counter. The rest of the room remained in darkness.

“How many ways can there be?” I finally stammered.

He scrutinized me. “This shop, if you want to call it that, is not about profits or losses. In that sense it has little in common with other shops.”

“If it doesn’t make a profit,” I said, smiling in spite of a desire to be respectful to such an old eccentric, “it can’t survive.”

“Ah.” He nodded at this.

“Isn’t that right?” I insisted. “Every business is on the Internet. That’s how people know about companies—by visiting websites, not offices or factories. You must have a website.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to help you,” he said with a wave of his hand that dismissed me.

I had been seized by a fantasy that I could make money for him. If he listened to me, he would understand how to improve the performance of his shop. My marketing savvy could quickly build his bottom line. That he cared nothing for this and wanted me to leave alarmed me and made me feel useless.

“Don’t you sell model boats?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go.”

“But … ”

“Unless you want to tell me the truth.”

I didn’t have a glib answer.

“How did you find me?”

I stirred myself to speak. “I don’t remember.”

“Liar!” The blue eyes blazed and his clenched fists banged the white surface of the counter. “I’ll give you one more chance.”

It would have been simple enough to walk out of this darkened room and never lay eyes on the old man again. I swayed from foot to foot, side to side.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head.

“You’re protecting someone.”

I nodded, certain he would throw me out.

“You made a promise,” he surmised.

“Yes.”

“And you intend to keep it?”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“You didn’t find me on the Internet.”

“No,” I admitted, “I didn’t.”

“The person you promised—do you know him well?”

“Hardly at all.”

“Why did he want you to come here?”

“I mentioned a ship. He didn’t like ships—or, really, his boss didn’t like ships. Or water. He kept talking about fire.”

“What about fire?”

“Fire brings out what is elemental. It’s the great engine of change.”

To my surprise, he smiled.

“Do you believe that?”

“I have no idea,” I answered.

“Of course you don’t,” he said more gently. “But why were you sent here?”

“The one interviewing me—”

“Interviewing?” He cut me off. “Why?”

“For the job.”

“What kind of job?”

“As an assistant.” I left out the specifics, feeling I had already said too much.

He nodded.

“He thought I should meet you. Perhaps to get a model boat. I don’t know why.”

The shop owner reached back to the wall and flicked several switches that turned on small spotlights in the ceiling. Now I saw the models, two dozen or so, each resting on a white pedestal as if floating in the light from above.

“Look around. Let me know if you have any questions.” He began studying diagrams on the counter.

I wandered among the boats, feeling surprised that he hadn’t thrown me out of the shop. I couldn’t be certain what had changed his attitude. Slowly the details of the models began to impress me. I bent closer to study the care lavished on the sewing of the sails, the rigging, the decks, the hulls, the miniature anchors, and the tiny crewmen. Nameplates with brief explanations about the type of vessel helped me distinguish barks, windjammers, frigates, junks, brigantines, catamarans, dhows, galleons, schooners, prams, ketches, and more.

“Do you make the models?” I finally asked.

“Yes, I make each model,” he replied.

“How long has the shop been here?”

He came from behind the counter and joined me in the display area.

“I first imagined this almost fifty years ago. But I had to travel a great deal. And I had to gather resources. The building I purchased nearly thirty years ago. A lot of work has gone into it since then.”

“It feels like a museum.” I admired the care and skill he had lavished on the models and the design of the shop. “I didn’t see a sign outside. How does anyone know you’re here?”

“People do find us,” he answered, stressing the verb.

“You like sailboats best.”

“I enjoy boats with sails, it’s true.”

“They’re so well crafted.”

He lowered his eyes at my praise.

“There are no prices,” I went on. “How do you sell them?”

“If the right customer comes, we agree on a price.”

How could he run a successful store with this approach? I wondered about the soundness of his mind, but I quickly calculated that he had purchased the building when New York City was on the brink of bankruptcy. He probably bought it for next to nothing. If he also invested in other real estate at that time, he would certainly be a wealthy man today. So this shop might be more a hobby than a business. But why had he wanted to create a shop like this? How had he developed the skills to make the models? They seemed almost to move through the space.

“Could you give me the range of prices? I mean, which boat costs least and which costs the most?”

Those blue eyes studied me like a puzzle to be solved.

“No, I couldn’t,” he finally replied.

“It’s just hard to shop if you have no idea—”

Waving his hand, he cut me off. “Which of the ships excites you the most? Which ship could carry you across the boundaries of the known world and take you to foreign lands? What adventures might you have in those latitudes and longitudes?”

This struck me as overly dramatic, and a bit intrusive. Why talk about boundaries and foreign lands?

“I’d have to look some more.”

“Take your time.”

I walked even more slowly among the models. I couldn’t say one appealed to me more than the others. I liked the curve of the hulls on some, and the wind-filled shape of the sails on others.

“I don’t know,” I said to him at last.

“I’m not surprised,” he said, coming to join me again. “After all, what is the source of attraction? Isn’t it concealed within us, waiting for the moment of its discovery? You can look at boats, but understanding what makes you desire one thing or another is more elusive.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You may need more time. Don’t feel any urgency. Come back on another day and spend another hour. Keep coming back until the faintest hint is amplified. Suddenly you’ll want this boat or that one,” he said, pointing first to the windjammer and then to the schooner.

“Yes,” I said, wondering if I understood him. “I’ll have to come back.”

He turned off the lights, except for the single beam that lit the counter and its diagrams.

“Let me show you out.” He led me into the hallway filled with the calming sound of falling water.

“Are you still looking for a job?” he asked as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yes.”

“I’m looking for an assistant,” he said as he closed the door. “If you’re interested, come at the same time in a week. I’ll have something to show you.”