CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

TIMOTHY DROVE STRAIGHT to Le Rive Gauche. The building façade dripped with old-school architecture—brick, mortar, stone and an awning. The bookshop occupied the basement of an old apartment building. The name of the shop was hand-painted on the window in French script. Old volumes of books filled the store window. Passersby would recognize it as store for ancient, rare books without reading the sign.

An old-fashioned bell announced his arrival. The place smelled like old books—a blend of vanilla, almonds, and leather. New books smelled like chemicals. Creaky wooden floors counted every step he took and a couple of ceiling fans kept the air moving. A few wooden shelves housed current best-sellers, but this was a repository for old books. The cash register rang a sale for the only customer in the shop. Timothy heard a humming in the background and spotted a dehumidifier, a necessity to keep the air dry but cool. The customer smiled as he passed Timothy, clutching his purchase like it was a treasure, which it probably was. Timothy nodded.

Timothy approached the clerk. “Is Louie around?”

“I’m Louie, and who are you?”

“I’m Tim O’Rourke, and we apparently have a mutual friend.”

“Oh yeah, who’s that?”

“Hoffen.”

“Ah yes, Hoffen. You’re his new friend. You worked with him at the tree lot, right?”

“Yes. Did he tell you I would come by?” Timothy asked.

“He sure did. I know exactly why you’re here.”

“The book?”

“Yes, the book. I’ve wanted to get my hands on that book for a long time,” Louie said.

“Why? What’s special about that book?”

“Did you open it?”

“No, why?” Timothy said.

“Did Hoffen tell you anything about our friendship?”

“Not much. Just that you were old friends.”

“Very old friends. We met in Paris in the twenties. We both hung around after the war and met while running in the same circles.”

“Hoffen didn’t tell me a whole lot about his past, but I knew he was in France.”

“Yes, that’s true. One of the guys we became friends with wrote for a newspaper and later became a novelist. There was a whole crowd of us. You may recognize some of the names.”

Timothy looked at the book again.

“You can probably piece some things together here,” Louie said.

“Whoa! You mean you guys knew Ernest Hemingway?”

“Yes, Hoffen more than I, but we all ran in this big circle. Hoffen became good friends with Ernest because of the war. They met in a hospital in Italy.”

“I knew some of that,” Timothy said.

“We palled around for a couple of years before we all moved around. I worked in a book shop on the Left Bank—”

“Le Rive Gauche? I get it,” Timothy said.

“Yes, the Left Bank. I decided to move back to the States. I was following a girl I met who was a student in Paris. A beautiful woman. She stole my heart and my money, but that’s another story. Anyway, I ended up here, and Hoffen eventually made his way back to the States, too. He got married and had a son whom he lost in the Second War. And we thought the first one would end all wars. Anyway, his wife grieved herself to death, and Hoffen kicked around for a while.”

“What kind of work did he do?” Timothy asked.

“I don’t know. Mostly labor, I think, which is strange because he was so well read. I never knew much about his past before the First War. I guess it didn’t matter much back then. He and I remained in touch through letters. I still have a box of them in the back. I got a letter from him in ’53 or ’54. I don’t remember exactly when it was. He asked if I saw Ernest’s new book, Old Man and the Sea. He bragged he had a signed copy. I guess Ernest sent him one.”

“This book?” Timothy said.

“Yes, that’s the book. Have you read the inscription?”

“No, I didn’t think to,” Timothy said.

“Go ahead. Open it up.”

Timothy opened the cover and read the inscription:

Hoffen,

Thanks for all the great memories and your friendship. Friends like you only come along once in a lifetime.

Your pal, Ernie

“Ernie? You’re kidding, right?” Timothy said.

“Nope, Ernie. Hoffen was the only one I ever knew that called him Ernie. Or, should I say, he was the only one Hemingway allowed to call him Ernie.”

“That’s incredible!” Timothy said.

“That’s the truth. That’s why I want this book. It’s the only book Hemingway ever signed Ernie. In my world, there has been a persistent rumor over the years this book exists, but it was shrouded in so much mystery that collectors began to doubt its existence,” said Louie.

“The only one?”

“Yes, the only one,” Louie said.

Timothy wore his surprise openly. “That means this thing is—”

“Worth a lot of money.” Louie finished. “I know it’s legitimate because Hoffen told me the story. Later, at a literary show, I ran into Ernest, and we had some drinks. I asked him if it was true. He told me it was.”

“But how do you prove this to others?” Timothy asked.

“It doesn’t matter. The words of two close friends are enough for me. I’m sure the experts will study the handwriting, but for me, seeing this is good enough.”

“This is an amazing story. I can’t believe Hoffen didn’t tell me about it.”

“Oh, he is, Timothy. He’s using me to do it,” Louie said.

“What should I do with it? I don’t know if I feel safe hanging onto it. I mean, I don’t want to lose it or worse,” Timothy said.

“I know exactly what to do with it. Leave it here with me. I have a special safe to keep this in. It will be with good company, trust me. I collect these types of things. And for you, I have a check,” Louie said.

“A check? How do you know I’ll sell it?” Timothy said, protective of the book.

“Hoffen came to see me a few days ago. He told me what was happening in your life. He knew you needed some help. This is his way of helping you,” Louie said.

“How much help are we talking about?”

“Five thousand dollars,” Louie said.

“Five thousand dollars! For this book! You’re kidding me, right?” Timothy stood incredulous.

“No, I’m serious. That’s a lot of money, but that’s how much it means to me. And know this, I have no plans to sell this book. It’s here any time you want to come and see it or maybe reclaim it,” Louie said.

Timothy smiled and laughed. “Five thousand dollars? I can’t even get my head around that much money.”

Louie smiled. “Hoffen knew it would open some doors for you that you thought were closed. Do yourself a favor. Take the check. Do me a favor. Let me hang onto this. We both get what we want. What do you say, Timothy?”

“I say yes. Absolutely. Hoffen set this up. He knew what he was doing. I trust him,” Timothy said.

“Good. I have your check right here in the register.” Louie opened the cash register and the bell rang again, like before. He lifted the cash drawer, removed the check. Timothy stared at it and shook his head.

“I don’t know what to say. Yes, thank you. I keep hearing these words in my head, ‘We must take the current when it serves or lose our ventures.’ I think I understand that quote now.”

“Julius Caesar,” Louie said. “You’re well read, too. How many psychology majors know Shakespeare?”

“Not many, I fear. How did you know I am a psychology major?”

“Hoffen,” Louie said.

“Oh, of course.”

“Perhaps someone with a thirst for literature should drink from that pond?” Louie said.

Timothy paused to consider Louie’s words.

“How can I get hold of Hoffen? I need to thank him,” Timothy said.

“He’s gone. He left early this morning. I’m not sure where he’s headed, but he’ll write when he lands somewhere. He always does. He knew you would appreciate this. That’s why he gave you this gift. Do you have plans for this money?”

“Oh yes, school, bills, living expense. But there is one thing I need to do right now—that is, after I deposit the check, I need to make a stop,” Timothy said.

“Hoffen figured you would. What are you going to do next semester? Have you figured it out yet?”

“Yes, I have a TA position in the English department, and that will help me out a lot.”

“Like I said, drink to satisfy your thirst.”

Timothy stared at Louie. Even though this was the first time they met, he had a strangely familiar countenance about him. Timothy nodded.

“You’re working at the hospital, right?” Louie asked.

“Yes.”

“If you decide the hours don’t work for you, I could use some help around here. I’m pretty flexible with scheduling, and the pay’s not bad. That way you could see the book anytime you wanted.”

“That’s incredibly generous, Louie. Thank you. I may take you up on that offer. For now, I have to go see a man about something.”

“You go, and good luck. We’ll talk again,” Louie said.

Timothy left the shop with the same ring of the bell that brought him in.