The Reader

I see him every day.  He stands facing one of those circular cylindrical steel structures lined up across the fine health food eatery.  He has this look of a diplomat just about to address a press conference. The thin rimmed spectacles and the square contours of his face giving him that air of authority. It’s always that I see him at one particular time of the day. I am not sure if he works across the place where I do or just comes to that spot to do the thing that he does.

Now there is a pattern. Yes, we always look for patterns. We find it convenient. We use them to tie the loose ends. He always stands facing the sun, if there is one on any given day. He has this bunch of papers all with some printed text. I have never seen him without those.  There are days I took him to be a professor or a teacher at a college as there is one overlooking a corner of our street.  But then, this is downtown. Everyone looks the same, long coats, polished boots, shiny briefcases or messenger bags and an umbrella reminiscent of those winter days in London when I was way back during my assignment in Reading.

 What’s so special about him? Why is he so fascinating?  The answer I am afraid I know not until today. Yes, today finally the cat is out of the bag. I could with all my courage happen to stand near him pretending to text something on my mobile phone. I could smell his cologne. He has sharp eyes which I know from the fact that he could easily glean through the documents pretty fast. 

He reminded me of those agents we get to see in movies who trade state secrets or are public enemies. Anyways, while I was still trying this role play of mine, that one of the papers from his hands slipped on to the driveway and I as anyone would do, ran and fetched the paper to him. I did steal a glance and was convinced about what looked like a page from a manuscript. It has small paragraphs which looked like excerpts from a chronicle or a personal diary.

I handed him the paper and waited for him to thank me. He did and then what followed was something that you would need no second guessing. I greeted him saying that I work here in the adjacent building and that I see him every day in the same spot probably doing the same thing. He did ask me if I ever wondered what he does. I acknowledged with a nod and a smile that lingered for some time.

His name was Russian and his accent was funny, though the voice was stern. He works across the street and tells me that he is a proof reader and a translator. He is currently working on the memoirs of an Investment Banker whose origins are from a small town in Russia and who had come to this country long time back and made it big in oil trade. 

I wished him luck and suggested that we play chess someday. He smiled back and nodded. I left him to his papers expecting him to see him tomorrow at the same spot doing the same thing he does every day.