What They Carried · What the Rain Kept · Pulse Beat
They packed the shop into forty-three cartons. It took four days. The books, which had once seemed so innumerable, turned out, wrapped and counted, to be a manageable weight. He gave away three…
They packed the shop into forty-three cartons.
It took four days. The books, which had once seemed so innumerable, turned out, wrapped and counted, to be a manageable weight. He gave away three hundred to the lane's children. He sold six hundred to a dealer in Kolkata. He kept eleven hundred, which would fit in a rented storeroom, and the stamp, and the receipt with the plan on it, and the guest book, and the ledger.
Tara packed the poetry herself, shelf by shelf, in silence, wrapping each volume in newspaper as if it were a bird.
"You'll want these," she said, handing him a carton at the door. "They are the ones people asked for."
"Tara."
"Don't." She set the box down very gently. "I can't be strong at the same time as I say goodbye. I can only do one."
"Then be the other thing."
"Which?"
"Whatever you are," said Ishaan, "when you are not being brave."
She laughed, helplessly, with her eyes shut. He put his arms round her, and neither of them moved for a long time.