The Eccentric Old Man and the Two Books

Winter came again, and Loren Morgan was already ten years old.

Heavy snow blanketed the hillsides, the branches, and the thatched roofs, turning everything into a vast expanse of white.

Pete no longer took the sheep out to graze. Everyone had stored up food for the winter, along with fodder for the sheep. The residents at the foot of the mountain stayed home making handicrafts to trade for money in the city, picking up daily necessities while they were there.

Whenever the sun came out, Mr. Bates would not let Loren go up the mountain, saying the glare would damage his eyes. When he had nothing to do, Loren caught animals in the woods or searched for plants that could be eaten in winter, but most of the time, he had to attend school.

Mr. Bates had prepared some old textbooks and a dictionary in advance. Loren leafed through them whenever he was free. He helped the teacher and people at the church copy documents and letters, quickly mastering the material. Mr. Bates said he would achieve great things.

The school was in the small town at the foot of the mountain. Every morning, Mr. Bates took Loren down on a sled, then carried him back on his back in the evening. The days passed one after another.

On Christmas Eve, a traveling band arrived in town, and Loren arranged with Pete to watch their performance together.

Red ribbons and little colored lights hung from the trees along both sides of the road, while festive music played in the shops. Restaurants and bars were packed with people, bathed in warm yellow light.

Pete and Loren wore baggy sweaters and sheepskin coats, each with a gray-and-white striped scarf.

Loren kept both hands in his pockets and watched Pete wolf down a roasted sweet potato bought from a street stall.

"This band is pretty strange. They call themselves the Nornir, but they're all male musicians." Loren gave it some thought. England in the eighties probably did not have twenty-three genders yet.

"Why do you care about that? As long as we have fun, isn't that enough?" Pete did not care in the slightest.

"The show won't start for a while. There's a little market over there. Want to take a look?" Loren was interested. He had saved up some pocket money himself.

"You go ahead. I'd rather sit inside than keep getting blasted by the cold wind." Pete shook his head.

Loren went to browse the market and asked Pete to save him a seat. The little market was actually just a few hawkers setting up stalls in the alley behind the performance hall, taking advantage of one of the town's rare lively occasions to sell small goods.

There were wool socks, gloves, Easter eggs, Russian nesting doll toys, and all sorts of strange things. Loren even saw a Chinese Nine Rings puzzle. But he only wandered around and looked; he did not particularly want to buy anything. He was simply curious.

Near the end of the street, Loren saw a thin, white-haired old man in an immaculate formal suit. He sat there slowly sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

A blanket made from some unknown animal's fur lay before the old man, with only two large books placed on it. The passersby and the hawkers all seemed unable to see him. Loren grew curious and walked over.

"Hello, sir. May I take a look at those two books?" Loren greeted him.

Hearing the childish voice, the old man looked up, seemingly surprised by the child's question.

Loren looked into the old man's eyes, sunken deep in their sockets. He could not describe their color. They simply felt ancient, as though mystery itself were about to seep out through them.

"Of course. They're for sale, after all." The old man smiled casually.

Loren crouched down and reached out to flip through the two books. One was in English, titled "Complete Guide to Hieroglyphs." It was even thicker than a dictionary and looked hand-copied, with neat writing on material somewhat like parchment.

The other book had no title. The moment Loren touched it, his mind suddenly went hazy. When he opened the title page, the instant his gaze fell upon it, he felt as though he were about to be sucked into the book. The sensation flashed and vanished in an instant, as if it had only been an illusion.

The title page said it had been written by a man named Abraham, but Loren could not understand the words that followed.

There were more illustrations afterward. The pages felt like soft bark, thin and few in number, bound together with copper rings.

The two books seemed to concern some kind of occult subject.

"How much?" Loren planned to buy them as something to read for amusement.

"Oh, you really intend to buy them?" The old man looked delighted.

"Of course, if the price is right." Loren worried that the man might raise the price on the spot.

"Forgive me for asking, but do you happen to do some kind of copying work?" The old man seemed highly interested, as though he cared more about the boy before him than selling the books.

Loren did not quite understand what he meant, but he answered honestly anyway. "Yes. I help the teacher and people at the church copy documents and letters."

"Hahaha, good! How very interesting." The old man suddenly burst out laughing.

When he had first acquired that book, he had been overjoyed. But after translating the words after the title page, he found that they read, "Other than High Priests and book copyists, anyone who reads this book will suffer a vicious curse."

Before giving away The Book of Abraham, he had casually asked Loren whether he did copying work. Just as he had expected, Loren did.

The old man looked at the child before him as though he were seeing himself from centuries ago.

Seeing that Loren looked a little frightened, he added, "Sorry. I was reminded of something from a long time ago."

The old man said no more. Instead, he wrapped the two books in the blanket and handed them to Loren.

"Thirteen Pound Sterling, then," the old man said casually.

Loren's heart stirred. He had exactly thirteen Pound Sterling on him. Whether it was a coincidence or something else, this old man was deeply strange.

He handed the money to the old man and accepted the books.

After putting away the money, the old man stood, adjusted his clothes, and walked away. "That will be all. We will meet again, Loren."

This little fellow already had fluctuations of magic power around him. The Book of Admittance surely knew his name already. They would meet again.

Loren nodded dumbly. On the way to the performance hall, he kept wondering where that old man had tucked away his coffee and little stool. He really looked like some kind of charlatan.

He decided to treat the two books like stories and not look up any information even if he could not understand them.

That was how it always went in television dramas. A mysterious person gave you a mysterious thing, and the more you investigated it, the deeper you fell into the trap they had prepared for you. People like that were never up to any good!

By the time he entered the performance hall, the show had already begun. Loren looked around and found Pete in the front rows to the right of the stage.

Pete spotted him too, stood up, waved, and called out, "Hey! Loren! Over here! This band really is interesting."

After greeting each other, Loren sat beside Pete and watched the performance.

Nearly all the musicians onstage were long-haired men. It was not the outrageous rock-and-hip-hop act Loren had imagined. They played songs in all kinds of styles; it was a proper band performance.

The musicians onstage stirred up the mood, and the audience below clapped, screamed, and laughed along with them. The town rarely had moments of joy like this.

People around Loren discussed how most of the songs were unfamiliar, but every style was distinctive.

"This band is incredible!"

"Once their tour ends, they'll definitely release their own record!"

"They're definitely going to become famous!"

A group of young people shouted like that.

Loren's restless heart gradually settled with the music and dancing.

In a winter like this, at a Christmas like this, he began to miss Grandpa Bates's cheese, Joyce's embrace, and the cookies Mr. Bambur had given him that day...

What had those cookies tasted like again? Loren felt time had passed too quickly. He could not even remember what Mr. Bambur looked like anymore...