Free Silence Is Golden by Laura Mercuri Page A

turn the corner just before the flower shop, and Aris appears out of nowhere. I start in surprise.
    “Damn it! You scared me,” I exclaim. This time, my heart isn’t just pounding because of him. He seems mortified, and I immediately backpedal. “I’m sorry,” I add. “I was lost in thought, and you came out of nowhere—”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Are you always so quiet?”
    He shrugs without answering and holds out a package.
    “Is this for me?”
    He nods and gestures for me to open it. I do so, and find myself clutching a tattered copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I look up at Aris, and this time it’s my turn to be silent.
    “I wanted to help you fill your new bookshelf. Have you read it?” he asks.
    I shake my head and open the cover. There’s a dedication inside that reads “To Tommaso. Never forget,” and it’s signed “Adele.” I gaze at him questioningly.
    “It was given to my father when he was my age, and he gave it to me before he died. He always said that he didn’t fully understand it, but that he really liked it and wanted me to read it.”
    I’m shocked. I can’t believe he’s giving me something that belongs to him, and I can’t believe what he’s just said to me. It’s as if he’s stolen my words, because I can’t find any to say.
    “I hope you’ll enjoy it,” he adds, turning to leave.
    I finally find my voice after he’s taken a few steps. “Aris.”
    He stops and looks at me without moving.
    “I can’t accept this. It’s yours. Your father gave this to you.”
    He shrugs, smiling. This drives me crazy, and I run up to him. His smile fades, and he seems almost scared of me.
    “You can’t always do that,” I say, almost shouting. “Speak to me. Tell me why you want me to have this. It must mean a lot to you. Why are you giving it to me?”
    He stares at the ground, looking trapped. He finally lifts his head. “Just read it.”
    And then he’s gone.
     
    I return to the bookstore later that afternoon and find a note from Helga, saying that she went to see Mr. Moser at the school and that she’ll see me tomorrow. Incredible! In the few months I’ve been working here, this is the first time that Helga has left me alone for a whole afternoon! I savor the pleasure of being alone, without her pointed gaze following me everywhere, although I must admit I’m almost fond of her by now. I bet we’ll have more customers without her scowl around. I position myself at the computer and fire it up to resume my previous day’s work on the catalog. I glance at my bag and resist the temptation to pull out Aris’s book. Once I’d gotten past my irritation at his behavior, I’d felt happy. This gift was an unexpected gesture, and I’m praying that it means my feelings are reciprocated and that our wires aren’t crossed. With Aris, however, nothing is ever certain. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tells me tomorrow that he really just intended for me to read the book and nothing more.
    Then I remember that his father passed away. I wonder when and how old he was. And who was Adele? That’s a French name. Maybe she’s one of his father’s old flames? I can’t imagine I’ll ever find out. Or maybe Aris will end up telling me the whole story someday, as casually as if he’s talking about the weather. What I do know is that if I ask him directly, he’ll never say anything. At least I know that much now: he only does what he wants, when he wants. Or maybe he just does what he can.
     
    Later I decide that I’m done working on the catalog. After this morning’s computer tutorial with Helga, I’m sick of staring at the computer screen. With only a twinge of guilt, I pull Aris’s book from my bag. Will reading it tell me more about him? Will it help me to understand him better? I don’t know. I just know that I have to try. After rereading the dedication, I’m about to turn to the first page when someone enters the store.
    “Good afternoon,