A Book Wrapped In Plastic

There was a table of three young men behind me at the YPF. First they were eating and then they were doing something on a laptop. It was something secretive because they turned the screen away so that I would not accidentally turn and see it.

Later the blond-haired one got up and bought a snack and as he came back he put his hand on my shoulder and he greeted me, smiling. We spoke and I noticed he laughed a little too quickly and easily. He asked me the usual questions I am asked in Argentina, but he did not seem especially interested in my answers.

I went back to my writing and it was going well and I was in the middle of something that I thought might still be good tomorrow when the young blond-haired again put his hand on my shoulder. He was smiling and handed me a thin paperback book wrapped in plastic. There was some poorly rendered image on the cover and I could see it was a religious book and I did not read the title but saw the subtitle. It translated as a book to solve your life problems.

“I cannot accept this gift,” I said to him.

He smiled at me knowingly. “No. It is for you. It will be the answer to your questions.”

“And if I am without questions?”

He smiled more broadly. “All have questions. The book shall answer them. The book shall solve your problems.”

“And if I am without problems either?”

“That cannot be,” he said most certainly.

I pointed to my fully loaded bicycle leaned up outside against the glass.

“Do you see the bicycle?” I asked him.

He nodded and continued to smile knowingly.

“Each day I ride from a place to another place. I sleep the night in a tent. I have food and water. I have money. My map is good. The wind is not a problem and nor is the rain, nor the cold. My body is strong and without malady.”

I paused. I wanted these words to have an effect upon him.

He was looking at me. I could see the smile had weakened just a little.

“I am without problems,” I said. “I do not understand the problems of others.”

I tried to hand the book back to him but he was not ready to take it.

“Then you must be unhappy in a way?” He said hopefully.

“Not at all. To ride a bike each day makes me more happy than I have ever been.”

“Then there is nothing wrong?” He was disappointed. The smile had gone.

“Everything is good.”

“Then you believe in God?” He smiled weakly.

“I do not.”

I handed the book wrapped in plastic to him and he took it this time. He wasn’t angry but I could see that my happiness had troubled him. He walked back to his table and sat down with the other two. Later the other two left and the blond-haired was alone.

I was readying to leave and thought I might try to talk to him. I felt a little bad about refusing his gift. I wanted to tell him about the time I had been unhappy because of a girl. I was sure that would please him. But that had not lasted long and girls did not trouble me at all now, and if they left me before I wanted them to go I was only pleasantly surprised. I could not tell him that. He would want to hear about continuing troubles and continuing unhappiness. But I did not have any of that. I looked in his direction, at the back of his blond-haired head. There was nothing to say to him. As I left the YPF I realized I was smiling.