CHAPTER 4 - THE VILLAGE STORE AND MAGICAL WINDOWS

Sofia loved going to the store.

At the border village, it was sometimes easy to forget that the streets didn't only lead into the village, but also out of it. But being located at the border - at any border - obviously meant that one part of the world was both ending and just beginning. It all depended on where one was coming from. Since nobody ever went to or came from Nihon, there was only one direction to go. If one went, that was. Sometimes, people left for a while, to explore or to escape, but when they came back, they were met with a deliberate withholding of curiosity. No questions were asked, no quizzical stares given. As soon as they had settled in again, everybody pretended that they had never been gone.

But the goods on sale in the store proved that there was a world beyond the village, despite this reluctance to admit it. There was food and drink of all provenance, though not all of it appealing to everybody. There were fabrics, both plain and sturdy, and colorful and whimsical. There were tools for building and tools for making, and even tools for having, just in case they would become necessary. There were books with letters and books with pictures, and some with both. Though the supply of books was rarely re-stocked, because people who distrust physical travel also often distrust travel of the imaginary kind.

When Sofia got there, Pip and Tin were engrossed in one of their mysterious games in front of the shop. Their uncle was the shopkeeper, and he preferred to keep the boys close by so that he could call them in to help. Yet, despite his efforts, the twins showed no signs of enthusiasm when it came to any kind of work. They obeyed his instructions only when he insisted, and never lifted a finger without being prompted. As soon as their uncle's attention waned, they slipped away again.

Sofia tiptoed towards the boys, so they wouldn't conceal what they were doing. They had drawn an elaborate net of lines on the ground and were moving white and black stones in formations that made sense only to them. To Sofia, it was like gibberish in the form of stones. Still, she was curious.

"Attack!" Sofia heard one of them say. She thought that it had been Tin.

"Who are you attacking there, Tin?" she said loudly, grinning as they both jumped to their feet.

"I'm Pip," the boy said.

"Are you sure?" Sofia teased.

Pip's face went almost purple, and Sofia remembered that she had intended to be nicer to them.

"What are you playing?" she said conciliatory.

"We are playing War," Tin said.

"The Great Wars," Pip boasted as if he had something to make up for.

His brother punched him in the side. "Shh," he made.

Sofia sucked in her breath, trying not to show her surprise. It was the second time someone had mentioned this expression, today. Maybe she hadn't been paying attention, but she couldn't remember a single time that she had heard it before. Wars could hardly be kept a secret, though. Maybe she had heard about it in another term? Or maybe she hadn't been paying attention. Though that was unlikely.

"You and your little kids' games," Sofia said with deliberate boredom. "I know all about the Great Wars, so don't you worry about me."

"You do?" Tin asked, suspicious.

"Sure. I'm only surprised that you know about it, since you usually don't know anything."

"We know a lot!" Pip protested.

"Much more than you," Tin added, but he was looking at his feet.

Sofia shrugged her shoulders. "So, which color is for Nihon?" she asked as if it was no big deal to mention it.

The boys looked around to make sure that nobody was around to overhear them.

"White," Pip whispered.

"This is the Battle of Saguran," Tin said, pointing towards a cluster of white stones that were almost completely encircled by black stones.

"Ah, that one," Sofia said as if she couldn't care less. Inwardly, she felt like a pot of boiling water, about to explode.

"Do you want to know how we are playing the ambush?" Tin said, now desperate to make an impression.

"Su- sure."

Tin turned around a few of the white stones. They were painted black on the other side.

"Yes, that's very clever," Sofia said, not understanding what it meant, wondering how the boys could know so much more than she did. It also crossed her mind that they were only making stuff up, and that this was a silly children's game that she was much too grown-up for.

"Can I play, too?" she asked, suddenly feeling shy.

At this, the boys turned fire-red and placed themselves in front of their game as if preparing to physically defend it.

"This is our game."

"You don't know anything about it."

Sofia felt tears rising. She didn't like the twins anyway, they were stupid and immature, and on the few occasions she played with them she was always bored. She looked past them, fighting the impulse to push them aside and kick away the stones. But Aunt Sybil had given her enough leeway for one day, and she wouldn't be so forgiving if she got into a fight with Pip and Tin.

She snorted with as much disdain as she could muster.

"I don't want to play with you, anyway," she said. "I have a new friend, and she knows much better games than you."

Pip knitted his brows together. "What friend?"

Sofia almost stuck out her tongue, but she figured that she was above such childish gestures. "She's a secret," she said and turned on her heels before the boys could voice their disbelief.

She pushed open the door to the store. The doorbell played its familiar ding-a-ling as she entered. Sofia blinked away the tears, and Pip and Tin's laughter ebbed off behind her.

The village store was much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. From the outside, it fit in discreetly with the other houses, except for a sign above the door that said Groceries, Tools and more. It used to say ... and everything you dream about, but the villagers had not appreciated the lofty notion, and the name had been changed.

Of this, Sofia knew nothing, but the store owner, Mr Borrealis, reminded himself of it daily, with a sadness that kept accumulating like drops of water in a bucket.

"Sofia! What a lovely surprise," Mr Borrealis called out as he saw her.

He was a large man with a loud ebullient voice, brimming with happiness on the outside and melancholia on the inside. His face was round and joyful, and he had a long, thin mustache that he carefully curled every morning with a hot iron and tried in vain to keep in place with an oily pomade that smelled like cured fish. He never achieved the symmetry he was aiming for, and since he had the unfortunate habit of touching his face when he was immersed in his thoughts, his mustache became more lopsided as the day went on.

"Hello, Mr Borrealis," Sofia said politely because she liked the old man enormously and had more than once wished that she could trade places with the twins, and work in the shop with him. She would never be too lazy to help or sneak away when she wasn't supposed to. Not often, at least.

"I was just about to call in one of my no-good nephews to help me stock the shelves, but I would much rather you help me, and not just," here he winked at Sofia, "not just because you are much less clumsy than those boys."

"I'd love to," Sofia said, delighted. She dropped her shopping bag in the corner. "I'm just picking up a few things for dinner, but Aunt Sybil didn't say that I needed to return right away."

"Ah, clever girl. Omission is the same as permission, isn't it?"

Sofia shrugged with a guilty little smile.

"Did you pass my nephews outside? What are they up to?"

Sofia felt her face redden, but Mr Borrealis was already stepping up the ladder and didn't see it.

"I never understand their games. They were playing with stones."

"Strange boys, those two."

"They never want to play with me." Sofia couldn't keep herself from saying. She sounded hurt and regretted right away having said it.

Mr Borrealis looked at her for a moment. "Like I said. They are strange boys."

Sofia handed him the tin cans of pickled beets that he had just started to stock. He put one next to the other with as much care as if they were living beings, turning the labels so that they stood in a straight line. His face was serene as if he was finding great pleasure in the task. Sofia didn't know anybody who was as dedicated and appreciative of the things around him as Mr Borrealis.

A few years ago, she had found herself staring out of the windows of the store. She had noticed something that she had not understood and therefore had not known how to talk about. Sunlight had been pouring in with a light orange color, and the trees outside had been gleaming as if their leaves had been polished. The sky had looked as soft as a blanket of cornflowers. The whole store had been immersed in soft and pleasant light, but outside, the day had been grey and drab, the skies hanging low and wet, almost touching the ground. She had been completely certain of that, and the difference between outside and inside had made no sense to her.

Mr Borrealis had approached her with a careful expression on his face, following her gaze out the window. "I had them made specially," he had told her in a confidential tone, his voice as low as a whisper. "Because they make me happy, and everybody who comes in is immediately in a better mood."

He had looked at Sofia and had put his finger to his lips, saying, "Shhh," in a very earnest manner, not like he did when he was kidding around with her. They had never mentioned the windows again, but sometimes Mr Borrealis saw her looking at them, and he would repeat the confidential gesture and smile.

But when he put his finger to his lips this time, Sofia felt unable or unwilling to play along as she had always done.

"How come nobody talks about the windows in the store?" she asked. "And why don't people have them in their houses, too?"

Mr Borrealis looked surprised that she would break their wordlessly agreed upon silence.

"People here tend to see only what they want to see, and ignore everything that could make them question their way of living."

"Why would anybody question their way of living because of windows that make the outside look pretty?"

Mr Borrealis climbed down the ladder and folded the cardboard box that had held the tins. He put it away neatly behind the counter in a stowaway compartment for just this purpose.

"People question their lives for the oddest of reasons."

He went behind the counter, and Sofia followed him, picking up her bag. She chose a few vegetables that were still almost fresh, and looked quietly at the bags of dried beans for a while as if it was important to select the right ones.

"You will soon turn twelve, won't you, Sofia?" Mr Borrealis asked.

"I think so," Sofia said, "but I don't know when my birthday is, so maybe it has happened already."

"You don't know when your birthday is?"

"I once asked Aunt Sybil, but she said that babies are birthed every day of the year, and it is nothing special at all. She said that celebrating birthdays is a way for simpletons to pass their time and drink."

"Ah." Mr Borrealis smiled. "Maybe that last remark was not aimed at you. But children should have birthdays."

Sofia pulled her lips into a flinch and didn't meet Mr Borrealis' eyes. She agreed with Aunt Sybil and thought that birthdays were very silly.

"My own birthday was about two months ago," Mr Borrealis said. "I came to the store early that day, and I chose the largest piece of chocolate cake for myself. I sat by the window as I ate it, and I closed my eyes and listened to the birds." He smiled at Sofia. "It was very nice."

Sofia shrugged uncomfortably. "Aunt Sybil is the smartest person I know," she said.

Mr Borrealis nodded.

"That's true. She's probably the smartest person in the village, and even beyond. There is not a fact in the world that I wouldn't trust your aunt to know. But there is more to life than facts, and sometimes, the smartest people are also the dumbest people."

Sofia stared at him. She couldn't help the crazy giggle that escaped her. It felt outrageous to associate Aunt Sybil with the word dumb.

Mr Borrealis started laughing as well.

"Do not tell her I said that, or I will be in big trouble."

He wagged his finger, and they both kept snorting.

"Why are you in such a queer mood, today, Sofia?"

Sofia shrugged her shoulders, looking away.

"I'm not," she muttered. Then she said, "I don't know why."

"I think you do. But it is fine if you don't want to tell me. I am sometimes in a queer mood, too. My wife says that I should put both my feet firmly on the ground and feel that there is the ground and nothing but the ground. And then I should get on with my life." Mr Borrealis looked at Sofia. "Do you think that is good advice?"

"It sounds reasonable."

"Yes, I guess it does. But I am just an old dreamer. A romantic fool." He smiled sadly. "I wish for things that are out of reach. But if they were within reach, I would probably reject them with the same vigor as everybody else, or maybe even more, because that is the way of fools."

Sofia frowned. "If what was within reach?"

The question seemed to pull him out of his reverie. He shook his head so that his mustache trembled, and laughed a fake and booming laugh.

"Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all."

He handed her the bag, and put a small net of candied walnuts on top of her groceries.

"Those are only for you," he said, with a wink that almost resembled his usual manner. "Run along now, it is going to be dark soon."

Sofia followed his gaze towards the window where a soothing sunset was announcing itself in blurred shades of yellow, pink and orange. She knew that the sky would look nothing like this outside, where nighttime fell quickly in dark grey and blue.

She thanked Mr Borrealis, and as she turned to leave, she heard him muttering to himself,

"The world is the way it is. No point in dreaming, no point in dreaming at all."