Back then the subway wasn't as crowded as it is today, and on some nights there was even a bit of silence, especially the moments when the light heel of a girl's shoe struck the smooth floor, sending out a marvelous echo in the slightly empty underground concourse.
Late that fall, twenty-two-year-old Charlotte always heard this sound, at eight or nine o'clock in the evening after the subway rush. She was always in the habit of hovering near the shelves on the innermost floor of the subway bookstore, where she was greeted only by a large row of thick philosophy books, which were almost never taken down. But she could hear those strange footsteps outside, some as if they were rushing off to war, while others were better known as idle strolls. In moments of boredom, she could even tell, by the sound of the footsteps, which of the people outside, running toward the ticket gates, were the women used as vases in office buildings, and which were the men who used them.
At 9:30 p.m., a stranger walked into the subway station.
Charlotte had heard him before he even walked into the Subway bookstore. At the moment the bookstore was as cold as a morgue, not a single customer in front of the shelves. The female cashier was sitting at the counter reading a Joan of Arc book, dozing off after just ten pages, and Charlotte was still in her old habit of standing in the innermost row of the shelves, listening to the sound of footsteps outside.
It was a man, not too old,-his footsteps were getting closer to the door of the shop-maybe he couldn't be more than thirty, for Charlotte knew what the footsteps of a thirty-year-old man sounded like.
He came in.
Charlotte still didn't move; she stood quietly in a corner, somehow trusting the strange man.
The man's footsteps wandered among the shelves in the front row, and though the man was getting closer to her, the sound was getting softer, like a strange wind that sounds loud in the distance and then is silent when it reaches her.
Now, Charlotte could hear no sound, it was as if he had suddenly disappeared in the air, or, perhaps, the strange man did not exist at all, and was purely a figment of Charlotte's imagination. Her eyes fell on a book at the end of the shelf, a collection of Borges' novels, she had read a short story in the book called "The Circular Ruin", a story about the creation of a phantom.
Suddenly, a man's hand picked up the book.
Phantom?Charlotte watched in awe as the man she had imagined to be a phantom appeared.
He appeared without a sound, and instead of disappearing into thin air, he stubbornly intruded on Charlotte's vision - he was dressed in a knee-length black trench coat, black pants and shoes, with a collar that stood up to cover his cheeks, and shiny black hair, all wrapped up in black. Wearing such clothes to travel in the darkness of the night, it was easy to remind people of the Invisible Man.
Charlotte couldn't see his face, only the side of his body. He held the book of Borges' novels in his hand and put it down after reading it quietly for a while, perhaps he had read it long ago. He picked up another book, and Charlotte could vaguely see the word "Castle" written on the cover.
Compared to most of the customers, he was awfully quiet when he read, turning the pages with so little noise that at first glance he looked like a street statue made of black metal. This somehow frightened Charlotte, who was afraid that she might make some kind of noise that would ruin the silence. So she held her breath and stood motionless in a corner, as if she, too, were about to disappear into thin air.
A subway train passed by, breaking the dead silence. Charlotte let out a long breath the moment the subway passed by. Just at the same time, the man in the black trench coat lifted his head up.
He looked at her.
She also looked at him, looking at his special pair of eyes - it was a pair of eyes that could attract countless people, the black eyeballs and pupils appeared to be unfathomable, there seemed to be some kind of mysterious things hidden inside, full of temptation, Charlotte had never seen a man who could have such a beautiful and fascinating eyes, perhaps this was what the ancient books referred to as heavy pupils.
Unfortunately, his gaze was too melancholic, as if it was covered with a layer of mist, otherwise his eyes would have been even more mesmerizing to women.
Charlotte felt that his eyes had a certain penetrating power. She felt that she was completely penetrated by those eyes, and his gaze was like a pair of incredibly gentle hands, delicately touching the skin of her entire body, and the most secret part of her heart. Suddenly, Charlotte's eyes caught a detail as well: his eyebrows raised slightly, as if he noticed something from her.
Charlotte got a little scared and hastily lowered her head, she didn't dare to meet such eyes. From a very young age, her father had always warned her that in everything rich in temptation lay a terrible trap.
When she raised her head again, the man was still looking at her like that. Perhaps it was because their eyes had something in common? Charlotte's mind rambled, and her heartbeat quickened as she secretly warned herself that she shouldn't look like this. However, her capillaries disobeyed her thought control and a scarlet flush flooded her normally slightly pale cheeks.
He looked like he was twenty-seven or eighteen at most, but his gaze was unusually mature, as if Charlotte was nothing more than a shy middle school girl in his eyes. His cheeks were overly thin compared to his mesmerizing eyes, and his face was frighteningly pale, especially against the black trenchcoat with the collar up, with only his lower jaw still glowing with a layer of greenish light. He put the copy of Castle back into the bookshelf and took a few steps inward, only a few meters from Charlotte. It looked like he was still expressionless, but it wasn't the same unearthly look he had a moment ago.
Soon, his gaze moved away from Charlotte's face and landed on the bookshelf, seemingly looking for a certain book. Usually when she saw a customer like this, she would usually take the initiative to ask them what book they were looking for and help the customer find it.Charlotte knew that she should speak, but instead she felt as if something had been shoved down her throat, and she couldn't make any sound. She got a little anxious and put her hand over her throat, gasping for air.
He looked back at her, and though he didn't speak, those eyes seemed to ask "What's wrong?"
Still unable to speak, Charlotte shook her head, unsure of how to express herself. She shook her head, unsure of how to express herself. The other person remained silent, and the two of them froze there, like two mutes who couldn't mime communicating with each other with their eyes.
The bookstore was breathtakingly quiet until the voice of the female cashier at the front of the store broke the stillness.
"Charlotte, where have you been again, it's already nine-three, closing time."
Charlotte snapped back to her senses, but she still didn't say anything, she just gave him a polite nod. The man understood her, of course, and the corners of his mouth quirked upward slightly before he nodded to her as well, with the look of a shy schoolboy.
Without saying a word, he turned and walked away.
Charlotte followed him, watching him walk quickly out of the bookstore. The cashier didn't seem to react, and continued to call Charlotte's name, but Charlotte didn't answer, leaning against the front of the store, watching the man walk to the subway ticket gate, shove his ticket into the machine, and disappear into the passageway leading to the platform.
"What's wrong with you?" The female cashier asked as she walked over to Charlotte's side.
Charlotte let out a long breath before she spoke, "I'm nothing."
She lowered her head and suddenly saw a white object on the floor in front of the store. She bent down and picked it up, it turned out to be a white silk handkerchief, the texture was soft and shiny, the feeling in her hand was very comfortable. In the upper left corner of the handkerchief was also embroidered a beautiful flute.
The female cashier saw the handkerchief that Charlotte picked up and said lightly, "It was left on the floor by that man just now."
Charlotte held the handkerchief with the embroidered flute in her hand and said, "Leave it with me, I'll return it to him."
"Do you know him?"
"No."
"Suit yourself." Before she could say anything else, the cashieress sat on her bag and stormed out of the store, turning back to Charlotte and saying, "Lock the door on your way out."
Charlotte was left alone in the bookstore, and she stood frozen in the doorway, looking out at the subway concourse, which seemed empty at nearly ten o'clock, except for the sporadic sound of footsteps catching the last subway.
Slowly she spread out her hand and stared silently at the flute embroidered on her handkerchief.