Not exactly stolen

Gumon got high on the new found glitter. All famous people shook hands and talked literature to him. Women with heady perfumes surrounded him and his already dizzy head started floating. His fingers ached, signing autographs.

A remotest corner of his heart or brain, he could not make out which one, kept hissing,”Hey cheapo! You don’t belong here. What if you are caught?”

“You have done a great job for a first timer, Mr. Rae,” Someone who sounded important addressed him. Gumon turned back to see a man around sixty years of age, tall and by his looks gave the impression of being rich and powerful.

Gumon preferred talking to beautiful young girls and rich women rather than such men. They had such literary jargon and had a remarkable ability to churn the dinner he had just had inside the stomach.

“I dare say you remind me of someone whom I used to know.” He had piercing honey gold eyes. Gumon could only say “ Oh, well,” and avoided looking into those eyes. He looked around to see if any woman would come to save him. No, not the tall, chiseled and regal- no-nonsense type, but the married-for- money wives; or daughters of rich men who adored fiction writers unquestioningly. Yes, those were the ones who didn’t look beyond his book or story. Also Gumon had a body that diverted women from all other literature things. A regular swimmer, he had developed an athletic body. At thirty five, he looked younger, owing to his boyish face. So no girl minded if he didn’t talk books.

He thanked his stars that he had given a good reading of the book; though he could not understand the inner conflicts of the characters a guy was referring to, sometime back. Neither could he place the subtle nuances he had employed to connect the characters to the contemporary convictions, as observed by the lady who displayed bearing and authority as that of a queen.

“I find it not in your characterization,” the man said in continuation with his previous observation. It’s uncanny1” He extended his hand and said, “I’m David Doubt.”

“Oh, sh*t!” Gumon exclaimed as his eyes fell on Tila. “What?” The writer named Mr. David Doubt raised his right eyebrow slightly and looked in the direction Gumon was staring.

Quick as a cockroach Tila went behind a curtain. Having been born in a family of acrobats being nimble footed  came easily to her. Gumon appreciated her wordlessly in his heart.

“I see your attention is elsewhere, Mr. Rae.” Mr Doubt said in his bell metal voice.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Gumon bowed. “I saw someone pushing a lady to get the lovely cake, the wretch!”That was all he could make up at the moment and the other fellow seemed satisfied.

Gumon excused himself and moved cautiously towards the place where Tila had disappeared. He watched whether Mr. Doubt was following him with his eyes. To his relief, he had gone in the midst of a few gentlemen who were talking loudly. Gumon moved to the restroom, knowing well Tila would follow.

Before he could enter Tila pushed him into a cupboard filled with dirty linen. Gumon pinched his nose and demanded,”What the hell are you doing here?”

“I should ask you that,”she whispered with a smile.

“Alright, it’s a long story,” he sighed.

“You a world class writer, an international award winner, who’s produced a book of over seven hundred pages in a matter of twenty one days; that is to remind you that I had met you twenty one days ago and you didn’t have a single page of novel with you. Your computer was full of games and other nonsense, no stories whatsoever. I know you like stories as much as a dog loves oranges.”  Tila was boring into his eyes.

“Tell me how come you’re here? Spying on my every move, I suppose,” Gumon talked with clenched teeth.

“I work here. I have better things to do than following you. But here I see A Gumon Rae being felicitated for an international award he’s won for his novel. You owe me an explanation after this!” She showed her left hand and a stone studded ring glistened blue in the ray of light that fell on it.

Gumon looked at it with emotions stirring in his heart. In that small space he could feel his baby moving in her slightly bulging stomach.

“You are the girl for me, Tila,” he had professed his love for her, proffering the ring, only twenty one days ago.  With tears in her eyes she had worn it.

“I’m sorry, my girl. But Iyou didn’t tell me you worked here.You had been fired from your job when we met last.”

“A smart girl like me doesn’t stay fired,”she said with pride. “Now go and enjoy yourself, but I’m coming back for the story.” She pushed him lightly outside after a quick check.

The award he had received was a cash award of half a million plus offers from publishers which he could not understand fully. He should ask Tila about it. She was good in knowing things.

The rest of the evening moved on with him acting dumber than he had ever been in his life.

He did not return home with a light heart. He wondered why he had done it. He got his first employment as a clerk in a government office. He had spent nine years of his life in the same position. Tila had come into his life three years ago. For a person who had lost his parents to a terrible accident and ho did not have any one to call close, Tila seemed a fairy. Her energy and wit was infectious and he started adoring her. They met often but she lived with her parents.

He did not even think of getting married to her till that day when she told him that she was pregnant. It shocked him at first. They went to the hospital and he came to know that it was a boy and saw that he had inherited his crooked nose. His love for Tila and the baby grew multiple fold.

The light was on and the coffee flavor reached him through the open window. He didn’t take the key out. The door opened and Tila stretched her arms to hug him.

“Well it’s like this honey,” he started. He narrated the whole story of is finding a lot of manuscripts and typed stories inside a hidden room in a dilapidated building. He never liked any kind of adventure. But the building somehow intrigued him. He knew no one lived there. He had seen the house previously on a number of occasions. He did some exploring as he had nothing to do that week end as Tila had told him she would be away with her family.

The room was in the basement below the broken staircase. The trap door to the basement opened when he had stepped on a broken plank. He brought a full length novel and gave a reading. It was a kind of historical novel and was quite interesting. Incidentally he had come across in a magazine about the international competition for novelists. The rules seemed as if had been made just for him. An unpublished novel was required to be sent and within a week he sent the novel and forgot about it. A month back he was invited to receive the award for his outstanding novel.

He was terrified. He was a person who didn’t have the courage to even dream of such things. He was worried Tila would never accept. But something within him wanted the money, the fame.

He stopped and looked at Tila. She was listening intently.

“What if  the person who has written it is living?” She asked.

“I shall hand over the prize money to him,” replied Gumon.

“It’s not the money. It’s the name,” Tila looked worried.

“That’s where we come in.” The door opened and Mr. doubt and the elegant lady stepped in.

“The award committee knew from the moment it heard you talk, it wasn’t your work. The prize giving ceremony and the party were faked, just to bring out the truth. We are detectives employed by the committee to spy on such fake authors. Such measures will prevent embarrassment in public eye.

“Would you hand over the cheque and tell us the place where you found the manuscripts?”

There was a screech of jeep tyres and before Gumon could realize what was happening, men in uniform handcuffed Mr. Doubt and his companion and took the to the jeep. Within ten minutes there was no trace of anyone there.

“By God Tila, won’t you tell me what’s happening?” gasped Gumon. Tila smiled her calm smile and said, “Author! I could make out those two were cheats. The medal and certificate you have received are real. The cheque is real. You know it as you work in a bank. Why would they give a real cheque if they know you are a fake? So I called the police and explained that they had come threatening us for the money. I sent a photo of the certificate too. Being guilty those two couldn’t talk to the police.

Before you could blurt out the place the police took them away. Even if they keep on telling stories, the police would not believe them as they seem to be seasoned criminals.”

“Criminals! They seemed the most decent people to me!” exclaimed Gumon.

“Now on, I suppose you should start writing.” Quipped Tila.

“There are at least a fifty more in that room. I think I should at least read them all to start writing on my own,” said gumon thoughtfully.