The Author

 

The world for the last three years was completely dark for the fifty-five-year-old Haruto Saito. It had been some three years ago when he had met with an almost fatal accident. Though his life had been saved by the doctors, but his eyes had got permanently damaged, ultimately leading him to become blind. Devastation had engulfed him. He wasn’t concerned about the worldly enjoyments that he would miss, he only disappointment was the fact the he wouldn’t be able to write anymore. For him it was equivalent to not writing was equivalent to not living.

Haruto Saito was a decent selling author for the last five years. He had always wanted to be an author but all his life due to family commitments and professional life, he hardly found anytime to write, and even if found time, he could hardly complete anything that he had started. Finally, taking a break from family life and professional work, Haruto had confined himself in an unknown location far away from the city of Tokyo where he resided with his family. It was just the beginning of nineties. Though computers were on their way to replace typewriters for majority of authors all around the world, but for Haruto, his typewriter was his sole friend in the confined apartment.

Inside the secluded apartment, the only sound which his own ears could hear was the that his typing. I between his would eat and sleep and then go for silent work in a disguised makeover. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him and thereby disturb his writing life. Finally at the age of fifty after completing his first novel he had submitted to a publisher at Tokyo. The publisher had rejected his first work without providing any inputs. Subsequently, he had submitted to all the publishers in Tokyo. After a wait of six months, he had received a call from a decent publishing house. They liked what he had written. The money offered was decent and thus his first book was published. The book performed average based upon sales. Haruto was a happy man. He had continued the same process for his next five books that was published over the next five years. All the books had performed average but the publisher had told him to keep going until he had abruptly met with an accident one night while returning home.

Seated at that same secluded apartment, alone with his type writer, he revisited his days of writing in his memory. It had been some one week ago, when Haruto had given an advertisement in the local newspaper for a secretary. Two weeks later, a twenty-five-year-old girl named Sakura had arrived at his writing apartment without any idea of what the job profile was.

“I will dictate and you will type. That’s it. Nothing else.” Haruto had said.

Haruto was a person who wouldn’t give up easily on his only passion that he had developed his entire life. He had planned to give his balance life to writing and literature and that would be the way, only the method would be different. He had already spoken to his publisher and his publisher was ready to take the chance.

The writing process was simple. Every day, form morning 9 to evening 5.30, Haruto would dictate and his secretary, Sakura would type. She was slow but followed his speed effectively. In between they would have lunch and tea that would be served a caretaker of the apartment who was hired by Haruto after he had become blind.

Sakura would often think deeply about the what Haruto would dictate and type without any word. In between to break the silence, Haruto would ask her about her life and family. Apart from these conversations, the only sound that could hear in the apartment was that of the typing on the typewriter.

Six months later, Haruto was ready with his final manuscript of his new novel. He submitted the same to the publishing house. The book was published two months later. In the meantime, Sakura had moved on with her life and lost touch with Haruto.

It was the month of January 1995, when the book was published. It was instant bestseller. The publishing house had been surprised with the sales figure the book was bringing in. Over the next six months, the books sold like hot cakes bringing name and fame along with great royalty payments for Haruto. A Blind Haruto was ecstatic. His family had been proud of him. The publishing house signed a five-book contract with him with an advance payment that would take care of his family for a good amount of time.

Before he would start work on his next book, the biggest newspaper of Tokyo, The Tokyo Journal had organized a book reading event of Haruto’s book where he was invited as a chief guest. Seated a crisply ironed grey shirt and black trouser with black glares over his eyes, Haruto sat awaiting the reader to start reading his book.

As the reader started with the book, and Haruto listened carefully each and every world that came out, his heartbeat fastened, he got excited and his thoughts ran all over. Though the events in the story was as dictated by him, but the language and literary style was not his and not the one that he had dictated. Over the next three hours and the book was read by different readers part by part, Haruto sat there analyzing the event that would have taken place.

It was Sakura, he thought. Though he had dictated everything but Sakura only picked up the events of the story and molded the writing style and language according to her. She had written the word and he had dictated the story. He couldn’t understand what to do. Fidgeting in his chair with his stick in his hand, he realized that Sakura was the actual author of the book. He had only narrated it but Sakura had changed the prose and language and kept intact the story. And now, he was enjoying all the success and money and not Sakura. He wanted to search for her and wanted to meet her and thank her but she wasn’t there with him and he didn’t know where to find her. He didn’t even know her address.

Little did he have any idea, there was a twenty-five-year-old girl seated among the crowd of the listeners and looking at him and smiling. Sakura couldn’t have missed it.

As the book reading session got over, and as the crowd started to disperse, Haruto remained seated his chair. Suddenly he could sense someone seated on a chair next to his. The perfume. He recalled the fragrance of the perfume.

“Sakura?” he said.

There was no reply.

“Sakura? Is it you?” he said again this time in a raised tone.

“Yes, sir.”

He felt relieved. Finally, he could thank her, he thought.

“Thank you, dear,

“Where were you, dear?” He asked.

“Getting ready, sir” she replied as she looked around.

“Getting ready for what?” he asked curiously.

“To type the next book, sir,”

A faint smile appeared on Haruto’s face.

“But there’s a condition this time, child,” he said.

“What condition?”

“Sakura Morito would be the co-author.”