The Writers' Circle

Chapter 1.  A New Shop Opens on Lamma Island

It was a typical Sunday morning on Lamma Island before the weekend local "tourists" crowd began to arrive on the ferries.  It would be a good hour before all the shops and eateries open.  The peace and quiet was punctuated only by the occasional bicycles coming "ding-ling, ding-ling" down the single narrow street that ran through the entire island (the locals called this the "Main Street").  Near the heart of Main Street, a new shop opened today.  It was a very low-key opening, without fanfare or the obligatory flower baskets.   The place used to be an eatery and had been boarded up for a few months.  Now, it emerged with a new sign: "The Coffee Pot".   Through the glass storefront windows, the place looked like a cross between a library and a low rent "Starbuck" café.  The walls on the right and left were lined with full-height bookshelves that were filled with books.  At the middle of the floor were a few small round coffee tables surrounded by two long couches and several armchairs.  Walking inside, you would have the distinct feeling that you were in your own sitting room where you could relax, enjoy your coffee and read one of your favorite books.   The furniture while of good quality and in good conditions looked a bit used.  Against the wall at the far end, there was a counter.  There you would find a brand new, shinny coffee machine, the commercial kind.  Upon the wall next to the machine a poster read:



Fresh Ground Dark Roasted
Columbian Mountain Grown
$20 per cup
Refill at Same Price

Best Served Straight Up
If You Insist on Cream or Sugar
Bring Your Own!!

Please Deposit Money Through Slot  ?
Sorry, no change!
                                                      J.R.


The arrow pointed to a lock box that was built into the counter with a slot on top.  The book selves were filled with a wide selection of fiction and non-fiction works from some of the most popular authors and a few obscure ones.  There was even a section for cookbooks from around the world.  They were all used books, but were kept in very good condition.  A small poster on the wall read:



These Books Are for You and Others to Enjoy 
Please Treat Them as You Would with Your Own
And Return to Their Original Place

You're Welcome to Donate Your Books
There's Always Room for More

Thanks!       
                                                                                             J.R.


Presently, the place was empty except for a man sitting in one of the armchairs.  He was sipping coffee from a cup.  The wonderful aroma of the best Columbian Mountain Grown permeated the air.  John (his name) was in his late fifties, medium height and wiry-built.  He wore hikers' sandals and a white T-shirt over jeans that were cut-off at the knees.  He was well tanned and his long hair was turning grey and he kept them neatly combed to the back of his head and tied into a stubby ponytail.  Nursing a moustache and wearing frameless spectacles, he looked an oriental version of Willy Nelson - the iconic American country singer.  

It took him a few minutes to finish his coffee.  Then he walked to the counter where the lock box was, took out a 20-dollar bill and slipped it through the slot.  He smiled and started walking toward the door.  Hmmm, a fully self-serviced place where you could enjoy wonderful coffee and browse from a wide selection of books - no shopkeeper or cashier - operates on simple trust - let's see how it goes!   

He stepped onto the street, put on his straw hat, switched to his wrapped around Ray Ban sunglasses and headed in the direction where the beach was.  On the pier at a little distance, the first wave of noisy local tourists has just disembarked.  They have escaped from the concrete jungle of the city and were looking forward to a fun and relaxing day on Lamma Island where there were no traffic noise or automobile exhaust, but an easy, laid-back charm of a uniquely bohemian ambience.

John sat down on a rock under the shade, took his palmtop from his bag, and started punching the tiny keys with a pencil for a while, then stopped.  Looking out to the beach and the calm sea, he felt the cool morning breeze on his face.  Soon in a few hours, the sun would be high in the sky and it would be too hot even under the shade.  So, this is what it feels like writing full-time!   He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then started punching at the tiny keys again.

Chapter 2.  J.R. - "Just Retired"

Six months ago you wouldn't have recognized John.  He kept his hair short and closely trimmed.  He was always clean-shaven and wore a suit and tie except when he was at home.  He was an account manager at the local branch of a Swiss investment bank, living in a luxury service apartment at the Mid-level, driving a late model BMW, all part of his executive compensation package.   

Since his divorce several years ago, he had been dating a string of lady friends - a woman he knew from work, a woman he met at a business cocktail party, a woman he met at the swimming pool of the resident club, a woman he met at the private tennis club - all were short-term affairs lasting no more than a few months each.  Easy come, easy go, with no strings attached, he was quite contented with himself until something happened about six months ago.

A close colleague, Emil, decided to kill himself and succeeded.  According to the police forensics report, Emil moved his BBQ to his bedroom, lighted the charcoal, shut the windows, and sealed the bedroom door with duct tape.  It was in the summer.  He left the air condition on.  Then he put on the VCD that was taken at his wedding, and pressed "auto replay".  He got into bed, holding Mei-Mei (a Pekinese) in his arms.  

After Emil had missed work for two days, John contacted Emil's ex-wife (Kate) who in turn notified the police.  They found him and the dog in bed snuggled together.  Emil bought the puppy (Mei-Mei) for Kate soon after their wedding.  The marriage lasted almost ten years.  Kate left the dog to Emil (and took just about everything else) before she moved back to Canada.  Emil lighted the charcoal a couple of months later.  He left no messages to anyone.   

John and Emil were friends from college and they have worked at the same bank for over ten years.  Emil was the best man at John's wedding.  When John and Mary broke up several years ago, Emil was there to help John get over the hump.  No one knew how Emil's suicide must have affected John, but he resigned from the bank a week later.  He told his boss: "I need to find out what life is really all about, and I can't do it while I'm working here!"   He quitted the next day and donated all his suits and ties and expensive shoes to charity.  He let his hair grow and stayed out in the sun a lot.  He lost twenty pounds.  

One day about two months ago, an idea struck him.  He took the ferry to Lamma Island and he walked into the first real estate agent he saw and a few minutes later, signed a lease for a small residential flat and a vacant shop on Main Street.  He instructed the agent to keep his identity confidential.  "I'm trying out a new business concept at the shop, and it's important that no one knows that I'm behind it," he told the agent.  Then he started refurbishing the shop.  He did most of the work himself behind the closed rolling shutters, so no one knew he was the owner of "The Coffee Pot" when it was opened this morning. 

Always a handyman around the house, John was a self-taught electrician.  He has installed a timer mechanism that would open the rolling shutters and unlocked the door at a preset time in the morning, and at a preset time at night, a female professionally recorded announcement would be heard over a small loudspeaker: "Attention please, dear customers!  The Coffee Pot will be closed in 5 minutes.  The door and shutters will be locked up automatically.  You should prepare to leave the premises now.  When you hear a buzzer, you will have only one minute to clear out.  Please visit us again soon.  Thank you and have a good night!"  

He has contracted someone to visit and clean the place a few times a day.  The coffee supplier would come and replenish the stock, check on the coffee machine and the water purifier on a regular schedule.  All John had to do was to go into the shop and emptied the lock box once in a while.  He has made it a very large lock box so it could hold the cash in case he wanted to go on trip for days or maybe even weeks.  

He has planned this absentee shop-keeping down to the last detail so he could do what he was planning to do for his retirement: to write full-time and to travel as much as he would like to.  He has written and has amused his friends with a few short stories and poems which were quick, easy pieces.  He was now eager to write a novel, something that required deep personal involvement, something that could be taken seriously - something he has not done before.  

He was attracted to the idea of owning a café where he could observe and study people from different walks of life, so he might meet new characters and discovered new experiences to include in his yet-to-be novel.  He fancied the idea of being able to mingle and interact with the customers without disclosing his role as the owner.  He thought this undercover, voyeuristic experiment could be a lot of fun.  But most of all, he wanted to live on Lamma Island where the slow-paced and laid-back lifestyle was a far cry from the rat-race he had to endure in the city.   I must have inner peace and tranquility if I am to do any serious writing, he convinced himself.