Ten Tributes to Calvino Read Online Free Page B

blank spaces above all the empty lines.”
    “Who are you talking to?” I wondered.
    “The reader, who is the main character near the end of this story.”
    “It seems you are quite Calvinoesque already!”
    He nodded gratefully but remained silent until we entered the woods. Then he craned his head upwards in surprise. “Who are all those men sitting in all those trees?”
    “Viscounts,” I replied, “but they aren’t non-existent, so ignore them. It’s not far now but we aren’t there yet.”
    How it happened I don’t know, but I clearly took a wrong turning and our destination remained elusive. The forest became darker and stranger and I couldn’t find my way back out. We were thoroughly lost. At last I stopped the car near a large hut.
    “I’ll go in there and ask directions,” I said.
    “I’ll come with you,” he answered.
    We entered the hut together. It was a sort of hostel or refuge for walkers and climbers and it was full of people, but after only a few minutes I realised they were all writers who had hoped to change styles but ended up here instead. One Irish author told me that he wanted to explore Joycean territory and had gone looking for it on a very drunken horse.
    “That was after an experience I had in the oddest restaurant in Dublin,” he added. “I wasn’t happy with the service and so ordered a new waiter. To my astonishment the old waiter came back with a tray and one of those big silver coverings I don’t know the name of. He lifted it to reveal a tiny man with impeccable manners and a napkin.”
    “You got what you ordered,” I pointed out.
    “Maybe. But a tiny man like that wasn’t much use to me, so I asked for another replacement. The tiny man had his own tray and silver covering which he lifted to reveal an even smaller waiter. I demanded yet another. The next one was truly minuscule and they kept getting smaller. I expect that sort of thing in Cork but not in Dublin. Finally I galloped away to safety.”
    “A sensible precaution,” I observed very helpfully.
    Then I saw that CCCP Snow was growing agitated. He didn’t like being around other writers, especially as they were all more interested in themselves than in him. He felt intimidated by a sailor who introduced himself as Captain Nothing and explained how he had sailed here down a narrow stream looking for Conradian themes. Another fellow had been hoping to tread ground already covered by Kafka. His failure in this regard wasn’t quite Kafkaesque enough to satisfy him.
    Although I am a very helpful man, there is a limit to what I am prepared to do. I didn’t know where I was, so there was no way I could return my passenger to the market where I found him, much less drop him off in Calvinoesque territory. I am a very helpful man but I rarely keep my promises. Because I am so very helpful I tend to make promises I can’t keep. Let that be a helpful warning to you. Take my hand and shake it to prove my good faith.
    Thanks. Now I have a firm grip on your hand I can pull you into this story. Too late to resist! Take my hat and coat as well. You look just like me and CCCP Snow will never notice the difference. While you deal with him, I’ll slip out and make my escape. He’s coming over now. Thanks again! Farewell.
    “I dislike this place. I think it’s time to leave.”
    “I’m not the man who drove you here. My name is ____ . I was innocently reading this story when I was dragged out of the real world and onto the page. I hate literary tricks like that.”
    “Well I’m planning to use more of them in my next book. I’m moving away from social realism. What did you say your name was again?”
    “It’s ____ . Actually my full name is ____  ____ .”
    “Don’t you have a middle name?”
    “If I do, it’s ____ . If I don’t, I can’t help you.”
    “But you’re supposed to be a very helpful man.”
    “You must be mixing me up with someone else.”
    “Do you have any idea where we are?”
    “This