Interest

The most unusual thing happened that Friday evening, when I was up to my elbows in technical diagrams at the office. I wondered what Coffee girl was doing.

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"Annyeoghaseyo," she said softly, sliding into the seat opposite mine on Sunday afternoon. I'd known it the moment she set foot in the café, but had kept my eyes on my paper all the same. When I did look up, she was already thumbing through the pages to find where she'd left off and not paying any attention to me.

"How was the concert?"

Her chin snapped up and she stared at me blankly, no doubt as shocked as I was. I never meant to say that aloud. But I'm always in control of my facial expressions and kept my gaze cool and even, unblinking. It was only idle curiosity, I told myself, there was no harm in asking. Normal people called it friendly.

She was still staring at me.

"On the phone last week," I reminded her. "Someone called you…" Your boyfriend? Or someone else?

Understanding filtered into her eyes and she nodded. "Oh, right. Um- it was fine. Just some local band that my brother likes, at a club. We had fun, I guess." She shrugged and focused on her book again, obviously not inclined to discuss it further. I withdrew to the Journal.

So, not a boyfriend. At least not that one.

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The cold set in for good, and by mid-November the pace of retail purchases had begun to accelerate. Christmas was bearing down on my company, and the mere thought of it triggered a small groan as I slumped into my regular seat. It was the most frantic financial quarter of the year, the annual leap in revenue. But it was also a headache for everyone involved, salesclerk to me, and I arrived at the bookshop now with an audible sigh of relief. For Coffee girl, winter meant flushed cheeks and a red nose, gloves tugged off with her teeth and a contented sigh after the first sip of her steaming drink. There were no more calls, she remembered to turn it off now. For two hours the world shrank to just us, sipping and reading in silence. I loved it and it was clear she did too, but 5:40 would still come with a wistful sigh and reluctant departure. And I asked no more questions, because that world out there didn't belong at our table. She'd made that much clear earlier. And who was I, anyway, to pry into Coffee girl's life? She's one of the few to grant me any privacy at all.

So continued our comfortable routine, until the last Sunday of November, when she dropped into the chair opposite mine. I looked up, in preparation to nod a greeting, but hesitated at the sight of her blank eyes. Her usual enthusiasm was nowhere to be seen, and ditto for the book in her hands.

"Where's your book?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"It's gone," she answered, a little numbly. "There was only one copy on the shelf and it isn't anywhere; someone must have bought it last week."

She looked so lost, and I smothered a derisive snort. "This is probably why most people buy the books before they read them."

Coffee girl flushed a little. "I know I should, and I'd love to. But I just don't have the money to buy all the books that I read, I can only afford a few every year."

That almost embarrassed me. God knows I've earned every penny of it, but I've been surrounded by wealth for so much of my life I'd forgotten the financial limitations of most teenagers. And going by the cheap-brand coat she hung on her chair, she was worse off than most.

She said or did nothing while these thoughts ran through my head, sitting motionless and looking pitiful.

"Are you going to get another one?" I prompted, when the silence dragged on for several seconds.

She shook her head. "I can't start a new book while I'm in the middle of another one. I won't be able to concentrate." Obviously not a multi-tasker. She'd never last long in the business world. "Besides, I'm sure they'll restock soon. It will be here next week." She smiled wanly, unsure what to do with her hands now that she had no reading material. I exhaled impatiently.

"Well I can't concentrate if you're fidgeting like that. Do you want something to read?"

I nodded to my papers – my papers – spread all over the table and she eyed them doubtfully.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to understand any of it."

"Never know until you try." I slid The Economist closer to her side of the table and retreated into the Times, not allowing her another chance to demur. After a few seconds, I heard the faint rustle of glossy pages.

Well it was better than just letting her sit there.

We read in silence for an hour, with only the occasional whisper of a page turned or a soft "hmm" to mark her presence. When I'd finished a particularly thorough article on international labor laws, I looked up to find her frowning at the magazine.

"What is it?"

She jumped at the sound of my voice, and of all things, blushed. "It's nothing," she denied hastily.

"Disagree with something?" I scanned the inverted headline; she'd picked something on interest rates to read and that was a touchy subject.

"Well, no…"

"Then what?"

The blush deepened. "You'll think I'm stupid."

"Maybe."

She looked a little surprised at the candid reply, but I didn't bother to tell her I consider most of my fellow humans to be stupid. Coffee girl wasn't running any risk of standing out.

"This writer is talking about interest rates," she finally admitted. "And he seems to think Korea's interest rate is too high, and it's slowing down our economy."

He was probably right. "Yeah?"

"I hear people talking about interest rates all the time, on the news and so on, but…" Her voice dropped several notches and I had to lean in close to hear. "But I don't know what it means. I read this whole article twice and I still don't understand what an interest rate is."

She looked so mortified that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She cringed when she saw me do that.

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"No," I replied honestly, "you're uninformed. There's a difference. You want to know?"

"Yes, please."

"Interest rate is just another word for price," I said practically. "Except instead of buying a cup of coffee, you're buying a loan. Borrowing money, maybe from a bank. If they lend you any, they'll want it back with a little extra."

"Interest," she supplied, before I could.

"Right. The rate is just how much that extra is, like 5 percent of the amount you borrowed."

"I see!" Her eyes shone and I felt slightly disconcerted, unused to such looks from the few females I know. From anyone I know, actually. She was already re-examining the article by the time I caught my breath. "But why is a high rate so very bad for the economy?"

"Ah, people borrow money to build homes and start businesses, etc. If the rate's too high then people won't borrow, and Korea has less development."

"Oh, that makes sense. But…" Another frown tugged at her lips. "Why is the rate too high, then?"

We were getting into an area where I held rather strong opinions, now, and I eyed her warily. Was that a very stupid question or a very perceptive one?

"The lenders are the coffee sellers," I reminded her. "They want the price, or the rate, to be high."

She shook her head, eyes troubled. "No, that's not what I meant. Why is the rate 'too' high? If coffee is too expensive then people won't buy it, and the shop has to lower the price, right? In fact -" She darted a glance at the café counter and cocked her head quizzically. "- why is it 'the rate'? Why can't every lender just set their own price like every coffee shop sets theirs? How can Korea have just one price?"

Astonishing. Coffee girl just figured out what most politicians can't grasp in a lifetime.

"Good questions," I told her. "I don't understand it either. But for some reason the government feels like it has to set one interest rate for the entire country. The board sets a rate depending on whether they want to slow down the economy or speed it up."

"That's strange."

"I know. But that's the way it is."

"Wow." She looked amazed, by what I assumed was the stupidity of our government. But she was leafing through the magazine and shaking her head. "This stuff isn't so hard to understand after all. It's rather interesting."

I wasn't sure what to say that, so I just grunted. She giggled.

"What?"

"I almost didn't notice when I said that. 'Interest'ing. Get it?"

I stared at her blankly, which only seemed to tickle her more. Interesting indeed. The sheer stupidity of it was laughable in of itself, and her sparkling eyes were too much resist. I smiled.

"So you can," she teased. "I wasn't sure."

I finally became aware of myself, right then, and momentarily froze. What was I doing? Sharing my table and now my magazine with some clueless girl, wasting my time explaining its articles to her, smiling at her stupid pun? This isn't me, didn't I come here for solitude?

Get the hell away from my table, Coffee girl, is what I opened my mouth to say.

"Orca," is what she said before I could.

"What?"

"Number five down, four letters, whale hunter," she read, pointing to my unfinished crossword. "It's orca."

Let's see, 'o' would go into 'body of water' with… lagoon, yes. And eight across, with the 'c', was 'opposite of speech'. Hmm, action.

My pen was already moving as my mind raced ahead, scribbling in the answers. "That's right. How did you know?"

"I like to watch Discovery channel." She smiled bashfully. "I'm not much good at puzzles, but I like English. Number ten across, four letter road, that's la -"

"Sh." I held up a finger for silence and she shut up promptly, properly contrite. "It just so happens that I haven't really started on the crossword yet, I can get the answers on my own."

"I know," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"Thank you." I glared haughtily and began to fill in the holes, skipping those I couldn't answer immediately to return to later. She retreated to The Economist as I worked, browsing its pages in a leisurely way with the occasional frown or raise of eyebrows. I was wondering if she understood anything she was reading, but I wasn't about to ask again. This was my retreat, damn it, this was my time away from the world. I never wanted to share it with her in the first place and I didn't want it now. All I wanted was to be left alone.

And nineteen across. I really, truly needed that because it was ten letters long and spanned most of the puzzle. It was one of those vapid entertainment clues that I can never solve because I've got better things to think about than movie trivia.

"White house," I muttered, and she looked up.

"What?"

"White house' classic movie," I read, "ten letters. Got any ideas?"

"Hmm." She tapped her chin, looking thoughtful, then brightened. "Casablanca. It means 'white house' in Spanish. Does it fit?"

I checked. "Yes." In a lower pitch, I added a thank you. She smiled.

"I'm sure you would have gotten it eventually."

"Doubt it. Never heard of it."

"You mean you've never seen Casablanca?" She stared at me, aghast as if I'd just admitted to being raised by a pack of wolves. "Everyone in the world has seen that movie."

"Well, not me."

"Oh." She clucked her tongue sympathetically, the girl that couldn't afford to buy her own books. "Well, rent it some time when you've got the chance. You might like it."

I resisted the impulse to tell Coffee girl that this right here was my only free time in the entire week, and that I'd much rather spend it doing this than watching some stupid movie.

I finished off the crossword, with a little more assistance on her part, and by the time I was done she was checking her watch.

"Time to go." And even though she hadn't so much as opened a book, the words had a note of regret to them. "Have a good evening." She made to return the magazine to the table and I intercepted it with one hand, before I'd consciously decided to move.

"Keep it," I offered. "I'm done with it."

"Oh no, I couldn't -"

"Keep it. A thank you for the Casablanca clue."

I'm told that I can be difficult to argue with, that my eyes can get very intimidating. Apparently it's true even when I'm trying to be nice, because she surrendered meekly.

"Okay. Kamsamida." She bowed her head slightly and stood, snagging her coat and purse. With another brief but warm smile in my direction, she turned and left the café.

Something was beginning to feel very strange about this.

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