Read The Reader on the 6.27 for Free Online

ISBN 3-365427-8254, printed by Ducasse Dalambert of Pantin on the twenty-fourth of May 2002 with a print run of 1,300 copies on recycled paper, 90 gsm, ream AF87452, a ream made with batches numbered 67,455 and 67,456, produced by the TERN treatment and recycling company on 16 April 2002.’
    Utterly baffled, Guylain grabbed the book and examined it. The slurry-coloured cover did not look inviting. He leafed through it sceptically. It was all about gardening techniques. Sowing, hoeing, weeding and other vegetable-growing subtleties for weekend gardeners. ‘You’ve discovered you’ve got green fingers and you’ve taken it into your head to grow indoor vegetables?’
    Guylain’s dismay made Giuseppe wriggle with delight in his wheelchair. Only then did the words read out by the old boy sink in. The sixteenth of April, the very day that his legs had been gobbled up by the Zerstor! Flesh and bone crushed, pounded, boiled and dispersed into millions of cells that had ended up inextricably mingled with the grey magma shat into the vats by the Thing on that cursed day in April 2002. The start of a long journey, to end up in this inconsequential book and in the 1,299 others made with this unique paper pulp. Guylain stood there dumbfounded. The old fellow had found his legs.

10
    Contrary to his promise to Giuseppe, Guylain did not go into Paris that Saturday to see the famous Albert. He had never intended to. He didn’t set foot outside his apartment. All he did was pop into the pet shop two blocks away to buy a packet of dried seaweed as a treat for Rouget de Lisle. In the early afternoon, Guylain took out of the cupboard the heavy suitcase he stored there. He remembered the glorious days when Gardens and Kitchen Gardens of Bygone Days had come flooding in from all four corners of France. After raiding all the online booksellers with his credit card and contacting all the bookshops up and down the country to strip them of the sought-after book, Giuseppe had had the brainwave of paying a visit to the second-hand booksellers on the banks of the Seine. One fine day, the old boy and his wheelchair had turned up on their patch and pirouetted from one stall to the next telling them his story and explaining how he, Giuseppe Carminetti, former chief operator of the TERN treatment and recycling company, ex-alcoholic and ex-biped, was going to do his utmost to recover the books that contained what was left of his pins. He had given each of them his card, with the quirky book title written on the back. They had been moved by his quest. Each bookstall owner had immediately roped in his own network to hunt down the Holy Grail. Not a weekend went by without Guylain paying a visit to the booksellers on the riverbank to act as courier and bring the fruits of the harvest to Giuseppe. He had enjoyed those strolls, contemplating the bateaux-mouches packed with tourists gliding lazily through the Seine’s silvery waters. It was good to be aware that there was another world outside TERN, a world where books were allowed to end their lives snugly arranged inside the green booths lining the parapets, growing old to the pulse of the great river watched over by the towers of Notre Dame.
    The 500 mark had been reached less than a year and a half after the beginning of this mad venture, and the 700 one three years later. And then the inevitable happened. The source eventually dried up and the counter stayed stuck at 746. Giuseppe then sank into a profound state of gloom. All these months, the quest had been his main reason for living. It gave him the strength to cope with the columns of ants that attacked his phantom limbs night after night and helped him to put up with the pitying looks people showered on him when he roamed the streets in his Butterfly. Almost overnight, Giuseppe had given up. For nearly a year, Guylain had battled to keep up the old boy’s morale, visiting him once or twice a week. After rolling up the blinds to let the light in and