Chapter 49: Testimony from the Dust

Thinking of this, Ernie felt a bit helpless.

After all, his individual capacity was simply too limited.

Fortunately, he remembered that after the United States entered the war, to make it easier for soldiers to read on the battlefield and provide them with spiritual solace, the US military—in collaboration with the Army Library, the Navy Library, and representatives from major publishing houses—established the "Council on Books in Wartime." Imitating the "Pocket Books" series published by Pocket Books, they launched a series of "pocket-sized" books that were easy for soldiers to carry. Not only were they cheap to print, but they were also convenient to carry around during combat.

It was precisely these custom-published books for the military by the wartime council that expanded the influence of paperbacks in the United States, sparking a "paperback revolution." This completely relegated the era when market share was dominated by "hardcovers" to history, allowing everyone to read the books they wanted at a low price.

While hoping in his heart that the paperback revolution would arrive sooner, Ernie asked Puzo, "Are you familiar with the schools in this neighborhood?"

"Of course, I studied at the nearby Harlem Elementary School when I was a kid," Puzo said. "The kids studying there were all of Italian and Irish descent."

"There probably aren't many books worth reading in the school library, right?"

"That's indeed the case. Many books were left unmaintained after being read for a long time, and their pages were torn and missing," Puzo recalled.

"Let's go out. I want to buy some books to donate to the children," Ernie clapped his hands and made up his mind.

"Ernie, that's a wonderful thing," Puzo paused, then said with pleasant surprise. "Books are sold at very high prices nowadays. As children in an immigrant school, it's even harder for them to read. I remember when I was little, I loved reading novels about the wars involving the Native American tribes of New York State. I read each book several times... Now that I think about it, it was really because there were no other books to read."

"My strength is limited, and I can't buy books of every category, but you can help me pick out the ones you wanted to read when you were little but couldn't get your hands on," Ernie smiled.

"Then Dostoevsky's *The Idiot* and *The Brothers Karamazov* must be included," Puzo recalled the books he had longed to read back then. "I know a small secondhand bookstore. I'll buy some books to donate to the school along with you."

After making their decision, Puzo called his siblings along, and they went out to the bookstore to buy books.

Although the hardcover books at the secondhand bookstore were cheap—priced by weight—some of them were already quite tattered. As for the relatively well-preserved hardcover books, they were sold individually, with prices fluctuating around one dollar.

Ernie believed that since they were donating books, even if the books for the children weren't brand new, they should be in about ninety percent new condition. Therefore, the hardcover books he and Puzo selected were all from the "ninety percent new" section.

In addition to works by famous authors and literary giants, considering that the readers were children, Ernie and Puzo also selected many fairy tale books, as well as casual reference books such as encyclopedias, history books, craft magazines, sports magazines, and lifestyle magazines.

The hardcover books were sold individually, and the two of them bought fifty in total; the magazine-style books were sold by weight at thirty cents per pound, totaling fifty pounds, which cost fifteen dollars.

The total price was sixty-five dollars. Recalling the way Mary had bought a washing machine that day, Ernie began to bargain:

"This book has a slightly creased cover and somewhat yellowed inner pages. Can you lower the price a bit?"

"This book is a pirated edition; how can you sell it at the price of a genuine one?"

"If I'm satisfied with this purchase, I'll come back next time!"

"I'm paying in full, so you have to give me a discount!"

Ernie thought his sentence structures imitated the method perfectly, but no matter how he phrased it, the tone felt wrong, failing to give the bookstore owner any sense of urgency. It boiled down to one phrase: take it or leave it.

In the end, Puzo stepped forward and deployed bargaining skills on par with Mary's, beating the sixty-five-dollar price down to sixty dollars, with he and Ernie splitting the cost evenly.

If "bargaining" were a literary genre, Mary and Puzo would certainly be masters of it!

However, when Puzo asked if the owner could help deliver the books, the bookstore owner's thin head shook like a rattle: "No way. I've already cut five dollars."

Yet, after saying that, out of curiosity about why the two of them were buying so many books, the bookstore owner asked one more question.

Ernie didn't hide it and replied truthfully: "To donate them to Harlem Elementary School."

How to use a single sentence to make someone feel guilty for the rest of their life?

Upon hearing what Ernie said, the bookstore owner's expression changed, and he looked as though he wanted to slap himself across the face right on the spot.

The bookstore owner brought over a cart he usually used for hauling stock, and the three of them—taking advantage of the fact that school hadn't let out yet—hauled the cart full of books to Harlem Elementary School. The children were thrilled to bits upon seeing an entire cartload of books.

For Ernie, the children's smiles also allowed him, amidst the gathering clouds of war, to feel the beauty of the world once more after a long time.

Nighttime.

Ernie rode his bicycle home, packed the "tooth powder" he had ground from candies into a glass jar, and handed it to Mrs. Carroll. He also saw little Will in Mrs. Carroll's arms once again; the child was still crying incessantly, his skin bearing a sickly pink hue.

Holding Ernie's jar of tooth powder "made by a Columbia University top student," Mrs. Carroll expressed her deep gratitude to him.

Meanwhile, Ernie's previously decent mood became somewhat complicated again upon seeing little Will.

Tooth powder was still prevalent nationwide, harming children's health. He knew he lacked the power to handle this issue, yet he couldn't help thinking about it.

With a trace of complex emotion weighing on his heart, Ernie went home, finished his dinner, and slipped into his bedroom to ponder how to write an article responding to the unprovoked attacks from *The Saturday Evening Post*.

As a veteran user of internet forums for a decade in his later life, he was not intimidated at all when it came to online verbal sparring.

However, Ernie did not wish to engage in such boring mudslinging, so he intended to respond peacefully.

That meant simply addressing and refuting those fabricated, speculative, and sophistical arguments one by one.

The core strategy was to write an emotionally stable, well-reasoned response grounded in evidence.

Yet, while Ernie was writing his response in his room, Mici kept "harassing" him from the side—she had promised to quietly write her own novel, but after writing just a bit, she kept coming over to ask Ernie how it was, and whether it was amazing!

Just like a web novel novice from later life who writes a few hundred words and eagerly wishes the entire world knew about this masterpiece and showered it with praise.

Ernie didn't hold back and went straight to rat her out to Mary. Mary grabbed Mici by the hand and dragged her out of the bedroom, with a reason that was simple and brutal: other people write to make money, but you write purely to waste paper and ink!

After thinking quietly in front of the blank sheet of paper for a moment.

Ernie swung his fountain pen, and the ink-dipped nib began to write across the paper, the opening flowing forth in one continuous stroke.

[To *The Saturday Evening Post*: Testimony from the Dust

Your review of *A Bronx Tale* reminds me of a gentleman carefully prodding a corpse in the street with his walking stick—harboring a certain cautious curiosity while refusing a genuine examination out of fear of its filth.

You question the shades of gray in the morality depicted in my writing. Yet, gentlemen, when this country witnessed the veterans of the Bonus Army in 1932—those heroes who fought in the Argonne Forest—being driven away by cavalry in the mud of Washington, how much credibility remains in simple moral narratives?

...]

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