The Value of Books

The value of books Late afternoon, the sun has left the terrace and is in the back throwing up dust before reluctantly slinking west and sinking into the sea beyond the seas. The townscape is charming red-roofed dwellings among the many trees that are deep green this time of the year. Near the sea are two big edifices, One has luxury flats on top for the people called the “jet-set” It is where scrawny women live on lettuce a day and Valium. Next to that house, a white elephant, a skeletal hotel that was abandoned when the would-be owner went broke. In the calm bay two small cargo ships of uncertain age riding the anchorage waiting for the morning, it baffles me how these old ship makes money, two bags of rice here and a barrel of wine there; perhaps they fish and live healthily but I do hope they have books, if not the lacuna of empty time must be heavy on the mind. When I was a seaman, I read hundreds of books to pass the time some rubbed off so the time became useful, like automatic learning.