“Thou shalt
not covet thy neighbor’s… book.”. If such commandment existed I would be the
most sinful of all sinners! It doesn’t matter how good the book/magazine
article/bottle label I’m reading is, I will always be interested in what people
around me are reading. If in the corner of my eye I see a a book cover… I will, most likely, take a break of whatever
I’m reading, and start coveting my neighbor’s book. I’m not proud of it, of
course, but it is what it is.
Not only
will I (quite absentmindedly) envy in silence what other people are reading,
but I will also make quick mental notes about it. Oh yes, “though this be
madness, yet there is method in ’t” as Polonius said to Hamlet. I’ll find
myself laying about mental notes “hmm… interesting!”, “aaaah, that’s on my to
read list, yes”, “really?! You’re wasting precious brain cells on THAT?”, “I
wonder if the translation is any good?”, “Oh I loved that! Isn’t it
wonderful?”, “You are in for some great hours of entertainment!”, “there’s a
sequel?!”, “mom and dad have that one, I should borrow it from them…”, and so
forth. But rarely do I take notice of the reader, the object of my attention (and
coveting…) is solely the book.
Of course,
commuting, only heightens my coveting skills: there’s so much supply! I think
it was last year, as I was getting out of the train and walking towards the
tube I saw “…wain… berry… ventures”. I had an immediate laughing mental note
“Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn! Who doesn’t like an old fashioned
boyish adventure? Well Huckleberry Finn is a bit more serious, but still… I
really need to borrow it from Mom and Dad…”. When I was in the tube platform
waiting for the train, I bothered to take a look at the reader of such adventures.
First I noticed the well cared for hand, with the shiny band of gold in the ring
finger, that was holding “…wain… berry… ventures”. Then the light blue shirt,
the impeccable navy blue suit jacket and trousers, the dark shiny shone shoes,
the trimmed, well combed hair, the marble smooth shaved face, the chiseled
profile, the striking dark brown eyes. Everything about him was sharp and
elegant. Though he wasn’t very tall, he stood out in the platform of tired, sleepy,
grumpy commuters like myself. Even the way he walked on the platform was
striking, he wasn’t walking really, he was strolling purposefully, with poise, balancing his suitcase on one
hand and the book in the other. I’ll admit I was mesmerized: he was a walking,
living, breathing handsome advert for Hugo Boss, with a Mediterranean flair. I
sighed, I was coveting, all right, but not the book anymore…
Some time
ago, I was running late and rushed into the 09:18 train to Lisboa, sitting in
whatever seat was available. And there it was “…iamond…ig…Ritz”, another American
classic, but by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have always wondered what a diamond as
big as the Ritz was, and made a mental note to read the book. And then, to my
surprise, who else but the elegant commuter, was sitting across from me,
reading “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and other stories”. Again, he looked
impeccable, his coat neatly folded resting on his knees, the suitcase by his
side. However, my American Classic was sleepy,
so he carefully kept his book in the suitcase, lowered his chin and took a nap.
I tried very hard to concentrate on my own book, but it was quite difficult: the
American Classic, even sleeping and slouching, with one of the shirt buttons undone
was quite handsome.
Since then,
I’ve been curious: what is a diamond as big as the Ritz, really? And does he
only read American classics? Is he like the tall, slim, pale, curly hair “thronie”*
on black skinny jeans, that is devoted to the one genre? I feel tempted to
recommend Steinbeck to him, but I’m still mustering up the courage to do it. Until
then, the American Classic of 09:18 train, is the highlight of my tardiness.
Note: “thronie”
was the suggested name, from a friend on Facebook, for a fan of The Game of Thrones.
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