The last page

Ransacking through the books at book fairs was his hobby. You never know what gem you can dig and for a reasonable price too. However, books by this particular seller didn’t look promising at all. They are mostly cheap fiction and books about knitting. To Dave, all books that covered unimportant subjects had a common category in his book taxonomy — ‘the books about knitting.’ He has no room in his brain nor on his shelves for that kind of books.

The day was moist, the books were moist, and he was tired. The streetcar racket was nearing around the corner of the city square the book fair was on. He knew it was his streetcar. Number 8. He has some 2–3 minutes to find a book to buy before the streetcar left the square. Then, some 10 minutes more to wait. It was 6:42 PM on his Casio. The next streetcar will be crowded with school kids. He wanted to avoid that. No time to go for another booth. If he wants to buy the book and to leave with the streetcar that was rolling behind the corner, he had to find the book at this booth.

A book took his attention. It differed from the others in this booth. He could tell it immediately by looking at the book spine. This was some kind of philosophy book. Dave was a passionate philosophy reader. Unknown author to him. Even better. Quoting an unknown author is always a goodie. Ecofeminism. Great. This is the choice. There is one minute left to show the book to the seller and leave the one Euro on the counter. One Euro looks like a great deal for this kind of book. One more gem he dug.

“Ah, there is a little something about this book you may want to know before buying it,” said the friendly seller. This was exactly a kind of chitchat Dave wanted not to have at this moment. The streetcar finally showed at the square. Some ten seconds before it will come to a halt. Then some 30 before all the passengers board. There are some 20 meters he has to cross to get to the streetcar door, and he has to cross it before it closes. An Olympic grade sprinter would need 2 seconds for that. Dave would need at least 10.

“You know how kids are today. We have only cardboard boxes.” The seller was continuing with his story and not coming to the point.

“I would like to catch that street car. I am sorry. Here is your Euro,” said Dave trying to be as polite as possible. Usually, likes to talk to sellers at book fairs but now there is evidently no time for that. He left his euro on the counter and decided to break the law and not wait for a receipt. The Book was already in his coat pocket.

“The book misses the last page,” finally said the seller. “The damn kids intruded the tent and fumbled lots of books. They didn’t take anything. Who knows what they were looking for. Maybe the Bibles for the marijuana. You know that Bible paper they use for folding marijuana?”

“Ah!” Said Dave hesitating. The seller was holding his euro with two fingers as if he is saying that he is completely fine if Dave decides not to buy the book.

“There was only one sentence on that last page. And the words ‘The end’. A minimum damage. Nice kids,” said the seller with the wide grin. “And, by the way, a good choice. I was thinking to read this book myself.

“It does not matter. I will take it. Thank you for the heads up,” said Dave already few steps away toward the streetcar. There were several people yet waiting to enter. He will make it.

“Don’t you want to hear the last sentence? I know it by heart,” said the seller.

“Sorry, no time. Bye,” said Dave already running towards the streetcar. The last kid with the yellow backpack was about to enter. The backpack was completely covered with the punk band names. Those kids are skipping the last class but at least the punk was not dead yet.

The seller was shouting something behind his back. Dave was not able to hear because of the bell that was announcing that streetcar is about to part. He jumped in and pressed his wallet against the box. An electronic beep confirmed that he has enough credits to ride.

The streetcar was pretty full. Dave found a good spot between an older woman with long brown umbrella and a boy with a pink backpack. He took the book out of his coat pocket. The damp smell filled his nostrils. The book smelled 20 years older than it was.

He opened the last page. It was written all through to the bottom. There was almost no trace of the ripping. The person that ripped the last page was a pro in that. He wondered if he would ever guess that the last page was missing if the seller didn’t tell him that. The book will end on the pile under the coffee table in their living room until his wife decides to take it to their study or make Dave do it. The book will soon be covered with other books and magazines.

While holding the book in front of his face, Dave gazed through the window. It started to rain again. He wondered the last time he had read a book to the last page.